Sup3rnality

They say that during Ramadhan, our dearly departed walk among us.

No one comes to the fore of my mind more than my grandfather. My maternal grandfather. Atuk. Tok Ayah.

Left alone, in the silence when my thoughts wander far and wide, I often think of him. Wondering what would he think of me if he sees me now... Is he proud of me? Disappointed? I'll never know.

I never got to know him well, he died when I was about 5or 6. But I remember the way he slept. The way he talked. I remember his room. I remember his voice sometimes, although for the most part, he was a very quiet man. I remember the plane ride when my mother and I rushed back to Kelantan. I remember my mother crying. I remember how he looked like when he was laying motionless, wrapped in kain kapan. I remember as they carried him out of the house to his resting place.

I was his first grandchild. He awaited my birth with so much anxiety, so I was told. And he loved me so.

My fondest memory of him was when I was about to turn 5. I celebrated my 5th birthday in Kota Bharu, and all I could think of was presents (toys, presumably) and cake, and games and much fun. I couldn't understand the significance of when he took me to his room and presented all his meagre possessions with a sweep of his arm. He asked me what I wanted from his room, that I could have anything I wanted. I remember an alarm clock on his bed, tasbih beads, a yasin and some knick-knacks. I probably thought, why in the world would I want any of these things? What would I do with them? Who is he trying to kid? And I never gave him an answer.

He passed away within the year... And I understand now that he wanted to share a piece of his life with me, something to carry me through when he's not around. A part of him that'll be with me even if he's not. I sometimes think he's still waiting for my answer.

I think of him sometimes. A memory flickering in my mind. And during these days of Ramadhan, I sometimes wonder if he is watching me. What does he think of me?

I never got to know you well, Atuk (I'm the only one who calls him that. Every other grandchild of his calls him Tok Ayah). Never had the chance to really understand you, talk to you, walk with you... I wish I had the time. It's been many years since the last time I saw you... But I think of you often. And I miss you.

I ask you, what do you think of me? Your answer is all silence, for I need not know the answer, I know myself to know the person I am. Perhaps it is my answser you are waiting for...

The end of Ramadhan draws near. So does the time for you to return. I pray you'll only be welcomed again into the soothing arms of rest, not torment. InsyaAllah I'll visit you and offer you what is worth of my doa.

I love you.

Love, Hazlin~