| | Wind Beneath My Wings
I am just back from kampong, visiting my aged mum. It was a long seven hours journey, and being someone who doesn’t like long-distance journey, driving for seven-long hours can be a real torture. The only consolation I must confess, was the good company I had on this journey. Except for my daughter who had to stay back in hostel and prepare for her upcoming Inter-school debates, I had all the other children with me on that trip back to kampong to see my 81 year old mother.
Upon arriving, we were greeted by my mother and Kak Zah, my cousin. I was shocked to see how quickly my mother has aged since I last saw her, somewhat two months back. I suppose it is true that old people are like children, albeit in opposing ways. Children grow up quickly, become bouncier and more energetic whereas old people degenerate quickly, become slower and more tired easily.
It is worth mentioning that my mother has been a career woman all her life. She was a teacher before she retired. During my own growing up years, it wasn’t my mother who cooked, cleaned and managed the household. It was my cousin, Kak Zah. We, the children, were taken care of most of the time by Kak Zah. And like chicks in a nest, we grew up, went to school, passed university and slowly spread our wings to live and work in the city. However, Kak Zah remained back in the nest to care for my aged mother, after having taken good care of us, the children.
Looking back, Kak Zah is someone with a really big heart. She may not have had the opportunity to continue with her studies, but she is wise in life lessons, this much I can testify to. When talking to her, she makes more sense than some educated people that I know of. Kak Zah was married once, but her husband passed away of cancer. She has a child, the only one, who is now in his final year doing Economics at the International Islamic University of Malaysia. Kak Zah faced many hardships to raise her only son. But the fruits of her labour can now be seen.
Truly, Kak Zah is an amazing person. A single mother, a cousin (to us), a niece to my mum…However, what makes her so special is the fact that she has never asked for anything in return. Kak Zah has contributed to my family in more ways than one, but never has she demanded anything in return for her deeds. In recent years, her patience has been tested time and time again by the antics of my aged mother. Then again, that is what you’d expect from someone 81 years of age. My mother is constantly grumbling about how the food is never to her taste, how the house is never as she wants it, how the lawn is never attended to. And Kak Zah has somewhat fitted into the role of my mother’s “sparring partner”. Theirs is the typical love-hate relationship.
Kak Zah may not realise it, but she has, all this while, been the backbone of my family. As a son, I feel ashamed of myself. I have in the past offered my mother to stay with me, but old people have this certain affection towards their own home. And the person who has been there with my mother all this while is none other than Kak Zah. The reason I am writing this entry is to record my appreciation and thankfulness to Kak Zah. She may never get to read this blog, and even if she did, she may not understand a single word, but I still want to write this small tribute about her. To quote kenakelayan, “...you will come across people who will leave you increased in some good way or other, and you keep a part of them with you forever. These are baraka people”. Kak Zah, I want you to know that you are one such person. May Allah bless you for all that you have done for us. You may never make the headline news or attract widespread attention. Heroism is not reserved only for the namemakers, but can also be found in many lives that are richly filled with the little, common, everyday courtesies, the loving acts of kindness and helpfulness. These are the things which count so much in the long run, and for that Kak Zah, you will always remain in my heart as my hero.
Kak Zah, thank you, thank you, thank God for you - the wind beneath my wings. |
