My Dearest Father

11:27am 23 April 2007 I lost my father. I thought I could make it and met him while he was still breathing. It was not meant to be. I was on the plane somewhere above the sub-continent when he left me. I only got to know about it upon touching down in KLIA at 2:40pm as I turn on my handphone and the a short sms from my wife; Innalillah, your dad passed away at half past 11 in HTAR.

I sat down on my 23K seat oblivious to the people around me but the whole thing didn't downed on me yet. I only made it out of KLIA after 3:45pm (the usual delay in the luggage carousel). I raced to make the journey back directly to my parent's house (hitting 140kmh!) in order not to miss the burial.

I only began to cry quietly as I made the last turn into the road leading to the house. As I stopped the car and made the way through the onlooking crowds gathering by the house compound (I could made out some familiar faces among them), my sister waited for me by the entrance. I think I heard her saying something but my eyes were only fixed beyond the wide door while trying my level best to calm her down.

There he was, laying in the middle of the house, the place he used to take his nap in the evening breeze, but this time around fully wrapped in white cotton pieces except for the face. I saw my mum sitting a few feet away, being consoled by the ladies. She was surprisingly quite.

I sat by my father's side, looking at his unshaven face (I can't hardly recall him having so much beard or moustache) and fulfill my promise of whispering to his ears for the last time.