Figure

I stood a few feets away behind him, 

I stood there, still.

Taking him in, tucking the shape of his back somewhere in the space of my head, 

whilst my lips trembled at the soft sight of him, swallowing, holding back the raging tears in its place. 

I'll miss the sight of him, the sounds of his footsteps,  the look on his face when he's deep in sleep.

With all these mounted regrets I have, I know I'll be knocked over with more of it, when they're finally out of my sight. 

But I wouldn't, if I'll be called out first. 

Missing You

"I miss you"

"I'm sorry"

"Don't be. I just wanted to tell you that"

"I'm so sorry for being such a mess. I'm sorry that I was very much unavailable to you. And I'm sorry if loving me is hard"

"I love you"

"I'm sorry you have to see me in this state"

"Hey, it's okay, I love you, no matter what"

"I'm sorry, I don't think I can say those words back, not in this state. I'm sorry if this is hard on you"

"It's okay"

Amgash #2: Anything Is Possible

Anything Is Possible by Elizabeth Strout

Short stories, literary fiction | 254 pages

'Short story collection Anything Is Possible explores the whole range of human emotion through the intimate dramas of people struggling to understand themselves and others.'

If there's one word to describe the whole book itself, it'd be TENDER. i- oh my god, i'm still not sure if i have the words to describe how much i loved it, and how much i enjoyed it, but i think, it's enough to say that this is one those books that i will keep thinking about, for a very long time. 

This book is second in line in the Amgash series and it consists of 9 short stories of people who were related (either closely or distantly) to Lucy Barton. 

Remember when i said last year, on how i felt the author was comfortable enough to just dance on the surface without feeling the need to dive under when there were so much depth she could explore? Yes, because it turns out, in this second book, it had confirmed my thought on how there were so much more i need to know and could be told, and the writer truly knows what she was doing, to only release bits by bits, one thing at a time. 

How i should put this in words? These are no complex stories and what makes it terrific is its subtleties, which what makes it tender. It's the exploration of human thoughts and those small sweet realisations of people, things and yourself. 

This books truly feels like a celebration for my ever-observing self, a dreamer who always appears floating away with all the longing and bittersweet realisations of my surroundings. 

When i see thoughts after thoughts of mine came in line, scattered between pages, i felt acknowledged and pure ecstasy. Imagine to keep creating magic in every short stories you wrote? 

Oh how I wish Lucy Barton's memoir is available to be read. Remarkable, spectacular piece. Highly, highly recommended.

Anything Is PossibleAnything Is Possible

Amgash #3: Oh William!

I guess, I was meant to read this book. I mean, it feels like this whole Amgash series, it was actually meant for me.

Now I came to appreaciate better how this story of Lucy being slowly unfolded from the first book to this third book. It prepared me for the worst, like the author knew it might be too much for me to take in everything all at once.

This book is centred around her previous husband, William, who is also the father of her two daughters. It tells us what she felt of William on occasions, what she thought of him, what kind of person he is, and down to the history of his family life. It’s basically the life of a William. And how they stayed as good friends even after whatever happened in their marriage.

I’m not going to talk about their marital business here because you can read it yourself, but let’s dive deeper into what actually shapes Lucy Barton as Lucy Barton, on why she felt the way she felt, and the thorough impact of her mother onto herself, as an individual (it's always an interesting topic to talk about, please pardon me).

Strout finally reveals more on Lucy Barton’s difficult childhood in this third book, in fact, more than she ever revealed in her two previous books from this Amgash series, which will give you a better sense of why she is the way she is. Because I remember reading the first book in this Amgash series, My Name Is Lucy Barton, and feeling frustrated and parched for more. And the whole story felt rather fleeting when I finished it, because I thought it holds so much pontentials, only if the author dived deeper into the mother and daughter relationship. And when I finished reading most of the books from the series, I understand it was for the best, it was meant to be that way, one thing at a time. 

Reading the first book, when her mother was there to look after her at the hospital, you will get this sense of Lucy's deep longing for her mother, and how she seemed unable to reach for her mother when she was just there. You know, how some people are physically close yet unreachable, yes, that’s what it felt like between Lucy and her mother.

“But I think I know so well the pain we children clutch to our chests, how it lasts our whole lifetime, with longings so large you can’t even weep. We hold it tight, we do, with each seizure of the beating heart: This is mine, this is mine, this is mine."

Finishing the third book from the series, it felt like the puzzles in my head finally got completed. Now I got the full picture of all the whys I had been asking myself regarding why Lucy Barton felt certain ways about herself and the root-cause of it. Honestly, it’s not because I don’t really know why (one will always figure it out), or the possible answers to those whys, but it felt like I just needed a confirmation of my thoughts and understanding. Because deep down, I do know why, of course I know why, for all the time I spent searching for answers, way before I know the existence of the Elizabeth Strout and her enthralling works.

“I feel invisible, is what I mean. But I mean it in the deepest way. It is very hard to explain. And I cannot explain it except to say—oh, I don’t know what to say! Truly, it is as if I do not exist, I guess is the closest thing I can say. I mean I do not exist in the world.”

In this third book, she talked about the sense of invisibility encloaking her all her life. I came to understand why she felt like that, because when people spent most of their life wondering if their mother had ever loved them, they will struggle to feel if they even matter in this world, resulting to the the sense of invisibility for most of the time. And those people will come to (always) struggle to believe in their self-worth. Not to mention this gaping hole, incurable, deep loneliness they need to deal with. There’s also this feeling that they always feel rather detached, floating away from themselves. She did mention on how she doubted if her mother ever said she loved her. 

And also, in this very book, it was revealed how incredibly hard her mother was to her during some important events of her life. To me, it’s interesting to try to understand the character of Lucy’s mother because that's what shaped her, and the whole story.

I don’t know why but I feel like I understand Lucy’s mother in certain ways. Because for someone to be that cold, hard and rather detached from their loved ones, there must be this unsurmountable pain she’s struggling with on her own, and to live with such pain, could make you oblivious on how you're going to inflict similar kind of pain to the people around you. And to be that hard, so hard to those people she shared her blood with, imagine how hard she was with herself in the first place. 

And this is truly sad and hearbreaking, to realise, there are people out there living with with such pain like Lucy and her mother.

If you have such a deep mother wound, you will come to understand that you are going to carry the painful longing to the end of your life, and those pain will shape you along the way, molding a certain type of woman you will become. And this is also mentioned in this very book, which's true. The moment that realisation hit you, it could feel like the worst feeling ever. If only most people thoroughly understand the colossal impact a mother could have on a child.

Now, let’s talk why I think Elizabeth Strout is a brilliant writer (and why it seems thousands of people think the same way, and why it’s another writer I want my future kids to read from).

She has this enormous capability, to capture every human’s joy and suffering in a very intricate ways, and that always leaves me wondering how someone is able to capture those subtleties of life, whether she went through them herself or she’s simply a spectacular observer of life, but is it enough to observe just from the side lines without going through them herself to be able to write complex subjects that well, with all the details? 

Her writing possesses this quality of striking honesty that makes her characters so human that you can’t help yourself but to feel compassion for them, if not relatable. I remember after reading a fraction of this third book of Amgash series, i was lying on my bed, in the middle of the night, staring into the unknown, was kept awakened by her lingering words, and then, all I know, my quiet cries had turned into this rasping ugly sobbing that I had to muffle myself for not wanting to be so loud. And that lasted for a few hours, until the morning sun had risen. 

I loved the second book so very much, I was left feeling bouyant, and weeks of book-hungover, to the point, books I read after that felt rather flat (I'm still feeling guilty over Dead-End Memories by Banana Yoshimoto). But this book, those bits of details just hit me hard in the throat, invoking all kinds of emotions and certain painful memories and feelings I always wish to quiet down and to pretend I have moved past them, that they don’t matter anymore. It had ripped me raw, felt almost forced (in a good way) to sit with the feelings and emotions, and then processed the pain for the nth times. Most importantly, I felt understood, and that's important to me, because that only happens very rarely. 

If you are dealing with this type of pain, I am sorry, but please know that God will always be there to guide you through, and for those who couldn’t make any sense of my writing, be thankful, because there's always bliss for our incapabilities of understanding certain things in life.

I am recommending you this book, and the first two books from this series (haven’t read the final book myself, but definitely will) with all my heart. 

Loss

My friend just lost her grandmother last night. She texted me to break the news. I always get panicked, and worried of what to say during those crucial times, because I know, words are not always the answer and dealing with deep sadness and colossal grief, most words rarely bring relief because it could be too much to process with everything already on the plate. Those words can feel almost fleeting like the wind passing.

If we are dealing with loss, what we want people to actually say to us? What's the word that could at least soothe the pain? 

I met her grandma once, a few years back, when I went to sleepover at my friend's house, on my birthday week. I remember listening hard to every word she said, paying my utmost attention to her while we talked, because her dialect could be hard to decipher, but then, I was quietly proud of myself to be able to understand what she said to me and gave her a proper response. I could see how my friend was dear to her, from her brief, lingering looks at my friend. 

Oh to be noticed by the people we loved! 

I remember vividly the time when my grandma died. I was combing my hair, standing close to my older sister, getting ready after bath, and in the middle of raking my hair, the comb I was holding fell to the floor. There was trepidation creeping in when that happened, which left me feeling queasy, like something bad was going to happen in the near future. 

Our home was a few states away from where she lived and I remember when we were all in the car, ready to go, I saw those tears coming down from my father's eyes. He cried and lamented for a while while his hand on the steering wheel. 

I wasn't close to her but I remember when hanging out with my friend, some time after the funeral, we came to talk about our family and I told her about my grandma's departure, casually. But then tears came streaming down my face, I couldn't help myself to stop for a while that I had to look away from facing my friend. I remember feeling perplexed while the tears kept trickling down my face, because I wasn't specially close to her. Maybe I cried because she was a family or maybe because I was actually crying for my father. 

That was the only time I saw him crying. And it was only briefly. 

A White Death

She was standing in the middle of a graveyard. With the cold engulfing the scene, she shivered slightly. Her hands were full, she carried three bouquets of white flowers, and with a quiet confidence, she padded her way through.

She crouched close to the grave plot. Still holding those bouquets in her arms. She touched the gravestone with such a care and caressed it gently like it was a child's hair. Until she gazed what was written on the tombstone, and the name carved on it. Her heart skipped a beat and her free hand stopped midway. 

The name. Her name. That was her full name. And beneath that, was the period of her life. It has been a week now, but here she was, feeling as if present, with hands full of white chrysanthemums. Is this why she wasn't sure if she knows the way but still found her way to the grave without falling astray? 

When everything started to fully sink in, she couldn't help but to quietly weep. She was thinking to herself, you're dead. She's dead. I've died. Doesn't matter how unreal it feels like, I've died. There was my body a few feets under, cold and unmoving. Alone.

I let the left side of my face to drop and touch the grave bed, the flowers smooshed in between my chest and the bed, staring at my name on the gravestone and the date's written on it. I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath of the soothing, earthy scent and feeling the tears trickling down my face, seeping through my scarf, into the soil. 

In between tears, I whispered in my head; 

"I'm here. I'm sorry I'm late. Flowers, I bring you white flowers. A lot of them, because I know you always wanted one for yourself. But no white roses though, I couldn't find one. But it doesn't matter anymore right? It doesn't right? I hope you know that I always want you to be happy, genuinely happy, even for a short while. Even though you thought you can't have it, that you always think you don't deserve it. That's why you always struggled when it comes to celebrations right? But it doesn't matter. Not anymore. At least you tried, you persevered, and that's all that mattered. And thank you for trying. And I'm sorry if I don't try harder for you. For us. But I'm here, for you, for all that matters. And you don't have to be sad again. Not anymore. Not again."

I raised my head and directed my gaze at the shady tree not so far from me. There was someone there, looking at me, as if waiting for me to take notice of her. I looked back, and feeling perplexed. She looked exactly like me, and she was wearing a tasteless, calm smile on her face, looking knowingly at me. She looked pale and gaunt. And then she was gone.

She was in black. She had this heaviness with her, and left it to linger still in the air. 

.

I know I'm always generally sad, and that, I can't help but to always feel guilty of happiness, feels like it never fits my psyche well, even through those crevices of my mind.

I don't want to die sad. I just realised that. Not when I'm feeling sad, not in a sad way. Perhaps I could have a better life in the afterlife if I try harder. I think, that's the least I could do for myself. For a better future next time. 

The worldly life is nothing but a game and fun, and the last abode is surely much better for those who fear Allah. Would you still not understand? (7:32) 

Plant

Have you ever thought why some of us are really into gardening? And have you ever thought why gardening is so well-loved among elders?

I always thought I could never understand why but after reading A Journal Of Solitude last year, I think I finally could grasp the philosophy behind that. It's nothing new really but it was only better put in words and had me in a deep reflection for quite a long period (the reason why you are reading this now i guess) 

Gardening teaches us to slow down, to appreciate the beauty of nature, where we cannot rush the process, even if you want it, and I think that what makes the end result is always so satisfying (if it turns out well, the plants flourish, the flowers blossoming). 

And in this demanding era, whereas everything instant, fast, seems to be far more appreciated and preferable, the art of gardening will definitely help us to recenter our purpose of life, or at least will help us to reflect what truly give meanings to our life?  

I came across this quranic verse and it had reminded me of the very thought again. 

Surely, Allah is the one who splits the grain and the date-stone (for sprouting). He brings forth the living from the dead, and He is the One who brings forth the dead from the living. That is Allah! To where, then, are you being turned away (by your desires)? (6:95)

Console

For the past few days, I've been in a deep reflective mode. 

I've been thinking a lot about what I felt and what I had written in my letters in those days, saying there's no one I could turn to, to really talk about what I felt on the inside, that it's lonely, and frustrating. 

Looking back, I realised I was ignorant, ignorant to Him and to those people I lamented those words when I said that. I was way too self-absorbed, and in a way selfish, not only to Him, but more importantly to myself. I didn't do myself any favour when I thought I did. 

And now I'm older, I look back a lot to what I said, and every time I did that, embarrassment slowly crept under my skin. Looking back thoroughly, how I could say that when I have Him, The All-Knowing? Does it actually reflect how truly distant I was from Him? 

This reminds me of what Shaykh Hamza Yusuf said, if we turned away from God's remembrance, we will have a constricted life. And that much of what's happening to us is a result of deep forgetfulness of the Him, the Creator. 

I remember reasoning with myself that's a different case. Telling myself I'm a human, and it's a need to connect with the same human being, when we're created as social animals. But every time I turned to people, it's always disappointment I got in return. Every single time. Being a classic avoidant case I was/am, I always long for this deep connection which is hardly available (even if it's there, I'd tell myself over and over again, maybe I don't deserve it).

I was too cooped up in my frustration that I didn't see it as a redirection for me to reach out for Him more often, to let go of my high expectations of people and just come home to Him. 

I remember how I was parched, craving for the understanding of why these things happened to me, and why I am the way the I am, but at the same time blocking what's there God wants me to see. 

Tuhan susun takdir kita dengan penuh hikmah, dan kadang kita tak nampak terus kesan dan kebaikan aturan dia, sebab kadang, untuk kita boleh faham sesuatu perkara, it can take years for us to get the whole picture, why this and why that. 

Sebab tu mereka kata, setekun mana kita nak faham sesuatu perkara, kadang kita takkan faham terus, sebab sesetengah kefahaman itu datang dengan usia. 

Dan setiap daripada kita ada membawa kesedihan sendiri yang berbeza-beza, walaupun dengan penuh keterlukaan, dan kadang kesedihan itu tidak pernah hilang, kekal setia, dipikul sepanjang jalan kehidupan, cuma yang membuatkan kita mampu kekal berjalan, penerimaan, pengharapan dan pengetahuan tentang hikmahnya.

Kadang payah kita nak akui yang we are in good hands, tapi we are. We are in good hands. And our heart is His only domain, and may He soften it for us to understand the wisdom within every happening, amin. 

Seek, and you shall see. 

Hospital Trip (Part 4)

 Aku berdiri bersandar pada dinding, betul-betul menghadap pintu ruang kecemasan. Tangan aku penuh dengan barang, kasut Hurin yang tercabut masa naik stretcher, nasi bungkus yang mama beli untuk kami tiga beradik, beg pakaian Hurin dan barang-barang lain. Tadi aku ikut sekali masuk ruang kecemasan, tapi at the end, doktor yang ikut dari hospital sana bagitahu aku boleh tunggu kat luar. 

Bila dalam ruang kecemasan tadi, aku fikir, boleh tahan mental dorang yang kerja bahagian ni, dengan tekanan, dengan ruang yang terhad, dengan orang beratur panjang dekat luar. Surprisingly, those ED doctors nampak sangat chill, yang tenangnya terasa janggal dalam situasi sekeliling. Aku fikir, nothing much can shake them anymore at this point. 

Lama aku tunggu, akhirnya dorang keluar. Dorang mintak aku pergi daftar adik aku dekat kaunter sana. Sebelum aku lari arah, aku tertangkap yang doktor perempuan tadi audibly mumbling under her mask (breath) yang bukan salah dia, yang tadi dia kena marah dengan doktor dalam tu. 

Masa nurse bagitahu aku arah ke kaunter daftar, aku tak cuak macam biasa dah, sebab around that time, aku dah makin yakin dengan my sense of direction, sebab kalau dulu, teruknya Tuhan je tahu. Masa sekolah menengah, it took me a week, untuk tak sesat dari kelas ke tandas. Dan pernah sesat jugak dalam hospital yang sama, lepas habis check-up nak pergi salin baju, tapi alih-alih aku pergi bukak bilik, yang dalam tu doktor and nurse ramai-ramai. Dahlah muka pertama yang aku nampak bila bukak pintu tu, speacialist lelaki yang check aku tadi. I tried so hard to remember the paths that I took, but it never came to me. 

.

Ada lif, tapi aku decide naik tangga je lah, at least tak crowded. Tapi dah tengah-tengah panjat tangga tu, mengah tak terkata ya. Rasa macam nak give up. Bila dah sampai dekat katil Hurin, aku tercungap-cungap teruk. Aku perasan doktor dengan nurse tadi dah takde, cuma berganti dengan doktor lelaki, berdiri hujung katil Hurin. Aku nak duduk tapi segan sebab dia berdiri. Tapi aku duduk jugak sebab nak bertenang, gather myself balik. 

Dia tanya soalan. Banyak soalan, and he kept writing non-stop on the board he’s holding. I guess, he was doing history-taking. 

‘So, dia anak yang ke-berapa ya?’

‘Lapan.’ 

Bila aku jawab lapan tu, dia nampak terkejut gila. Aku fikir, oh, mungkin sebab dia terkejut adik-beradik aku ramai. Aku biasalah, memang jenis loading sikit. Tapi sebab dia nampak lain sangat dengan jawapan aku, I just couldn’t help myself.

‘Doctor, do I look that old?’

Nada aku tak mengusik, tapi sedikit kesal. Tapi bukan salah dia lah kot, sebab aku pun memang selalu berpakaian ala kadar je, asal selesa. Bila aku tanya tu, aku baru perasan, cantik betul mata dia. 

He gave me a questioning look. 

‘Saya kakak dia. Bukan mak dia.’

‘OhhhhHhhhHhhHhhh kakak dia. Sorry, sorry’

Kemudian dia boleh pulak berating himself under his breath depan aku. Aku syak dia doktor baru sebab I don’t think an experienced doctor will let himself get caught that much. Terhibur betul aku. Aku kesian sebenarnya tengok dia berdiri, sebab nampak lah penat tu, aku nak offer kerusi aku, tapi takut tak proper pulak. 

Japgi kawan dia datang, dia boleh pulak pergi mengadu apa yang jadi tadi within my earshots. Pastu the female doctor balas balik dekat dia, padan muka. Dah aku nak gelak balik. 

.

Masatu hari Jumaat. Aku ingat yang kalau jinjit kaki tengok ke luar tingkap, aku boleh nampak stadium. Aku fikir, nanti malam aku nak tengok betul-betul. Aku perasan yang katil sebelah aku was the only young father dalam kubikel tu. At times, I couldn’t help but to stare at the way he held his baby, the way he soothed her, and how he always put his baby on his chest and sent her to sleep. Bila kau tengok tu, kau boleh nampak how experienced he was, takde kekok sikit pun. Aku memang tabik lebih dekat lelaki yang well-versed how to handle young kids sebab bukan senang nak jumpa. 

Bila duduk dalam hospital, dan kau tengok sekeliling, kau seakan rasa tertampar yang kalau kau rasa keadaan kau dah teruk, orang lain jauh lagi teruk diuji. Dan in that moment kau sedar, Tuhan uji sesuai dengan kemampuan kita yang berbeza. Dan dalam setiap keadaan, ada benda yang Tuhan nak kita faham.

Najiah datang singgah kejap in between her rounds. Aku tanya dia nak tak nasi, sebab mama belikan untuk dia sekali. Dia ambil nasi, dan pergi, sebab dia pun bukan boleh lama-lama.

.

Dah maghrib, Hurin pun selamat mandi apa semua. Aku duduk sembang-sembang kosong dengan dia. Then the father katil sebelah mintak tolong aku tengokkan anak dia, F. Aku pun macam okay, takde hal. Sebab tadi siang pun dah tolong tengokkan dia jugak. Tapi kebetulan aku tengah betulkan wayar Hurin, akak depan katil aku dah terjerit kecil, F! Dia pun tak boleh nak bangun ke apa sebab tengah susukan anak dia. Aku pusing, terus berlari pergi katil dia. Sikit lagi dia nak jatuh, melalui bawah palang katil. Aku tak tahu bila dia gerak, sebab baru je tadi tengok elok lagi. Aku keluarkan dia perlahan dari bawah palang, then terus dukung, peluk dia kejap. Nak luruh jantung aku masatu, Tuhan je tahu. Sambil aku dodoi dia, sambil zikir dekat telinga, aku sebenarnya cuba tenangkan diri jugak. Mata aku dah berair sikit. Bercampur baur semua rasa, rasa bersalah, rasa sayang, semualah. In between that, I kept apologising to her. Aku tak berani lagi nak letak dia, walaupun tudung aku dah basah dengan her drool. Entah bila dia terlena pun aku tak perasan. Comel je.

Then ayah dia datang, aku letak F perlahan balik atas katil. Kejap je lepastu, kakak aku datang, then nurse bagitahu aku dah boleh pindah katil luar, kat belakang, hujung wad. Kakak aku tolong bawak barang, then bila aku nak pergi tu, the father asked, dah nak pergi ke? Aku pun jawab ha’ah dengan muka bersalah sebab dia nampak berat hati, sebab nanti takde orang nak tengokkan Fathi. 

.

Angin malam tu sejuk betul. Dahla katil kitaorang betul-betul tepi tingkap. Najiah bawak satu plastik makanan, ada roti dan air manis. Dia dah habis shift haritu. Hurin nampak dah hyper balik, dah sihat sikit lahtu. Najiah duduk dekat hujung katil, aku duduk dekat kerusi tepi. Dia tanya aku tahu tak siapa the father yang sebelah katil aku tadi. Aku jawablah tak, tapi aku memang puji lah how well he handled his daughter. Rupanya dia doktor dekat hospital yang sama, aku pun macam, oh, no wonder dia tenang gila, and elok betul jaga anak dia. 

Bila Najiah duduk dekat hujung katil macam tu, aku rasa nostalgic, sebab dulu masa sekolah menengah, dia sukalah datang tiba-tiba dorm aku, tak diundang, kemudian terkam katil aku. Selalu dia datang tak buat apa, duduk, baring, then annoy aku tanpa sebab. Then datang doktor check nota Hurin dekat meja, aku pun terus berdiri. Lepastu aku cakap, Najiah, doktor datang tu. Then dia toleh belakang, then dia cakap, kau relaks jelah, member iah je tu. Lepastu boleh pulak dorang sembang kejap. 

Kemudian aku teringat yang, dah lebih 24 jam aku tak tidur. Lepas Najiah dah balik, and semua dalam wad dah tidur, aku sambung baca One Day.

Love

If anyone says I'm naïve at this point, I'll openly accept it. Because I think I have to finally agree with what my mom said, that I can be very naïve at times.

At 26 years old, it finally dawns on me that people could REALLY love you just the way you are. It takes me some times for the fact to really sink in. Honestly, to have the realisation finally hit me in the face, it left me baffled. 

Why is it kinda hard for me to grip the fact? Is it because I never think it's possible? It's never an issue for me, when it comes to loving other people just the way they are, but to be loved for just the way I am, I need time to process that. 

Sure, I always read or heard they said, you're enough. And I always thought, sure, maybe, I don't know. 

But to witness the happenings in front of you, you can't help but to think, oh, so it's true that;  with just being yourself, you can truly be enough for some people, and they are still gonna love you for whatever it is. 

Hospital Trip (Part 3)

Dejavú.

Itulah apa aku rasa after almost a year, aku ada dekat tempat yang sama, dalam situasi yang sama, dalam lingkungan masa yang sama jugak. 

Hurin kena tahan hospital lagi. 

Bila aku sampai nak take over tu, aku tak anxious macam dulu, walaupun aku still tak tahu nak expect apa. Kalau sebelum ni adik aku duduk dekat katil kiri, kali ni katil kanan. Dan aku perasan yang kalini, hospital ni nampak lebih tersusun dan bersih. Mungkin sebab covid dah tak seteruk dulu.

Sambil tunggu Hurin tidur, aku perasan katil belakang aku dah tiba-tiba berpenghuni, yang tadinya kosong. I took a glimpse at his resting face, and thought to myself, wait, I think I know him. It took me awhile to recognise, he was the guard from my previous school, where I worked. He looked relaxed and really taking his time, with eyes closed. He wasn’t wearing mask so it was easier to recognise. 

Dalam aku berkira-kira nak tegur dia dulu, dia dah tanya aku dulu hahaha. And we changed remarks and I asked if he was from home, and he said no, he was directly from work, and experienced shortness of breath while making his rounds and decided to come here before going back. 

What a small world, I smiled to myself at this thought. Aku selalu ingat orang takkan kenal aku bila aku pakai mask, sebab aku sendiri payah nak cam orang kalau dia pakai mask, lagi-lagi kalau orang tu dah lama tak jumpa. But of course it’s easier to recognise someone from their gait. 

Doktor panggil aku and Hurin masuk ward sebab memang kena bermalam dekat hospital dulu malam tu. I bid farewell to him sebab rasa macam rude je kalau pergi macam tu je without exchanging final remarks. I looked around the paed ward, settled down our belongings while listening to the chatters of the nurses behind the counter. I wondered if any of them was a parent to my students. 

Doktor cakap tak tahu lagi kena transfer hospital atau tak, sebab kena monitor dulu for a few hours. Aku pun macam okay lah. Hurin pun dah tidur atas katil, nampak lembik betul. Aku tak boleh nak tidur, rasa serba tak kena, kalau tak duduk, aku berdiri, tengok jam, kemudian buang pandang ke luar. Wad pun lengang, tak ramai orang, katil keliling aku pun kosong. 

. 

Matahari dah naik. Adik aku pun dah terpisat-pisat bangun. Doktor decide yang adik aku kena transfer jugak. Aku pun okay lah kalau macam tu, nak buat macam mana lagi. God bless the matron who lent her phone for me to call home. I was supposed to swapped places with mom but during last minute, the decision changed. Aku turun bawah and settled the bill. Then aku kemas barang kemudian tunggu nurse and doktor. 

Sempat jumpa mama babah before naik ambulance, plus mama passed a few barang Hurin jugak. I remember how I was choking in my own tears bila babah masuk ambulance sekejap untuk cium dahi Hurin. And I caught my sister’s expression, how she badly wanted to cry, but she intentionally looked away, suppressing herself from crying, putting on a straight face. I recognised that at a single glance, because I did that most of the time when I was at her age. Crying in front of them is always the last resort. To always hold back your tears, for whatever it takes. 

I can only imagine how heartbreaking it is to be sending your kid away, to another hospital, despite the situation.