Serikandi Tun Fatimah

It’s funny how when you call someone you’ve not met in 10 years and they instantaneously know that it’s you. That’s what happened today; when I finally got round to calling a long lost senior from school (thanks to Noni who made this "jejak kasih" possible). I just said hello, and she immediately recognized my voice.

What does that tell you? That I don’t sound like a mak budak.

Ehem.

On a more serious note, it is lovely to hook up with long lost friends. Especially those from the days of Tun Fatimah. I have to admit my guilt of not being so actively involved in school reunions etc..etc.. It’s just that I find these meets, sometimes, to be rather pretentious. People are more interested in the car that you drive, the position you hold, rather than the person you are today and how the years away from school has changed you or not. And for these reasons mainly I stay out of these meets. I can’t hold a fake smile on my face for too long. It’s too energy consuming. I prefer to hook up in smaller groups and engage in true heart to hearts which I find more fulfilling.

That said, school was fun, with a capital F. I mean, imagine living with friends for 5 whole years? Sharing rooms with 10 to 15 other shrieky, pimple popping teenage girls? Sharing tears and laughter together..some, even shared underwear on bad days! Then there were the “school” stuff that really made us the proud STFians we are. The brass band that toured all over the country winning competitions, the hockey team that was the reigning champions for I don’t know how many hundred years (actually it was 15 years or something like that), the inter school debates and the Piala Perdana Menteri yearly where every boarding school would meet to vie for the trophies and where in cases of all girl (or boy) schools like us; some of us would have a taste of our first cinta monyet with the guys from the Malay College or the Royal Military College etc.. Now that I think of it, it’s hard to stop myself from gagging! I mean, what were we thinking then?

Then close to heart still, are the girls I met there, those I learned to love for the lovely people they are with fantastic personalities to match and those who I know are my friends for life. Practically sisters, in fact. No matter how long we have not met, no matter how different we are now and most importantly, no matter how much weight we have gained, we’re still great friends. Those are the friends who saw you grow from a scrawny little comot 12 year old to a budding woman of seventeen. Those are the friends you ate with, slept with, shared stories, hopes and dreams with. And those are the friends who’d recognize your voice instantly, through a random unplanned phone call, even though it’s been years since you last spoke.

I suppose my absence from all these meets will make some think I have forgotten school and the five glorious years that we were there. Don’t get me wrong. There’s still a Serikandi (oh that’s what we call ourselves, for glamour, oomph and to sound like kick-*ss women) burning somewhere deep within me. She’s probably been in a comfortable slumber all these years and needs a little wake up call. This year seems appropriate indeed as the school celebrates it’s 50th anniversary. Maybe I will make that trip back to school this June and see whether I can remember how it feels to be 17 again and reaffirm to myself that much of the Serikandi spirit still burns within me. Afterall, it 's got a lot to do with the person I am today.



P/s Is it scary or is it scary? As I bloghop, I tend to find myself landed in the blogs of ex-STFians hiding behind some name or another. How interesting it would be if I could find out whether I actually know all these girls just as how I connected with Noni through this blog. Who would have thought that she was the long lost senior who stuck three fingers down our throats during choir practise so that we’d sing better, mouths opened as wide as the Batu Caves. Or so they say. I think they just found it a cheap sadistic thrill doing that to juniors. Sheeesh. (Noni, you know I sayang you and I still takut kat you as I say this.) So, just for the heck of it; those of you Serikandi’s out there..raise your hand PLEASE??

Scaredy Cat

If there’s anything good about having a husband apart from having a companion and lifetime supply of ehemehems, it’s probably the sense of security having a man beside you gives. Well, for me, it's definitely that. I know I’m beginning to sound like a whimp of a damsel in distress or a really sayur of a woman who can’t live without her man beside her, but it’s true. Feeling safe is actually priceless. Not the emotional kind of security, but similar to the kind of security that security guards give you. You know, the feeling that no matter what evil attacks, you're in safe hands and that all you need to do is stand-back, relax and watch as he fights off all the bad guys? And that you can safely snooze off into a deep comfy slumber knowing that you're protected? You know what I mean.. Yes?

When N is away on his work trips, like he is tonight, I get overly insecure and the feeling is unbearably overwhelming. Suddenly, I feel this huge burden on my shoulders that the safety of the whole household rests on my shoulders. It's such a big job that it's scary and I’m telling you, it ain’t funny. I’ve got to make sure that everyone especially my boys and the property is safe..from the bad guys. It isn’t midnight yet, but I have already walked out to check whether the gate is closed TWICE. I have gone down the same number of times to check that each door and window has been shut and bolted tight. At nights like these, I lament, why oh why, did we decide to go all “American” and not have grills installed on our windows! Nevermind the alarm system wired around the whole house, tonight I wants grills installed please! And at nights like this I long for the comfort of having security guards like those at the apartment we used to live in. No worries about bad guys breaking in with parangs, machetes and what have you. Oh, and let’s not start on the orang minyak and gang, please!

Tonight, just like all other nights when N is away, the maids and the two boys ALL camp in the bedroom with me. Thank God, the boys think it’s fun (and so I don’t lose face as the scared lil mommy!)..something like a little pajama party with the bibiks. The handy old golfstick rests discreetly by my bedside ready for me to use in case of attacks. The house will look like it’s on Deepavalee mode, with all the lights on. Garden lights, fence lights, all the lights downstairs, all the lights upstairs and even the TVs too.; everything is switched on. Well, almost.

Funny, I never feel this way when he is here. It’s not like he sleeps with guns around his waist nor does he even remember that he even owns a golf stick. He doesn’t even practice martial art of any kind. Plus, he hardly does rounds around the house to check the doors and windows when he’s at home. I do it. But at least I only make one round if he is here not twice like I just did and normally do when he’s away. What makes this worse is that I won’t be getting any sleep tonight. With TV blasting away and all the lights on, how can I sleep? Give me my N and his snores any day, I won’t mind as long as I don’t have to be Head of Security of the house!

Wail! Wail! Wail!..5 more hours before 6 a.m when the bad guys go home and I can go off duty and get at most 1 hour of sleep before I head off to work. Looks like I’ll be completing all the crosswords on Women’s Weekly for the rest for the night. As for now, I gotta go check the doors and the windows AGAIN.

Goodnight y’all!

Welcome to the Family

A while back, our Mak Lang passed away after suffering from the Big C. It was heart wrenching for us to watch her day by day deteriorating and slowly losing grip of life. All the while the family was with her, at the hospital holding her hand, rubbing her legs to make her feel better, reading the Quran to soothe her and when we were not there, she was always in our prayers. She still is.

Never once leaving her side was Pak Lang. Coaxing her and fighting the battle with her with soft words of encouragement and appearing strong and optimistic for her as though everything would be ok although the doctors had told us, that it was just a matter of time. Whenever I visited her, I could not help but shed tears. Not only because I was sad for Mak Lang who had to bear the pain, but for Pak Lang too, who left everything, just to be by her side. There wasn’t anything that he would not do for her. He read to her, he held her hand, he took in all the anger that Mak Lang let out due to the frustration that the pain brought. Never once did he complain, never once did he say anything hurtful to her back but instead he just smiled at her and stroked her thinning hair lovingly.

The day came when she left us. Pak Lang was left alone, suddenly without what it seemed like, any direction in life. His wife who had been his sole purpose in life was gone and it seemed like he did not know what to do with himself anymore. He was no longer the Pak Lang we knew. His smile was always paired with tired, sad eyes and he never joked as he used too. He walked with a subtle slouch as though he carried the world’s hugest burden not having Mak Lang with him and he was like that for a long, long time.

Last week, after a few months of not seeing him, I met Pak Lang at my home for dinner As he stepped into the doorway, I was pleasantly surprised. Gone were the lonely sad eyes, gone was the slouch he carried and he bore the huge, warm, cheeky smile that we remember so fondly of. He was back! As I hugged him and welcomed him into my home, I saw a small figure hovering behind him. He turned towards her an introduced me to her. “Anedra, this is your new Mak Lang.”

I had heard of the news. In fact Mak Lang’s (the old Mak Lang) family had been very much a part of pairing the two together. I was in shock as I wasn’t prepared to meet her. Being the naturally over loyal person that I am, I couldn’t imagine him being with another woman. Not that it was anything I had a say in. It was something I sort of ignored for a while. So, ss I faced her and put my hands out to salam, I just said, “Hello Aunty”. I think Pak Lang expected me to address her as "Mak Lang", but I just couldn't get myself to. It was too abrupt. I hadn't rehearsed it yet. I wasn't ready. But it was strange though, I couldn't stop stealing stares at her. She looked a lot like Mak Lang, only that she's a slightly younger version.

Throughout dinner I felt like breaking into tears. Seeing the new Aunt brought back memories of old Mak Lang and made me miss her so. I wish she were still alive for me to hug and kiss and stroke her hands like we did during her last final days. And memories of her having late night coffee with us on our terrace seemed so fresh in my mind, it hurt. But then I saw how happy Pak Lang was and how gentle, mature and caring the new Aunt was with him. I knew he would be in good hands. And although she looked almost like Mak Lang, she was very different from her, in a nice way. I was happy for him. Perhaps this is one of God’s ways of rewarding Pak Lang for all that he did for Mak Lang before. He deserves this happiness.

She won me by the end of the night. Looking at Pak Lang so happy and back to his normal self was worth having to accept this new lady into the family. Anyway, I’m sure Mak Lang would have wanted this too. It’s not as though she is replacing Mak Lang, she’s just a new addition to the family, just like a new cousin or something like that. Our Mak Lang will always be there, in our prayers and in our thoughts and always very much a part of the family.

They shall be married soon. I still don’t know when I can call this new Aunty “Mak Lang”. Perhaps I never will. But that’s not really important is it? I have always believed that we only get one chance at life and we ought to be happy. So if this is what it takes for Pak Lang, I’m all for it. So to the new Aunt, come ere. Lemme give you a big welcome hug!