My big brother - Part 5

I thought there's going to be only three installments of this but oh boy, I was wrong. Perhaps it's better to have shorter entries, but we're going to have many. Anyway, thank you for your patience. It's not easy traveling back in time virtually to capture our emotions back then and the chronology of events, but I try.

What I could gather from my mom after that first telephone call was that my late brother and his friend had a fishing boat and he earned his living from the sea. I could never imagine him as a fisherman although we've rode in motorboats together a few times during flood season or in the Triang river. Our relative who stayed in Labuan at that time also claimed that my brother looked a bit thinner and a lot darker. She also told us that during fasting month my brother went for tarawikh at the nearby mosque quite often and visited her and her family a few times. After this relative left Labuan and my late brother stopped calling home, we didn't hear about him for a while. So, we didn't know what he did next. Did he stay living as a fisherman or tried other things.

Although we couldn't trace him, once in a while and usually on Raya Eve he would call my mom. Just to ask how we were doing. Then my mom would ask his whereabouts and if he's coming home. He always told her he'd come back when he's ready. But for the mean time he still had work to do.

Between 1990 and 1995 there were a few communications with him. Sometimes he called, sometimes he gave us a number that we could call but usually those numbers became invalid after a month or two. We suspected he was still on the move.

In 1995 my mom told me over the phone that a lady from Sabah called her to tell that he was my late brother's wife. My mom was confused and didn't understand her intentions. The lady talked to my late father. She told him that they were married but my brother left her when she was pregnant. She had a miscarriage soon after that. My late father was so worried and upset. It was not easy for him to accept that his eldest son left home in 1988, then suddenly there was this lady claiming that his son neglected his wife. My late father's health started to deteriorate that year.

Not long after the phone call, my mom spoke to my late brother and demanded to know the truth. He told her that it's true that they were married but only for a while. He divorced her because she was using false documents. It turned out the lady was from The Philippines and entered Sabah illegally. My brother felt deceived because she told him that she's a Malaysian and to avoid any problem with the authority, he decided to divorce her.

Later that year, my late father had his first major heart attack and he was in the ICU for about two weeks. I was sitting for my exams then. My father passed away in 1996, 11 months after the attack. I watched him breathed his last breath. My mom, my second and fourth brother were also there by his side during his final moments. My third brother was 10 minutes too late. He was driving as fast as he could from his house in Felda Rentam but when he arrived, my father was gone.

There was a huge crowd at our house that day. Friends, families, acquaintances and neighbors came to pay their last respect. At least half of them asked whether we've informed my eldest brother about the news. It just so happened that it was the period when we lost contact with him. We just told them that we'd inform him  whenever he called.

So, my late brother was the last to know about my father's death. When he learned about it, he didn't say anything other than 'Innalillah..' He knew he'll never get to see his father again. His silence didn't tell us anything but I thought he might be staring at empty spaces for a long time after that.  During one of our phone conversations later he asked me to post some of his old pictures with some of his friends. I took a few from his old photo albums and I slipped in another photo in the envelope. It was a picture of late father taken in 1993 carrying one of my nephews. I prayed that when he saw that photo, it would remind him about a few things he's been missing in his life.

.... to be continued (lagi..!)...

My big brother - Part 2

My late brother, Zulkiflie Sulaiman stood at almost 6 foot tall, had always been overweight for as long as I could remember and he never complained about the food our mom prepared. His appetite was always good, if anyone was having eating disorder, they could just sit and watch him ate, and they'd feel hungry immediately. He was one of the people in this world who really appreciated food. When our mom cooked chicken, he'd even chew the bones. If you served him fish, there'd be just cleaned bones left for the cats.

The last memorable meal I had with him was in KK. My family went there for a short vacation and he treated us at one of the famous seafood places. We had fried garoupa, buttered prawn and a very special rice, I think it was called garlic rice. He was telling us about Sabah food and how different they were than the food in Pahang.

When I was in primary school there were two famous Zuls in the kampung. One was Zul Tompel and the other one was my late brother, people nicknamed him Zul Gemuk. If strangers met me on the bus or in town and asked my name, I'd just told them I was Zul Gemuk's little sister. Then they'd say 'Aaaaah, koi kenal abang awok...' and they'd share at least one of the things that they remembered most about him: some silly incident or some of his funny remarks.

My brother made many friends and they all had great memories of him. Many of the older Makciks and Uwans in the kampung were very fond of him because of his warm personality. I noticed he'd usually greet the older Uwans with 'Amboi, lawo betul wan kita hari ni yek. Nok kone melawo ngat ni?'

I remember when I received the offer from KPM to study in STF JB, my parents were so worried because we had no relative and didn't know a single soul in JB. Luckily, my late brother had a friend who happened to have a sister living in JB. So, one night, two days before registering myself at STF, my late brother drove me and my mom to the train station in Triang for the night KTM MEL train to JB. His friend's sister greeted us in JB and brought us to her house. She also brought us shopping for my school needs somewhere in Tampoi.

About a month later I decided to go home during the CNY break. When I booked the ticket, Kak Normah (the garang sick bay lady ) told me that the train won't stop at Triang because it was such a small station and she had never even heard of the town name. I was so stupid to believe her so I bought the ticket to Mentakab. We didn't have a telephone at home then, I could only contact my late brother at his office. So, the afternoon before my train back I told him that I was not sure which station I could go off. He told me he'd wait for me at Bahau station at around 4a.m.

That night, once the MEL train reached Bahau, I looked for him through the window but he was not there. It was a short stop, so after about 2 minutes the train started to leave the station and that's when I saw him with a few of his friends waving at me. I couldn't go off there and then because the coach was too crowded and the train had started moving. I saw them running towards his car.

When the train reached Triang station I quickly looked around and suddenly I heard him screaming my name. I hurried to the coach door where there were people sitting and standing half asleep. The train was about to leave so I jumped onto the platform and ran towards my late brother. On our short journey home he was telling me how fast he drove from Bahau to Triang to make sure they didn't miss me again. He was almost breathless when we reached home. Now everytime I watched The Amazing Race, I'm always reminded of that night. That was like the sweetest thing someone had done to me (chasing a train with a car - macam cerita Hindustan pun ada.)

... to be continued....

My big brother - Part 1

I know some people Googled for my late brother, Zulkiflie Sulaiman and was directed to this blog. As promised, I will try to share with you some of my earliest memories of him.

When I was in primary school sometimes he helped me with my homework, usually the English subject. Since he was from English education background, he liked to challenge me with grammar questions. For instance, on his way to the bathroom he would ask me, 'Have you a) see b) saw c) seen the newspaper?' And being a primary one student, I would crack my head to guess the answer. He would give the correct answer and asked again, 'Cikgu dah ajar ke belum tu?' Well, usually he asked advanced grammar questions, things that I hadn't learned in classroom. So, his pop quizzes somehow helped me a lot to do my own research. We live in a kampung, no one spoke English. My only source was TV and my family. When I was in Standard three, my English teacher challenged me to answer the Penilaian Darjah 5 English paper and I scored an A! I remember telling it to my late brother and late father. My late father looked proud, but later he asked me, 'Kenapa tak dapat 100?' Hehe...

It was also the two of them who bought me my first typewriter in 1985 when I did well in Penilaian Darjah 5. I suspected it was my late brother's idea to get the typewriter. I would have asked for a BMX instead. So, my late father taught me to type, and once I completed the month long 'course', my late brother gave me a few assignments. He brought home a few sample letters from the office and told me to type them - complete with 2 carbon copies! There were a few mistakes, and he told me to re-type - no blanco allowed. It turned out those were real letters he was going to use. That was the moment I realized I would never ever want to become a secretary when I grew up.

My late brother used to work in a bank in our hometown. I was not sure of his position but I heard he had to handle computer related works. When I was in Standard 4 (1984) he brought home a weird looking equipment, a weird looking keypad (which keys arrangement were similar to a typewriter's) and a thick photocopied book entitled BASIC programming. He connected the weird looking equipment to our TV set and we got a different screen! First I thought it was a video player, then he told me it's a computer. I remember the first BASIC program I tried from the book, the QWERTYUIOP keys produced music! The weird looking keypad became a keyboard (well, two years later I learned that IT WAS called a keyboard).

When people asked about my late brother, all I could remember was the fun things he did. He had many friends and well known in Temerloh, Kuantan, Jerantut, Triang, Bera, Kemayan and all the nearby Gugusan Felda. He's always been described as the fun, warm, helpful, bright, passionate but sensitive guy. Yes, he was a bit sensitive. My late father told me that if he scolded him, my late brother would sulk for days and refused to talk. However, my late brother didn't get angry easily, he didn't like confrontation, involve in fights or argue with people. His greatest gift was he could mix with people from all walks of life, young and old, beyond race and religion.

Talking about fights, I remember when I was in Standard 6 (1986) our nearby kampung was flooded. When there's flood, many people would come out to join the 'flood fiesta'. It so happened that a group of youngsters from one kampung was having verbal fight with the boys from our kampung. One night, there was a big fight. The boys from both group met somewhere and brought a few dangerous weapons along.

My late brother came back early that night. He rushed to tell my mom what had happened and how my 2nd and 3rd brother were punching and hitting the other boys. He told us all the details. So, my mom asked him, 'Diorang ni bergaduh, awok bergaduh jugek ke?' And then he answered (whenever he spoke to our parents, he would call himself Li), 'Li tak bertumbuk, Li nyuruk belakang kereta nengok diorang. Li ada pegang pengayuh perahu. Kalau ada orang datang kat Li, Li cadang nak lebas dengan pengayuh tu jek.' My mom couldn't help but laugh. She knew my late brother wouldn't ever got involved in fights. Later that night, my other 2 brothers came home with swollen knuckles and some other bruises.

They got some well deserved lecture from my parents for getting into that stupid fight but a few years later, the only thing we remembered was 'Li nyuruk belakang kereta sambil pegang pengayuh perahu'.

The young hearts

Farewell Antonio Puerta. It was an untimely death. Your family, friends and fans are mourning. Although failures of young hearts are quite common in sports such as football, many still don't quite understand how is that possible? Are sportsmen taking designer drugs? Tongkat ali overdosed? Trainings that are too streanous? Insufficient rest? Chronic depression?

The internet news and the papers list many other similar cases of footballers who collapsed and died on the field (some made it to the hospitals, and died there). Some died during training sessions. I hope there are no such case of reserved players collapsing while warming the benches.

As I write this, I couldn't help to think about my late friend, Azeman who died at the young age of 26 on the football field. They said, he had cardiac arrest too.

It was back in 1999, he was going out with my then housemate, Rossa. We happened to work in the same company and the late Azeman was also my senior in uni. I must admit that he was one of the cutest engineers ever graced Excebix office. Many single female staffs noticed and admired him and Rossa was the lucky girl to made it to his heart.

They were planning on getting married as the late Azeman was setting aside some money to buy a car and other necessities as preparation to settle down with Rossa. He was from Sarawak, so the family members were there and at the time of his death, he hadn't visited them for many months.

I could still recall my last meeting with the late Azeman. I was preparing my documents for an oversea trip when I bumped into him at the stairs. It was about a month after the big Turkey earthquake, and I happened to be in Istanbul when it happened. When he saw me with the travel papers, he asked,

'Kau taknak mintak maaf dengan aku ke? Manalah tau, kau kena earthquake lagi ke.... Terus tak balik dah ke....' and he laughed himself silly. Realizing all the possibilities and how fragile life is, I answered,

'Eh, betul tu.... betul..... aku mintak maaf banyak-banyak dengan kau Man. Tolonglah halalkan apa-apa yang termakan terminum selama ni. Kalau aku ada hutang dengan kau, kira burn ajelah, ok? Doakan aku sekali, tau!' he just noded and still laughed. His last words to me were,

'Dayang, jalan baik-baik woi! Eh, terbang baik-baik!'

That very night, I flew to Istanbul with another colleague. When we went to the office the next business day, we were greeted with the saddest email I ever received in my whole life, the sudden departure of my colleague and friend, Azeman.

I couldn't cry, I didn't know what to feel then. I was just numb. I remember calling another close friend, Jacqie who was still very traumatized when she heard my voice. We spoke for about 10 minutes, with trembling voices and her sobbing uncontrollably. That was when I learned how the late Azeman collapsed during a friendly football match.

He was immediately driven to the nearest clinic but was rejected because of his critical condition. When they finally arrived at the nearest hospital, it was too late to save him. Since the family members were in Sarawak, nobody could object to the post-mortem which the hospital had to perform. That was when I shed my tears. I just couldn't imagine my friend being opened up, his organs being pulled out and then stitched back. A friend whom we used to have good laughs and fights with was no longer there, and the thoughts of whatever remained of him being cut and sliced, just broke my heart.

My colleagues told me that the cause of death was cardiac arrest. Some of us noticed that the late Azeman was having some health problems but he never shared with anybody on his condition, not even Rossa. She even tried contacting the clinic he frequently visit to get some ideas on what has been going on, but the doctors refused to reveal anything. Until today, his true illness remains unknown to us.

It has been 8 years now, but whenever I hear news of people dying on football fields, my heart bleeds all over again.

Rest in peace Antonio Puerta. Rest in peace Azeman, Al Fatihah.

I will remember you.

Copyright © 2003-2006 Jeff Medkeff, all rights reserved

We used to call you Mr. Valentine, although the B.O.D in your ID stated clearly that you were born on the 16th February. Still, you told us that you dad registered you a bit late, thus forgot the actual date. So, every Valentine's Day we always remembered you. Sometimes we sent you e-cards, most of the times, some short and naughty SMSes to remind you of that special day.
I first knew you during the first semester of our Uni days. Staying in the same residential college and doing the same Diploma programme, we see each other everyday. We became friends almost immediately.
You're one of the gifted people who can just make friends with anybody you met. Always jovial, making jokes, laughing happily and treating everybody around you with special attention. Never once did I hear you making any bad remark on other people, not even complaining. Maybe you were born to love everybody, and we all loved you, in every way.
We shared the ups and downs of Uni life. Making important decisions, falling in and out of loves with a few people, doing assignments, copying tutorial answers, copying each other during exams, failing/passing exams and completing our Bachelor's Degree.
Perhaps luck was on our side, we started off our career right after graduation. Both in the IT industry, but working for different companies. Then we saw and heard from each other less. We had a few reunions, and everytime I met you, you were always the same you. Smiling, making fun of my weight, telling your jokes to the rest of the guys while planning for your next golf sessions.
The last reunion was in 2003, most came with our spouses and kids. Me, with 2 sons then, while you with one son and another on the way. I could see how much you loved your son, who actually resembled you a lot. I called him your clone, and you gave a hearty love, your eyes shone brightly.
Then, about 6 months ago I heard that you were diagnosed with the big 'C', we were all surprised. I heard you had a hard time accepting the fact, kept on questioning, why you, why now? You were in denial for some time but started with the treatment anyhow. I tried to see you but you're always away for treatment during weekends, so we just SMSed, asking how you're doing and your plans.
You were strong, despite the weight loss and the pain, you were still the same you. Sounded positive though scared, only god knows your feelings.
Two weeks ago I received an SMS from a friend saying you were admitted to ICU, one of your lungs collapsed. I rushed to the hospital, yet I was only able to watch you from outside the room. I saw you suffered, too weak to get up but you tried hard to open your eyes while your lips always moving, as if trying to tell the nurses and doctors that you didn't want to be there. I inderstood how you felt, you preferred to be at home with your loved ones. I stood there watching you for almost 15 minutes.
Then, the day before Christmas I knew that that was the last time I ever saw you. You left us in the afternoon. The day was gloomy and sometimes drizzling.I received the phone call from Is sometime after Zuhur prayer. In between her sobs, she told me you're gone ... for good. I gave a long sigh while holding back tears. Finally, then I knew you're in peace and not in pain anymore.
What's hurting so much now is realizing that we'd be using past tenses when discussing about you in one of those reunions, open houses or the coffee sessions that we'll have in the future. We'll always remember you and pray for you. Now, every Valentine and Christmas, we'll remember you even more. You were one of the nicest friends I ever had.

Al- Fatihah.