I am writing this because no cousins of mine are going to read this. If you are my cousin, go away la, please. I'll treat you to mercun when we meet.
Once upon a time, in a land not quite far away, there was a young feisty little lass returning home after nearly a year abroad.
She played, humored and mingled with her beloved family, long-lost friends and pesky school juniors [no offence, kiddoes. I really love you guys.] for nearly two whole months with once a while glance towards her rotting Physiology book.
She too, managed to brush up on her lethal driving skills and meet up with pseudo-nice dentist for a somewhat terrifying scaling job.
Nearing the end of her stay in Malaysia, she and her family returned to their villages to celebrate Eid with the country folks. She hoarded her endless supply of keropok into her cargo bag and dutifully left behind several important essentials; such as her clamshell hair-clip and a gift of Quran from her teacher.
Oh well, she mindlessly shrugged. I can always bully some kind, pretty and helpful neighbors to haul them back for me. Or so she thought.
Nevertheless, they safely arrived in Perak.
Since there were so many aunties around, she was spared the fun-filled kitchen chores. She could be found running around chasing cousins and hugging their teddy-bear figures. Or by her opah listening to her view on life.
When night fall and chubby cousins were left to rest, she huddled with aunties who told her what families were up to.
Kak Ila was engaged to some Ipoh-based guy. Abang Iwan and Abang Rizal were married; the latter currently in Indonesia. Abang Azrul's son has dermatology issues. Abang Saleh's new bike was stolen; the poor soul still paying the monthly installment. Angah is planning on joining her in Egypt. She had an annoying second cousin who is too smart for his own good.
And Abang Yan is working for Ateh, helping him with his palm oil plantation and endless orchard chores.
But I thought he was a mechanic.
He was, Chik Na said. Until his boss called him to work during lunch break when he was at home, feeding grandpa. He quit the job right there and then.
Oh.
Being the over-indulged observer she is, she cannot go even for a day without a subject of interest. And hers that day was that older cousin.
He was tall, lanky, a simple-dressed fellow of jeans and t-shirts, had a bulb of moustache and barely-there goatee. He played dangerous firecrackers with glee; setting a nasty example on the little kiddies and earning an earful from the skemarama miss goody.
He was your typical rural boy with just enough education, who worked his last drop of will for a living. Who stayed with opah and atuk to care for them when he could just make his break with the army. Or stayed close to his parents and many siblings.
She was your abnormally sane suburban girl faking Tourette syndrome who read medicine as serious as she was chasing chubby baby cousins for a hug. Who sometimes was irked with her immature siblings and lashed out laden with vain.
Who came back for two months after ten months of absence just to act like she cared.
Now she felt awful for giving him that earful.
So true was the words of Allah from surah Al-Hujurat;
Let not some men among you laugh at others:
It may be that the (latter) are better than the (former)
[49:11]
Verily the most honored of you in the sight of Allah
is (he who is) the most righteous of you.
[49:13]
She stood up from staring through her cousin's back and sat next to her atuk, starting a conversation just to hear his voice.
It was time to depart for Melaka and they were saying their goodbyes and take-cares and please-pray-for-me.
He returned from fishing at the river and she sincerely thanked him [for teaching me a life lesson in silence] and apologized [for that nagging on those awfully loud mercun. Though I must say, you'll lose a finger one day. Haha. Okay, I was joking.]
They settled into the cars and the folks waved. She slowly, almost reluctantly waved back.
She looked at each and every one of them. Committing that moment to memory. Her mind flicked and she felt like crying.
Is it worth it?
Stay alive until it is, then.
