Last two nights, I had a dream…
Your face is swollen, as if it is edematous, and thats possible since your kidney is failing,
And your face is pallid, and you sat there, in "Your Corner" -as how you’ve always put it-
You saw me, and the next thing I knew, u smile..
And God, wasn’t I surprised, caused I remember u dead. And I inched myself to you, holding your hand. Its felt so real.
I asked a lot of questions, I remembered…and while some u managed to answer, the rest u let it be a mystery, and it faded with your smile - showing the front incisor that had lost sometimes ago-
This is a real story about a man. And while this man is not my father, I have always looked up to him as one. And the dream, for the most part of it, seems real…
It is not easy for me to write this, as earlier I thought it would be easier if I had forgotten it all and go on with my life..Zendagi Megzara
But apparently I was wrong…the dream, I knew it was a sign
Its a sign that, to go on with my life, I shall not have forgotten you, instead carry a part of you with me, forever…
*******
His name was Ismail bin Jainudin, an elder brother to my father, which made him an uncle to me. As the javanese people put it, I would call him "Wak (Uncle) Mail (an abrrev of his name)"
I remembered I used to get scared of him, since he always played this trick with me. He would smile, and then remove his prosthetic teeth with his tongue, and boy was that dreadful to me!!!
"We’d be friend! We’d be friend!!" he will always repeated this to me. And when I was small, I always found it annoying. I befriend him, alright, but after all, his my uncle. You dont be friend with your uncle. You got to be his niece.
Only several years later I found out why he keep repeating those words.
You see, my uncle dedicated all his life to take care of OTHERS. I learnt from my dad that he was in army sometimes ago, but decided to quit when he found my grandparents needed him to take care of them. He’s incapable of hurting anyone, incapable of denying anyone request. He was a gentle soul. And I’m sure as hell he could be one good father and husband.
Only that, he never got married. I dont know why. I never knew why. And all these time, I had never asked him. I thought its impolite. So i burried the question deep down. And I assume he did that just because so he could have his full time taking care of my grandmother and my psychosis aunty.
You see, my grandfather had long been dead even before I was born. My dad had siblings of 10, and while most of them had migrated somewhere else, Wak Mail determined to live in my grandma’s house for the rest of his life, taking care of his beloved mother. One day, my aunty psychosis kicked in, and the hospital couldnt do anything more to help her, so they sent her home. And my uncle took her in.
He used to work in a chicken slaughterhouse I remembered. And whenever I got the chance to visited my grandma’s and him in our village in Sabak Bernam, he would make sure there’s always two chicken served for dinner. He’s not a great cook though, so he’d bring them in and my mom would cook it for us. And I knew he loved my mom’s fried chicken, fried rice, and fried bee-hoon so much. He uttered it several times to me " sedap betul Izah (my mom) punya nasik goreng ni.."
When I had my circumcision ceremony, a celebration was made in my grandma’s house. And we are forbidden to have chicken for food (they believe it would turn the wound into some purulent process), but my uncle knew better I guess. He knew its all "old-peole" saying, and he would sneak me some chicken now and then 
I think I’m his favorite niece. My dad had said this once to me, and even my near cousin. Of course I didnt believe this earlier, but thinking back…it might have been..
Like my first comic book, unlike other kid who got it from their dad, I found the joy of reading comic book from my uncle. He bought my first comic book - a vol.1 Kitaro-budak yang nakal- a malay translation of a japanesse manga. I remebered holding the thin comic forever, caressing the grey-blue cover. I recalled I read it like hundreds of time before the 2nd volume would be out next month.
And he bought me the 2nd volume too, an orange-yellow cover with some advertisement against durg-abuse at the back of the comic book. He always knew I love to read…and read what I do all the times when I visited him.
When its my bedtime, I loved to sneak into his corner, where there’s a mattress and mosquito net hanging over it. I love sleeping in those small contained space, surrounded by mosquito net. It felt as if it’s my own kingdom. a space where no intruder can get in. My kingdom. My space. Only that, of course, I shared it with my uncle and he used to tell me bedtime story…not stories I remind you, since he always keep telling me the same story of a black hen and her chicks. And more than often, the stories did not finish as either it is me, or him who fallen asleep first
And he farted really loud. That used to get me laugh my ass out. He didnt care if that is impolite or anything, he will fart out loud. And I would giggled everytime. Now I got to think, did he do that in purpose, just to make me happy? I guess I would never knew.
He’s a heavy smoker, and he stuffed his own tobacco inside a roll of paper. "Rokok Kertas" how he’d put it. I used to help him cut the bunga cengkih, and took out the tobacco, but never to roll the paper. I rolled the paper ugly, and once he did have to smoke my ugly hand-made paper cigaratte, I think he did that just out of sympathy to me I stuffed too many tobacco inside, and the paper unroll before he could finish smoking it. I loved to burn the paper and release it out of the window, seing the burning paper falling down like a meteor.
We had a coconut plantation around my grandma’s house. And whenever I visited him, he’d be out searching for young coconut to be served as my drinks. He would never forget to find a bunch of banana’s too at the backyard, and he would travel all the way to the nearest grocery store to find me an ice-cube to quench my thirst with a cold-young-coconut drink (My grandma’s home never had a refrigerator, never was, never now, not ever)
I think he’s one of those guy that sacrificed everything so that people around him will be happy. I remembered he never got married, but I couldnt erase the moment of joy I saw in his eyes when my psychotic-aunty found the love of her life (though the marriage didnt last long). I’m not sure whether its a well of tears of happiness, or what..but by the way he smile, I knew he was happy.
I didnt remember when he stopped that annoying "We’d be friend" exclamation. I guess its somewhere when I was in high school. Maybe he saw me as an teenager then, not only a kid. And I regretted I grew up too quick, because I stil love him nagging me "we’d be friends" and the chances to sneak up into his corner during my bedtime. Of course at this time, he’s stop farting out loud in front of me, and there’s no more "the bedtime story"
And I also didnt really remembered when he start to fell sick. It was years back though, before I finished my SPM paper did I recalled he would go to and fro for hospital visits. Or maybe it was later, I really didnt remember..
If one thing he hate, that’s medication. He’s proud alright that I’m a medical student, but its just not him to stuff some unknown chemical ingredients into his mouth. He would take the pills (sometimes up to 10 at once) since he had multiple organ problem, it started out as late-stage Diabetis Melitus, and he never knew what it was. It was then complicated as macrovascular angiopathy, and that….that…led to multiple organ failure..
The last time I met him was last summer. God had must given me a sign, since I determined to visit him and my grandma eventhough I had to take the bus (its not school holiday, so my parents couldnt find the time to bring me back during my summer break). I remembered buying groceries to fill up the kitchen (he always do it, but now he’s semi bed-ridden). I remembered pouring up water from the flask beside his mattress. This time, I sneaked into his corner, but not for a bedtime story. This time, I sneaked in to check whether he took his medication accoring to the regime. I weighted the packet of medicines, and I knew he never took it correctly…
****************************************
It was sunday, and I was here in Volgograd, calling home (the last time I called home was like month ago, before I departed to Italy). The last time I called, my dad told me that his condition is stablilzed. Grave, but stabilized. For some reason, doctor couldnt do a peritonealdialysis manipulation on him, and his kidney is falling all the time. He went for hemodialysis multiple times, but soon he got tired of it I thought.
I called my mom, and asked about him casually.
Then it happened.
I felt my knee weak.
I almost fell out of the balcony.
I stammered.
And out of the corner of my eyes, I felt my cheeks got warmed in the chilling winter wind…..
HIs been dead almost 40 days ago, out of cardiac asthma. My dad decided not to tell me, worrying it might ruined my holiday mood in Italy…
************************
I caressed the present I bought for him in Italy. For the last time, I looked at it, before I throw it out to the ever flowing Volga river. I hope it would flow and carry it to him , though I knew that was second to impossible. But alas, I would hope hard enough..
For some, they would see my uncle as a regular man. He didnt accomplished much, He didnt own big car, and not even a house to himself. He worked in a slaughterhouse. His hand was calloused and hard due to the hardwork in his coconut field and the rabbits cage.
But for me, he accomplished much that anyone ever thought. He’s a man of kind heart and a gentle soul. If his dream all this time is to take care of my old grandma and his younger sister, then he turned out to be successfull. He’went away now, but my grandma is almost 90, and the only health complaint she had is a cataract..
There’s a saying "heaven is under a mother’s sole" …and for that reason, I had not a single doubtness that he’d enter the Jannah as a great and respectful man.
I had a childhood with this man. A great man who taught me that love could surpress wealth, women, and everything else. A simple man who all his life is dedicated to happiness of all people around him. A rich man in respect of his manner, and was a wonderful "father" to his niece…
Of what I am now, of the collection of comic book in my room, of all that can be considered noble in myself at this moment, and of my wonderful childhood, I cant deny he was all part of this..
And what I am now, is a part of him….
********************************************************
Last two nights, I had a dream.
A dream that answer my one single question to you all this time
"I knew everybody happy with you, but in the end, are you happy??"
I looked up at your edematous face, your pallid face
And then there’s the smile. The smile that answered all my question.
The smile that all my assumption about you before this is true.
The smile that explained why you never get married.
The smile that ensure me, that your love never failed anyone..
And the smile that told me, at that time when I was selecting your souvenir, you was holding your last breath, thinking of me…
A smile that told me that I passed him, even only in our thoughts, that we passed, and we do manage to say goodbye
I woke up. And in between the cold winter wind that seeping through my window slit, I felt my cheek warmed with my own tears..
Only that its not a tear of guilt like 50 days ago…
Its a tear of relief…
Al-fatihah……
