Saying goodbye

I’m afraid I might forget, so I’m writing this down sitting here, next to the charging port with face beginning to drench with sweat although I just got out of the shower not long ago.

It’s my second day, and last night here in the Bukit Puchong Felda settlement, and it has definitely been an eye-opening experience. For one, I’ve never been to a Felda settlement before, regardless of the times I’ve read (and memorised) it from my Geography textbooks.

It’s not easy to do justice to its beauty in words, but I’ll try my best. Like a lot of rural areas I’ve been to, the spacious and vast area captivates my heart and soul, attracting me to the endless greeneries and wider skies (hence I often joke with close friends that Inner Mongolia is my calling). Yet, like how I often forget, the beauty of something lies not on the surface but within the facade.

It reminded me of home. No, not the noisy, suburban warmth in the touristy Malacca, but the growing town in outskirts Johor that was once just dirt roads left unsealed alongside rundown yet homely homes near the long abandoned rubber estates hidden from plain view by a growing town.

It reminded me of carefree days where I need not worry of how my mum will throw me alone in kindergarten; it reminded me of the days I ran like a wild cat chasing my cousin’s bicycle; it reminded me of waking up to the chill of vintage marbled floor at the crowing of cocks and croaking of frogs at every nook and cranny of the home. It reminded me of the times I can easily coax my whims and wants with a bucket of fresh tears (well, I WAS the baby of the home) and the times where the older kids often had me tagging along when they went out.

It reminded me of hometown; but more importantly, it reminded me of my grandparents.

When was the last time I went back to Johor?

I can’t possibly remember.

Was it last year, few weeks before finals struck? Yeah, should have been. As of today, it’s been about two months since I’ve last saw the people who’ve held me dearly when I was a baby.

I miss them.

The people in the settlement were kind. They were sweet and easy-going; and as it was part of a volunteer project, we had visits to the homes of those in need. That was the most heartbreaking part of the journey; having to sit with those left behind while their younger generations run of in pursuit of advancements in the city. Some were injured, some stayed alone, some couldn’t even sit up straight.

One cried when we stepped into his house. To be really honest, it pained me. Why were we there, disturbing their peace in the first place? That was my first thought when I saw tears rolled down his eyes. We may have meant well, but at the same time, all of us forgot how our attending to their lives in such huge masses (25 of us) put them in embarrassment as they displayed their shortcomings to such a huge crowd. What rights did we have to present ourselves in front of them, youthful and strong, lively and of good health - just to remind them of those that they’ve lost? It was a huge question and dilemma that got me really tired and heartbroken through the day.

At the same time, I couldn’t help but rethink back on my own family. My maternal grandparents lived alone in their homes in my hometown - their kids all over the places and only back home when the long holidays begin. My late paternal grandfather left ten years back (wow, it’s been so long) and my grandmother was alone ever since. The young ones of our likes slowly leave the nest to find our place in the world; but we tend to enjoy the worldly bliss too much we forgot to attend to those we left behind in our pursuit of our supposed freedom.

My friends often remind me of how I can be too sentimental and emotionally-driven at times. Yes, it’s pretty true - and due to that, I get stuck in a lot of moral dilemma at inappropriate times like these. Sighs, I really am lost at a lot of things. One part of me acknowledge the fact that the adults at home would understand how much I yearn to soar in a sky I plan to curate for myself, and the other part of me knows all too well how my grandparents feel when they send us off home with wistful smiles on their faces.

Towards the end of the three day programme, we had to bid farewell to our adopted families. My mak angkat (adopted mother) reminded me so much of my grandmother that I shed unexpected tears while she hugged me goodbye. It was my grandparents at my hometown all over again. Coupled with the time I’ve spent away from home, all of it did wonders with my senses. Yes, I cried. Terribly. I’m horrible at bidding goodbyes, all of whom are close to me would have experience a time I couldn’t say “bye” as nonchalantly as I would have liked to.

“Adat berpisah itu lumrah dunia” : farewells are a part of the daily world. It is an art I seek to learn, to say goodbye properly, leaving no regrets behind. The process may be tough, but I’m getting there, I promise.

-x-