There will be a minute, an hour, where we hope for a miracle even though we know it is just another wishful thinking. But somehow, we need it just for a laugh, to show another side of the world.
I cannot sleep for days since my last birthday as I wish to go back to my childhood days. Sometimes, I lie on my bed and cry for nothing. No, I’m lying; it is actually because I’m missing something. I don’t have a lot of pictures during my childhood but I swear I still remember almost everything. I miss the river near my house, riding a bike around the village, having fun together in the treehouse, lying on the roof and having a laugh with my friends while fishing. Everything was good and simple.
Nevertheless, most of the time, the person who coloured my childhood days was my father. He raised us in a very firm and strict way. There was a garden behind our house, where my siblings and I usually played war games in the sand before hurling at each other. We really enjoyed it even though I often lost.
Unlike us, my father was not too fond of the game because he disliked seeing our clothes got dirty. Also, the fact that some of us cried due to the sand that got into our eyes were not much of help. He would break the delicate tree branches and scold us. Without much time, we ran into different directions when we heard the sound of branches being snapped by him. We prayed silently, hoping my father would not be able to catch any one of us. At times, we succeeded. But sometimes our prayers were not answered when he scolded us at night after prayers. Amazingly, it did not break our spirit of wanting to play again. I have to admit, I grew up with naughty, yet loving siblings that I cared so deeply.
Despite my father’s fierceness, he used to sing a lot. I missed siting in the hut listening to his voice while he diligently cleaned the bird’s cage. I became very familiar with classical songs especially by Ahmad Jais. My father adored him. You may not believe it but my father’s voice is no different from the famous singers back in the 80s.
Most of the time, I joined in singing with him. I have no idea why I was confident enough to sing along with him. Among his favorite song was Fatwa Pujangga (Poet’s Fatwas) and Budi Setahun Segunung Intan (A deed is golden). I guess the reason why he called me Intan rather than my own name is because I am the ‘diamond’ in his heart.
I always had trouble sleeping when I was a kid. I never knew why. My father would gently pat my back while singing Untuk Bungaku (For my flower) which was also sung by Ahmad Jais. I might also be the flower in his heart. To this day, I still remember all the beautiful songs and lyrics. My favorite phrase is:
Sungguh beruntung bunga yang dijaga (How lucky is the flower that has been preserved)
Dipupuk dan disiramilah juga (Cared for and watered)
Oleh orang yang bijak dan mengerti (By the wise people)
When I was a kid, my house was the liveliest house I must say. Since my house has a wide porch almost like a field, many of my friends (all of them were male) came to my house every evening just to play together. We used to play ’rounders’. The one who hit the ball highest was the champion. Each of us had our own favorite wood to hit the ball. Sometimes the wood was taken from old broken chairs. Many times the ball bounced and got stuck on the roof of the house. Sometimes it landed in the hall,in the neighbour’s farm and not to forget, the worst part was when it hit my father’s car. Of course, he was not happy with that at all.
We are a simple family. Raising six children was not an easy task for my dad as it needed a lot of money. My father had a rule where we cannot simply ask for anything more than two things when we went to town. It was either food or books. Eventually, we chose books. We managed to have a series of Doraemon and Conan. I used to like fairy tale books with illustrations even though I don’t know where the books have gone missing now. I stopped reading those books with illustrations when I was nine years old. My father told me that I was too old to read those kind of books. So I started to read novels, poems and short stories. I loved going to the library although I was often chased by dogs after coming back home. And I hated that.
Now, I am 21 years old and my father is nearly 70. My siblings and I have grown up and rarely come home. I lost contact with my childhood friends since we have gone different ways. Wherever they are, I hope they are doing fine. Today, my father no longer need to scold us since we are not interested in playing war in the sand. He doesn’t need to stay up to sing a song for me until I fall asleep. He can stay at Acik Aluih’s stall as long as he wants. He must be glad that those balls do not hit his car anymore. He has no need to worry if I will ask for toys or dolls.
I recently went back home to see my father who still love animals. He has so much love for animals that he has chicken, hamster, goose and cats. Every time I go home, the number of my cats keep increasing. The number increases from twelve to twenty. I don’t know most of their names. It is confusing. I once accidently hit my father’s cat and killed it. I quietly buried it in the backyard hoping that my father will not notice one of his cats had gone missing. But my father did. He knew all of them.
It was quite weird and boring when my father often mentioned about cats. As for my siblings and I, having too many cats was suffocating. We often asked him to let go a few of them. But my father just gave us the silent treatment. One day, we decided to let go some of the cats without his knowledge. But that was the biggest mistake we had ever made. He was really upset and asked us to find back those cats. We were surprised and dumbfounded.
“If you can’t find them, I’ll find them myself,” he said. We just stood there in silence feeling guilty.
I didn’t understand him, until one day, I noticed my back door was opened early morning. I slowly walked towards it. I was worried if there was someone entering my house. I was astonished to find my father sitting in front of his cats, pouring his heart out to them. I was stunned and nearly went into tears. I realised that the cats were not just animals to him. The cats were his companions. They brought him happiness. He valued them dearly.
Only then, I started to ponder. Maybe, just maybe, my father was just lonely… ***
Photo credited to Rumi Facebook Page