Siapa Di Hatimu

His Departure - His Last 'Celebrated' Birthday (cont'd)

Eversince that day, I couldn't help but wondering.

"Why me?"

I did want my father to be cured. I wanted him back home. In a way, I kept promising to myself that I want to be a better daughter if he got well.

I never asked my mother nor my father, how true was the news. Because I never believed in it.

I never wanted to.

----------------------

Monday, March 16 1992

I felt I needed to get his birthday present. I had never bought him anything. A pen would be nice. He could use it for work. Or anything else.

I couldn't find anything nice in the school bookshop. Nothing appropriate. So I decided to get it later after school. Went for my religious class and went to a nearby bookshop. I picked out the most 'expensive' pen. 'PaperMate' silver pen. I got the auntie to help me wrap it up because I wanted it to be perfect. Went to the cards' section and checked out the cards at the 'Birthday Wishes' headings. I was never good at understanding the words of those cards. I chose the simplest one, with no elaborate illustrations. Very simple. Even the words were just a few lines with a simple birthday wish.

Got the present wrapped, with a tiny blue ribbon attached at the upper right corner and all paid with my 'hard-earned' savings.

With my ever so untidy handwriting and poor grammar, I wrote;

"Father,
Today is your birthday the 43rd. I hope you like this card and a present.
From,

Your Daughter."

It was almost six when I reached home. He wasn't back from work yet. I showed to my mum and she suggested putting the present and card on the table. So, I went to his room, put them into place and had my shower.

I thought I heard him came back when I was in the bathroom. Thoughts were running in my mind. Not sure if he liked it. Or would I get a scolding instead. My father was the thrifty kind. He didn't like money to be spent unnecessarily.

Got out from the shower and got dressed. Then I was called to his room. There, I saw him in front of the dresser's, in tears. I was kinda worried. Then he just hugged and kissed me on the forehead. Silence.

I wanted to cry too, but didn't know what for. Somehow, I managed to hold back my tears. Then, I tried breaking the awkward silence by telling him where and when I bought it. Looking back, I wasn't supposed to tell him that. Oh well, what kind of conversation would you expect a nine year old to to make at this point of time? I didn't asked whether he liked it or not. Mother came in. His tears was drying up as I left the room.

Then I overheard him saying to mother, almost starting to cry again.

"The elders never bought me or even wished me anything. But she got me a present."

A sense of pride came over me. I smiled. Well, my elder siblings being boys, weren't sensitive about these birthday issues. I smiled not because I made him cry, but because I was already planning what to get him the following year. I planned to get a wallet.

I saw father already putting away the card and present he unwrapped. I couldn't remember whether did he thank me. But at that age, 'Please' and 'Thank You' were like the 'must say' words. But I wasn't bothered with that. Most importantly, I made a difference.

The day went back to normal. We had our dinner that together that night. That was pretty much about my father's 43rd birthday 'celebration'.

-----------------------------------

The day I thought that I would repeat the same episode; getting the present, except for this time, a wallet, never came.

Months after his passing away, mother wanted to do a little bit of tidying up on father's table. She got me to help out. In one of the drawers, I found the card that I gave him. I opened and read the card. Recalling back what I wrote. I saw something unfamiliar written on the card.

"To my loving daughter,

Thank you for the thought, present and card.

Ayah"

I cried. Not because of the words. If he had just thanked me 'verbally', it could have just made me feel appreciated then. But the thought that he 'thanked' me in writing made me cried. Because he might had known then that he's leaving.

The first, one and only time.

To this day, I keep the card and reading it can easily brought tears to my eyes.

----------------------------------

People say, when someone died at a certain age, they remained that young.

But to me, father has grown old with me. 14 years passed, and I'm still his little girl.

Father could have retired by now. Just enjoying his 'golden age'. Playing with his grandchildren most of the times. That is nice. And he would fetch me from work if the last train had departed.

Ayah,

Happy 57th Birthday,

Your Loving Daughter,

Zihah..

Thursday, March 16, 2006 at 11:07 AM in I do remember ur birthday..., In Within Me

Cover Letter of Résumé to the Potential Employer

To whom it may concern;

Dear Sir/Madam,

I am responding to the ad for the vacancy in the post in your company. I am very much interested, thus this letter.

As much experience is needed, I have none. Neither the academic qualifications.

In recent years, I have been job-hoping a lot. Even though, in school, we were warned that job-hoppers have the least chances to get a job secured.

The longest I ever stayed in a company was eight months. Even that was a part-time job in the sales cum service industry. The only kind of industry that would accept people like me. People who don't care about the check but still slavering days and nights. People who just want a job. People who just want to exchange time for money.

I am an absent-minded, forgetful, always late, unfocused, and most probably, 'all the other bad things you don't want to find in your next employee' person.

I could be doing one thing, and in the midst of it, my attention would be wondering somewhere else. Somewhere else where my mind tends to frequent a lot.

But I am honest enough to admit to the traits mentioned above, because I don't want to be the hypocrite telling all my good points, only for you to discover that I am not that great afterall.

I do need guidance at all times because I am a born-learner. I will never get bored of learning new things and old ones. Thus the name given to me. 'Jake of all trades, King of none'. I am a 'passionate' worker though. Putting work before all else. And that explains my declining social life and family ties.

I enjoy being a good service to others, only if they appreciate me. I have had my fair share of experience with nice and nasty customers, colleagues, superiors and acquantainces. It helps, as an individual, to analyse things from the eyes of others. But when things get pretty bad, I quit. The cycle will just go on till I find a new job. Most likely, I'd land on the same kind.

The only excuse for this habit of mine, I still can't figure out what I really want to do. My circle of friends are taking off with their careers, studies while I am stuck here writing a résumé for a job I barely understand because I desperately need a new job, because my current work environment is no longer 'fun' as it used to be.

No special reasons, if there was it would just be something to heightened the pride, which usually is false. So here I am offering my service to the company, which if I may, in return expecting the employer to cure my 'disease'. I may not worth the money to be an employee in the company, but I am worth something else. Something. The truth that others WILL NOT mention but I did.

A million thanks for your wasted time on reading my letter. If there was any message that I am putting across that couldn't be understood, I very much would love to help u verify.

Attached are details of my academic status and recent years of job-hoping.

Thank You.

Regards,

KIMzzy

:)

P/S: Do treat it as a prank from an unknown job-seeker in case you chose to ignore my application.

His Departure - Falling Sick

A good friend of mine got married a couple of months back. Witnessing her dad perfoming the solemnization, brought tears in my eyes.

I often imagined that if my father was still around, life would be much better. I lost my father at a young age. From then on, I had suffered. Emotionally.

No one ever figured that out. Even if they did, nothing was done. They let me grew by myself. To nurse the wounds caused by my father's departure. To fill that emptiness by myself. I never felt anyone helped me in these. I had to grow up. I had to accept the fact. All by myself.

I was a 'Daddy's Girl'. I made him proud. Among the siblings, I achieved the most academically. I had the passion for reading. He'd take me out to book fairs, which he never did to my elder siblings. He'd not be worry of me for not doing my homework, whereas he'd be checking their bags every other nights.

I was the most talkative one. Asking questions non-stop. Stupid questions too. I'd stopped when I'm tired. And when he wasn't around.

That fateful night, I thought I heard him cry. Went to the living room. I saw mother was crying too. Being an emotional being, I started to cry too, without knowing why. I put away my books and sat next to him. He hugged me, tightly. I cried even harder. I asked why, but couldn't figure out what was told.

The conversation between my parents went on when my tears was drying up. I was still guessing. I heard the words 'sick' and 'cancer'. As I learnt in school, cancer means death. And so I concluded. My father was dying.

It was like a live drama in front of me. I cried. Way back in my mind, I knew he will get better. He used to be hospitalised a lot due to heart problems. And this would be no different. He would get better. That night ended there.

He would get better.

I must had forgotten about last night's episode. My father went to work as per normal. My mother did her chores as per normal. And I went to school as per normal. Life was back to normal. I knew he would get better. Everything was normal. Except for those late nights hushed cries.

Weeks passed, and he was missing work a lot. We were always going out. My mother would be accompanying him. The three of us. I missed school too because no one to take care of me at home. My elder siblings went to school though.

Our outings were to the hospital. I never really asked what was he down with. I saw the x-rays but didn't know what they meant. Those were chest x-rays. Must be the heart problems again I thought.

"It will get better. Like it always does."

One night at the dinner table, I saw the yellow envelope that was always seen at the doctors', lying on the kitchen cabinet. We finished our dinner. He took the envelope that was within his reach and took out the contents. It was the first time for my siblings.

Father explained to them. Ambience changed. The eldest got up from his seat and went to the toilet. The other just sat there with tears welling up in his eyes. Mother tried to keep busy clearing the dishes. I sat there wondering.

Everything was quiet later. Everybody doing their own things. Parents were in the room. Doors opened. Cries was heard.

Next thing I remembered, my father was hospitalised the next week. I visited him every day after school with mother. Few days later, he was discharged.

I remembered his health was deteriorating. He coughed a lot. He coughed till there was blood. Sometimes, I wished I could helped him to stop coughing.

Fasting month came. I had to move in to my aunt's because mother had to accompany him in the hospital. But I couldn't visit him. No one was free to take me there. I can't go back to my own home. Elder siblings weren't fit enough to feed or clothe me.

When father was discharged, he always had visitors. Old neighbours, old friends. Relatives that I never saw at family functions. They all came. Well wishers. I enjoyed their visits because they'd bring food and sweets. Flowers too. Those were nice to decorate mother's kitchen. At least she didn't need to buy. When leaving, these people would come up to me and tell me to study hard. Go to good school. I didn't need for them to tell me. I knew I would be a university grad one day.

By the way, at that point of time I thought my father had already cured. His appetitte was much better than ever. It felt like we'd reached the happy ending. But only for weeks.

Father was hospitalised again. And I was sent back to aunt's place. I still went to school. In school, I was just the normal girl. At home, I was a nightmare. Throwing tanrums, sulking, beating my cousins if they were in my way. I'd called my father in his ward. Whether I was in school or home. Telling him what I did. What happened in school and so on. I didn't really wanted to talk to my mother. She would always not let me talk to him. Excuse being, he was resting. I hated my mother for that.

One weekend, the day which I was supposed to visit my father, my aunt told me she can't. I was mad. Really mad. I threw things here and there. I didn't care if I was at someone else's place. I was promised that I'd be taken to my parents on weekends. I was begging later. At least take me home.

But my plead was falling on deaf ears. I took my bus card and was determined to go. I didn't want to stay there any longer. I didn't care that it was near to my school. I just wanted to go home. Sleep at home. Take care of myself. Do breakfast. Go to school. I'd eat at school. Go home. Study and go to sleep. In my home. I felt I was capable. I missed being at home. I missed being bullied by my siblings. I missed them.

But I missed my father most. Thousand times I planned to go to the hospital by myself. Why I didn't do what I did, I couldn't remember. I was afraid I'd get scolded.

My cousin sent me home that night, but was sent back by my siblings. Reasons being, no one to take care of me. I broke down again. Before I knew it, I was back at my aunt's place. So much of getting my way.

I remembered this. The following Wednesday. Its been more than a week. I usually called my father in the day or evening. But I was missing him terribly that I picked up the phone receiver, and dialled the number. I merely just wanted to talk to him. Asking his conditions, telling him that I was going to school already.

My mother answered. Asking when was I going to school. In a while was my reply. I asked for my father.

"He's sleeping."

I insisted to talk to him. I asked her to wake him up. She wasn't going to pass the phone to him until I heard him in the background.

He came to the phone and called out my name. Almost immediately, I broke down and said "Ayah, I missed you."

There was silence. I heard him saying, almost crying, "I miss you too." I told him how much I wanted to see him. I was crying over the phone uncontrollably. He couldn't talk anymore. He passed the phone to mother.

"Why did you make him cry??"

I heard him in the background and then mother told me to get my aunt to the phone. I was still crying. Then the phone was passed back to me. He told me, I didn't need to go to school today. My aunt would bring me to him. I stopped crying. I was excited. If other children's choice was a treat to MacDonalds', mine would be the visit to my father.

My aunt pulled a long face, complaining she had thousand tasks to complete. I was guilty for making her days endless. I even felt more guilty knowing she was five months pregnant. I volunteered to go by myself. But she was responsible enough not to allow that.

That day was like one of the happiest day in my life. Being able to tear myself away from the routine life I had for the past weeks. Not to mention, I could see my father. However father told me, that was going to be the only time because I couldn't be missing school too much. I agreed, furthermore, holidays were near, and I could stay in the hospital with him too. But if he was well by then, we could even spend more time at home together.

I knew he was getting well.

Holidays were here. But father wasn't getting that well so the stay in the hospital was prolonged. As planned, I stayed in the ward. With father and mother. I saw the doctors and nurses came in and out at interval times. I saw them putting the mask over his face. So that he could breath better. Sometimes the people who came in, didn't want me around.

I made friends with nurses. They were friendly, and pretty too. Their station was near my father's room, so I hanged out there a lot. I saw a small notice board. There were a lot of 'Thank You' cards. I asked what were they for. After explaining I told them that I would write one for them. In fact, I would make them a big nice card. I love arts in school although my talent wasn't really one to be proud of. I told them, that I would do it once my father was well. And since its the holidays, I would have pretty much a lot of time to do it.

One fine night, most of my aunts and uncles came. Paternal and maternal. Not all at the same time. Some in the morning, in the day, in the evening too. Both my siblings were around. Father was much better then. He joined in the conversatians. He joked too. I felt, everything was perfect then. Everybody seemed happy. Everybody was talking to each other. The only thing that was wrong, it should be at my home.

I remembered it was almost nine thirty. Most went back. I was asked by my eldest aunt to stay at her place. I looked at both my parents. They didn't seem to have any say. I said no. I wanted to stay back. Slowly, my parents were persuading me to follow her home. I kept on saying no. Then, I was pulled aside by one of my fiercest uncles. No one said no to him. I was doomed, I felt. He asked me nicely at first, but I still said no. I kept refusing to go back with her. He said my siblings would be going back to my aunt's as well. He kept persuading me a couple of times until he widened his eyes.

"If you want your father to get well, go back to Mak Long's."

I didn't want to go, but I did want my father to get well. By then, one of my cousins said to me that I could sleep in her room. I cried a little, said goodbye to my parents and went off.

In the car, I didn't talked much. I sat at the far left of the backseat. I just looked out of the window watching the traffic passing by, the buildings. I was staring into space. They were all talking, but I didn't pay much attention till my aunt mentioned about my father.

"He is too ill. He's at a critical stage now. His sickness can never be cured."

I was angry.

"He is doing fine. What is he down with? Why can't they find the cure? Why didn't anyone tell me any of these? Why didn't father tell me?". Tears rolled down my cheeks as I let out a soft cry.

My cousin must have heard me and told her mum. Then, there was silence. My aunt asked if I had eaten.

I had always knew that my father will get better. And he would be at home again one day, teaching me Maths and made me cry because I made a silly mistake. He would be up till two or three in the morning playing his billiard game on Nintendo. He would send me to school on his Mondays day off. He would take me to book fairs. He would take me to Sabah where he had brought the rest of the family except me. He would happily received the news that I would be in EM1. He would teach me to play the harmonica that I didn't know how to play but still bought it anyway. He would be there talking about my progress in school in the Parents' Meeting Sessions. He would explained me things others couldn't be bothered about. He would see me graduate out of the university. He would see me taking off with my career as a teacher. He would marry me off to a man. He would be there to play with his grandchildren. He would do everything for the only princess in his life, that he gave a name to.

"He will be better."

But the news I just received, seemed to change everything. I knew I wasn't prepared if he were to leave.

I wasn't prepared. Never prepared.

(to be continued)

Tuesday, March 07, 2006 at 12:13 AM in In Within Me

Miss U

I missed e times dat we spent by the beach

Spending late nyts in ma bed

Listening to u strumming e guitar

Putting ma sleepy head to sleep

I missed e times when I had to wake up early

So dat u'll get to work on time

Heating e water for ur bath

Making tea while u wait

I missed e tears dat u caused me

Wif ur loving gesture tender n care

E sweet lil notes on ma desk

Dat u never fail to write me everynite

I missed e laugh n joy we once shared

Sitting under e tree swing

Wif castles built in e air

Wif dreams ambition for us to get there

Ironically...

I never missed u at all..

I never missed dat person in u..

I never missed dat love u had for me..

So now I am searching..

Wat do I really missed..

Oh well..

I jas missed myself being in love..

Wif dat sumone..

Dat sumone who'll spent e tyms at e beach

Dat sumone who'll make me wake up early

Dat sumone who'll caused me tears n laughter

Dat sumone who is isn't u

Cos I dun miss u..

I really dun..

Thursday, March 02, 2006 at 02:45 AM in In Within Me