…second time we’ve moved out.
the first time had that hint, dare i say threat, of leaving. but it turned out to be a false alarm. we moved out to only a stone’s throw away. this time though, it’s for real. then again, prior to where we were living, we moved around a lot. i remember being part of half of the moving. we were in a different state for several years. so, i’m quite perplexed as to the shock my body is experiencing from the move this time. and, not like i wasn’t told or given a chance to say my piece.
i think i’ve been under a certain kind of emotional disorientation ever since that decision to move was made. and now, i can admit that i was clearly in denial. though i couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on but my emotions lead my actions. i spent almost every night with my friends this last one month. though it’s the holy month, and i should’ve spent it at the mosque praying (in hindsight, that’s probably the right thing to do), yet i would be out for good, 2 to 3, sometimes 4 hours a night just drinking and chilling with my friends. no, not friends. family.
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it was heavy…weighed down by a lifetime of memories. all my life, i’ve only known this place.
it has grown into more than just a post code, more than just a house, a playground, the neighbourhood corner shop, a school, etc. over the years, it grew into that place where i fell running chasing after a football when i was nine; that place where i bust up my knee trying my hand at skateboarding when i was fifteen; that corner of the street when I flirted with the girl from that street after mine at 16; it grew into that place where I found an almost full pack of dunhill reds and experimented with cigarettes, and got addicted thank you very much. it grew into that place where the kitten i just found shat in my hands. that kitten eventually became my pet, cici iii. it grew into that place where I first got my license and crashed my car the first time. and it also became. it became that time when i used to gorge down three whole chickens after school 3 times a week; it became that time when i would rendezvous with my best friends to just hang out knowing that our parents would kill us if they ever found out; it became that moment when we shared a laughter over something which i can’t remember what now, but it was really funny because i remembered we laughed so, so hard. and then, there was that time i got into a fist fight just because my friend was jumped. and, of course, it became that time when i splashed hot water at my mother when she came to visit for the very first time (in seven years) after their divorce. there were also those times when i kissed, when i lied, when i cheated, when i listened, when i struggled. it became that time when i left as a child and came back clueless. it grew to become that place in my life.
and my life grew to become in that place.
i’ve always been known, even introduced myself as the guy from this side of town. everywhere else outside the four walls of this valley starting from jalan semantan, pj, mrr2 toll penchala and bukit damansara/bangsar/kiara; seemed like a different country. i knew not; the roads, the air and the people. but within this valley, i knew everything and everyone. even when in school, I spoke with slightly different english; always had that different point of view; couldn’t really get down with the boys at school because i didn’t go to the same tuition place, or played truant at the same snooker centre, didn’t stalk the same girls as them and didn’t understand the inside jokes. i often drew that certain reaction from people whenever i mentioned where I lived. although i waited at the same bus stop as them, yet, when the number 21c intrakota bus came, I was the only one to get on it. the others boarded the number 20 or 23 pink minibuses.
i insisted that i didn’t want to be chauffeured back and forth to school anymore. i reasoned that at that age i should be doing things for myself and that i wanted to be independent. when in fact, i just wanted to be able to hang out with the mates after school, to do things that a normal kid would do while waiting for the public bus, like whistle at the girls as they passed by, lepak at mamaks, smoke cigarettes in the alley behind the primary school and so forth. apparently, that’s where my miseducation started. and rightfully, i became independent.
but as soon as I stepped off the bus, everything changed. here, even strangers seemed like family. and they still do.
i’ve always said, i’m a budak kampung. and ttdi/damansara is my kampung. kampung, not in the sense of wooden houses with attap roofs and washing by the well; as opposed to living in brick houses in the concrete jungle of the city. but “kampung” in the sense of blinkered perspective with a certain air of complacency in the comfort of the surroundings.
remote.
removed.
detached.
so, making this move has been one of the hardest steps in my life, just like every other time i had to say goodbye. For “it”, was the only home i ever knew.
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and almost every night i fought, quarreled or had a cold-war with my dear dad. i didn’t help with the packing at all. and i just only managed to clear my room and my stuff. i don’t blame him for being angry. i was wrong. unfortunately, it is that plain and simple. but, i was in denial. i mean, the fasting and my laziness just made it all that easier to not pack. or actually, more like not accepting the fact that i’m leaving….
this time, like those other times, my emotions overwhelmed me when i had to say goodbye (only this time, i didn’t rationalize it as saying goodbye). perhaps i’m known to be slightly melodramatic, which i can be at times. what i mean by saying goodbye, is not the kind where “yeah, i’ll see you later” kind of goodbye. but the kind that you know you are saying it because there is as much a probability that you will never meet again. it usually happens with other persons; the saying goodbye. this time, it’s saying goodbye to a life.
you know, i’ve always had this nagging memory. i remember when i was six years old, i just came back from a trip to indonesia. wow. but none of my family members came along. only me and arwah nenek (our maid for a life time too. yes, i cried when we sent her to the airport. hey man, she was with the family even before me. so, go figure). i was playing, like any other six years olds are wont to do; when i was called to the living room. all that happened was, my dad standing to my left, and my mom came rushing at me and barraged me with kisses and hugs while being teary-eyed. she wasn’t crying. that, i remember. but she must have been because her eyes were as red as the evening sun. i, was, confused. i didn’t move, i didn’t react, and i didn’t hug back nor kissed back. i just, stood there. when she was done, and this is the part that has nagged me throughout; i continued standing there but i was thinking, why? what’s happening? is…she…leaving? and then, i turned around and ran up upstairs to resume playing.
perhaps i haven’t stopped playing. whenever i’m asked, if the divorced has affected me, my textbook answer is “i was too young to understand when it happened and now, i’m too old to care”. such is life…. i’ve already figured out why i went to indonesia then. they didn’t want me around during the final divorce proceedings. well, ok. they were considerate i suppose. i’m not sure if the outcome would’ve been different if i was there to witness it. but, i didn’t cry. i was being said goodbye to, to a wholesome family. being six years old, i probably should have bawled my eyes out. instead, i just stood there, frozen.
now, i’m saying goodbye again, to another life; to a life i’ve known all along. and some things don’t change like me handling this as badly as when i was a six years old.
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shit, i probably should get back out there and help these movers carry the stuff out.
damn, they're done.
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