Life Is Wonderful

In a moment of melancholy, I sat in my room reminiscing about how good my life is (even though I may not sometime seem like I appreciate it much) and how so blessed I am. So I sat looking at old photographs, reading snippets of old books and largely day dreaming.

After a while, my modern mind snapped out of the funk and decided to do what some 6.2 Million people do when they are bored - Facebook!. A bit of friend grazing and bouts of Pet Society later I recalled my thoughts that I penned down in the notes section. I remember with some clarity of how fragile I felt when I wrote it.

Friday, July 17, 2009. The news of my uncle Wak Dol’s passing tonight was hardly a shock. I mean he has been ill for quite some time, and dare I say it, long time coming. If anything, it would be a reprieve to his family, a release for them, from his prison of his ageing mind and body. No disrespect intended, my mind just rationalized it off as inevitable.


That very evening we made the decision to see him for the last time, as he was to be buried on Saturday morning at 11 latest, and sorted who from my immediate family would be joining.

Saturday, July 18, 2009. At approximately 7am, we set out for Muar, with the intention of seeing my late uncle off. By now, sense of duty had kicked in; he was after all my uncle. If for nothing else, I owe him this last respect.

Along the way, my sister and brother in law joined our journey, driving their car and playing ‘catch me if you can’ with me in mine. Our trip was for the most part uneventful with 2 breaks in Ayer Keroh and Tangkak.

As we were about to reach Muar, on the familiar main bridge over the river, I noticed our cousin and her kids in the car in front of ours. A quick breakfast plan via mobile phones was made and we stopped for refreshments at a shop smack dab in the township. Parking was easy enough to find, strange for Muar. A short revelry session ensued over bowls of steaming hot mee jawa, fresh off the grill satays (Yes, Muarians eat satay for breakfast!) and cups of assorted drinks (among them an Iced Kopi Kampung Cap 434!).

A short bit after, we proceeded to the Muslim Cemetery at Batu 6, and noted the crowd. Alas, he was already interred (or ‘Simpan’ as some Johoreans would say, a variant of the word Kebumi). It was there I found out that he was buried next to his late wife. Apparently, they both had booked their burial plots years ago in their health. Quite sweet really, a love so strong, they wanted to be next to each other even in death.

We offered some prayers and then offered what comfort we would to his family members. Only then I noticed there weren’t that many teary eyes abound. Most were talking of arwah Wak Dol in happy notes, laughing even, of the fact that he was always the happy joyful man, with a HARHARHAR laugh and a smile so wide his cheeks would push his eyes shut. And when he would open them, what kind eyes he had…

There is little that I remember of him, we weren’t particularly close, maybe the distance was a contributing factor, with him being in Muar and us in KL, but his soft eyes, smile and laughter shone like a beacon in my mind’s eyes.

I  hear quiet stories of how his children were happy to have him as a father, of being able to take good care of him, in their individual ways, in his final days. I felt sadness, incredible strength and most importantly, rather unexpectedly their pride on being his children.

Sunday, July 19, 2009. Life goes on, consumed by the comforting necessities and realities that some will say define us. Sleep, Wake Up, Eat, Read…..

Monday, July 20, 2009. I am off to work and I got to thinking about arwah Wak Dol again. I still can’t remember any other bits about him other than what I already am aware of. I do know that he was an instrumental part of shaping a young boy who would finally become my father. Cultivating through words, action and kindness all the bits and pieces.

Being an Imam in life he has led final prayers for countless passings, yet I recall clearly years ago, he asked of us to wait for him to arrive from Muar, so that he could perform the same rites and prayers for my dead father, knowing full well any Imam would have been just as Afdhal. I recall with clarity he had to pause often then, to choke back sobs, as he read the Tahlil. My father must have meant the world to him.

My heart feels so full right now I could just burst into tears, something which I cant identify the why of. Tears seem so strangely worthless to me sometimes, nothing more than drops of salty water as a direct by-product of chemical reactions within me. But how can a man I wasn’t particularly close to make me think so much of my father? Could it be the link that he helped shaped my dad? Or the fact that he loved him too? Or his passing reminds me of my dad? Of how I would offer any payment to just see a glance of his toothy grin, or hear his maddening way of waking me up from sleep with his measured knocking and repetition of my full name at my door? Or to see him sliding the cat aside from the spot where he was reading his newspaper?

There is this crushing hollow in me right now, and I distinctly find this state distasteful, mainly because I can’t seem to pin the cause down. Vacillating between the impulse to cry and maintain composure….

Then I realized, how despite the seemingly pointless existence we lead, Life is about pouring your soul out, as hard and as much as one can, to other souls that pass our time. What it means to be man is to experience the incredible pain of loss, so one realizes that we all should strive to be somebody whom someone else will also miss with equal fervour.

God wasn’t kidding when he said to his angels that Humans are his greatest creation..

Quite clearly, how conflicted I was then, but upon reading it this time, I strangely dont feel the same way. Whatever that feeling was, is gone now. Make no mistake, I still miss Encik (what we fondly called him) rather dearly, but the pain of loss is greatly reduced, replaced by some manner of acceptance, no, let me call it agreement. Agreeing to the promise that life is beatiful in all it's glories and tragedies.

It makes me feel good that when God asked us souls in Heaven who would take up the challenge of going down to earth, choosing to experience mortality over eternal bliss in His comfort, we were among those who said yes. Yes, life can be frightfully short yet so encompassing, or overlong but yet hollow. So here we are stumbling about in this great road we call Life hoping against hope, we will find our way back to Him.