Nothing Rhymed (CsH)

Got back about 4 hours ago after nearly a week in Singapore. Throughout the 6 hour journey my mind ranged over what I've been doing and am putting these thoughts down before I lose them in a much needed sleep.

Firstly , I had to undergo a medical test at a Government Polyclinic for the 'renewal' of my driving licence - which in itself is a good thing, before I celebrate the venerable age of 65 next year. Basically it's to certify that I am physically and mentally (?) fit. Come to think of it, the doctor was very chatty and engaging. She talked about her elderly patients who are short of money and short of care from their children. She believed that children nowadays have been spoiled and regard their parents' sacrifice as a right rather than a privilege. I couldn't help but agree and I did enjoy that little natter with her. And so , I guess I must have shown her that all my marbles are intact. There was also an amusing test where I had to walk by placing one foot in front of the other without looking down. And this had to be done forward and backward! And yippee I passed. There will be another test when I touch 68. I hope to do just as well, that is unless I get certified for something else.

Tuesday the 16th was the date given for the verification of my brother's and father's graves at Pusara Aman, Choa Chu Kang before the exhumation sometime in February. I acknowledge why this had to be done, but it doesn't make the procedure less painful.

The officers who were handling the procedure were efficient and sensitive. After the registration I was given a numbered badge to pin on my blouse and to await another officer who will accompany me to the said graves. At each grave an orange label was attached to the headstone with my name and the names of these two much loved and much missed men. And that was that!!!

I realised when I got back to Jai's flat that I had failed to carry out what I normally do when I visit the graves. That episode on Tuesday had left me with numbness and disbelief, in fact it was quite surreal, like I was having an out of the body experience. I went back to Pusara Aman the next day and said my prayers for both of them. I scattered a mixture of yellow and white and purple petals and a packet of bunga rampai which was a free gift from the flower lady. She had been selling flowers at Pusara Aman for as long as I can remember. I noticed how she had aged and in her I see a reflection of how time has taken its toll on me as well.

I told my abah not to worry for I will be there when they move him and I also said to Akim that all will be well because he will be at abah's side. It all sounds soppy because as a Muslim I should realise that the soul takes precedence over the corporeal. But since 1974, visiting these two little plots of earth keeps a physical link between them and us. You could touch them when you visit and when you say goodbye until the next time that is.

As a last act of defiance, I plucked 2 red leaves of the Daun Jenjuang (Cordyline Terminalis) from Akim's grave . It was planted by my late mother on her son's grave. I also picked from the side of my dad's grave 2 wildflowers - the Ketumbit Jantan (Cupid's Shaving Brush) and the Malu-malu (Mimosa Pudica). I took them back , lay them flat between layers of newspaper to dry and to store in my pirate's chest at home.

For the plaque, you were given 16 characters only including spaces. I had to abbreviate Abdul Hamid bin Jala to Abdul (space) Hamid (space) Jala, sum total 16. Wonderful!
Mustakim bin Abd Hamid was reduced to Mustakim (space) A. (space) Hamid, again a perfect 16.

Years ago we heard stories that Johor will find land for the burial of Singapore Muslims when the Republic runs out of space. It remains just a tale and anyway Malaysia has to take care of her own, allocating large tracts of land for the resting place of some of her multi-racial citizens. Maybe in a hundred years the same fate may fall upon my dad's motherland . I hope not because it's not nice. As for me and my family, the head has to accept but the heart rankles and grieves. Nothing's right, nothing makes sense, nothing rhymes.

Nothing physically, recklessly, hopelessly blind
Nothing I couldn't say
Nothing why 'cos today,
Nothing rhymed.

by Gilbert O' Sullivan

Thanks to hanselgretelhg for the video
Thank you Jai, Lely, Mary (Lely's mum) and Oi Bek for being steadfast and true.

I am, I said. (with thanks to Neil Diamond) (CsH)

It's been a long hiatus. Am now back in KL leaving behind a beautiful, golden autumn - leaves drifting to the ground in Victoria Park but not enough as yet for leaves-scrunching walks. I do miss the seasons even though it's not as cold as it used to be. The cycle of spring, summer, autumn and winter not only gives a regularity to your life pattern but it allows you to move from expectations to hopes. In the depth of a cold winter when your nose, albeit a flat one, freezes; when the bed is cold for the first half hour and your frozen feet make your spouse yell when you accidentally or sometimes wickedly kick his legs ; you cannot wait for spring. When spring comes, your heart sings with the freshness and the colours and the cheery light. The first flower you look for is the snowdrop. My late neighbour Eva had them in her front garden and I wait in eagerness for it to bloom each year. I think of the 'baby' snowdrop in the frozen ground and how it knows just when to rear its head upwards to tell the world there's hope, for spring is just round the corner. When Shah, my brother's boy, was just a little toddler living in Hull where his dad was studying, it was the sight of the snowdrop that helped him to recover from his asthma. When he started kindergarten, he would get home late because he had been picking wild spring flowers for his mum, like the daisies and buttercups. Years later, when he was 17/18 ??, he came to stay with us for his Easter break from University and he could still remember the crocus, daffodils, pansies, violets and many others. Childhood memories and knowledge; you never lose them.

But here in KL, the achingly-beautiful call of the azan brings a similar sense of hope and peace. We have been having so much rain lately, lovely and loud and brave !!. The lightning especially, cuts a line across the sky and we just love to sit and and stare, but sometimes we feel guilty when we think of the motorcyclists and pedestrians who have to travel in that heavy downpour.

Our stay this time is also for undertaking disconcerting family duties. The graves of my father and brother in Singapore are now going through the process of exhumation. They will be reburied with several others in a smaller plot. It has to be done because there isn't enough space for burial gardens in Singapore. But we will so miss the visits to each plot where the little shrubs that my late mother planted have kept going for all these years. How fortunate are the people of Malaysia, where graves , including the larger plots for non-Muslims are left untouched.

It's good to be back in my neck of the woods, but I do miss my other home . And I do feel lost "between two shores".