A Miserable Weekend
My husband’s officemate got married yesterday. The reception was held in a small town called Parit. (Actually, Parit is where my dad was born and raised.) It was a simple and nice wedding. (And nice food too!) Unfortunately, we had to leave early without saying hello to the newlyweds as my kids were getting restless in the hot sun.
Anyway, we decided to drive along my dad’s kampong on the way home. I knew that my late grandparents’ home had been demolished as there was no one living there ever since they passed away. When I approached the ‘home’, or land – I felt a certain awkwardness. I had tears in my eyes. I tried to recall the happy times I had with my grandparents. When we actually got there, it was just too much for me to handle. There was practically nothing left. Not even a single wood or brick or even signs that there had been a house there before. That was the house that I used to frequent in my childhood. I felt even worse when I thought about how my granddad had built the house on his own – time, money, energy – all for his nine children. It was really sad to see all that effort put to waste. Not that we can blame anyone for it. We didn’t even stop the car. My kids couldn’t stop asking me why I was crying.
About one km away from the land, were my grandparents’ graves. We dropped by and read Fatihah for them. By this time, my vision was nearly blurred because of the tears. What would it be for me and my other half 20 years from now?
