The morning sun bathed Bagan Ajam in a golden glow, casting long shadows over the quiet streets. From my balcony, I leaned against the railing, absorbing the peaceful Wesak Day ambiance. Temple bells chimed in the distance, blending with the soft hum of prayers. It was a stark contrast to the exuberant chaos of the Songkran festival just weeks before.
From my perch, I observed the stillness that seemed to envelop the town. People moved slowly, reverently, their actions deliberate as if not to disturb the sacred air. Each gentle movement, each whispered prayer, wove a delicate thread into our communal tapestry, drawing us closer in shared humanity and diverse traditions.
As I soaked in these moments of connection and reflection, Isaac and Chomel approached, returning from the beachfront stalls with breakfast staples. Seeing them, relief washed over me, a stark contrast to the panic I felt that night at Kak Gayah's stall.
Isaac had appeared with a suitcase in hand, his face a mask of determination and turmoil. My heart had raced, my breath caught in my throat. Forcing myself to remain calm, I met his eyes with a steady resolve, even as my legs threatened to give way beneath me.
I reached out, gripping Isaac's suitcase handle with trembling fingers. "Let's sit," I murmured, my voice barely steady. Isaac nodded, and we moved to the table. Clara, ever supportive, silently offered a chair, her presence a steadying force.
Reflecting on that night, I realized the significance. My hands had trembled, but I held Isaac's gaze with unwavering eyes. His suitcase, a heavy symbol of his turmoil, lay between us. Clara's reassuring nod and calm demeanor were silent beacons of support. When Isaac decided to stay, it felt like a fragile victory, a step towards healing.
Seated at the table, I requested an ice lemon tea for Isaac, his favorite. As I introduced Clara, I noticed the tension in Isaac's shoulders relax. Clara's gentle smile and Isaac's controlled breathing marked the tentative start of a fragile peace.
When the ice lemon tea arrived, I pushed it towards Isaac, shattering the silence. Clara stood, her hand a comforting presence on Isaac's back. "Em Jay, I have to attend to something. Isaac, let's catch up sometime," she whispered, her departure leaving us in a quiet bubble of reconnection.
After Clara left, Isaac slid his phone to me, the screen glowing with a WhatsApp message. I adjusted my glasses and leaned back, feeling the seat take my sudden weight. As I read, my heart sank—his fiancée was asking for a breakup.
I recalled their engagement announcement and remembered meeting her in Bagan Ajam a few years ago. Isaac had brought her to introduce her to me, and I had given them my blessing.
She seemed like a nice, decent girl. But as I scrolled through their conversation, my heart broke. She had cursed my son, sending him intimate photos with another man. The recent photos he received shattered his ego, challenging his sense of self.
I put the phone down, tears streaming from my eyes. I removed my glasses and picked up a tissue to wipe my tears. Taking several deep breaths, I tried to steady myself, then took a sip of my now cold coffee.
Without saying a word, I wrapped my arm around Isaac. In that moment, no advice seemed adequate. "Let's go home and see what we can do," I whispered, offering my silent support.
With a forced smile, I waved to Kak Gayah's team, grabbed the suitcase, and held Isaac's hand tightly, mirroring Clara's comforting grip from earlier. Together, we headed home, seeking solace in each other's presence.
That night's walk felt endless. The apartment seemed miles away, my mind racing for a perfect solution. Should I, as a father, confront the girl directly? Should I call Isaac's mother, blaming her negligence for this turmoil? Or should I reach out to a friend in Johor to act on my behalf? Each step was heavy with uncertainty, but my grip on Isaac's hand never faltered.
Memories of arguments with Isaac's mother flooded in, the heated exchanges that led to our breakup. The emotions were raw, amplifying my guilt as both a husband and a father. Should I have taken a different course of action, perhaps Isaac wouldn't be suffering now. Each step towards the apartment weighed heavier with regret and the overwhelming desire to make things right for my son.
Arriving home, Isaac went straight to his room with Chomel tailing him. I dropped his suitcase beside the settee and collapsed onto it, transferring all my burden to its cushions. Leaning back, I folded my arms behind my head and closed my eyes, still searching for an answer. My mind was like a laptop, rifling through folders and keywords, seeking a rational solution.
Then, a memory surfaced—a moment when I came to terms with myself, how I moved on and carried on with my life. The realization of what shaped me into who I am today. It gave me strength. With renewed resolve, I moved to my room, washed up, and called it a day—a very long day.
The next morning, I readied myself, determined to face the day with purpose. I went to my desk and wrote a note on an A4 paper in capital letters: "GET READY. WE ARE GOING SOMEWHERE SOON AFTER YOU WAKE UP." I slipped it under Isaac's door, then prepared a simple breakfast—toast with kaya spread and a cup of black coffee, Kopi O. I settled on the balcony, waiting patiently.
Remembering I hadn't touched my mobile since yesterday afternoon, I walked back to my desk. The power was drained, so I plugged it in to charge, then returned to the balcony. Moments later, Chomel's meows pierced the morning silence before fading. I smiled; the girl must be hungry. Glancing inside, I saw Isaac was already in the shower.
I went to the kitchen and prepared him the same breakfast as mine. I set it on the balcony, ready for when he emerged.
I decided to take Isaac to Penang Hill (Bukit Bendera), a 40-minute drive away. To reach the top, we rode the special train. Once there, I led him to a quiet spot nestled within a bushy area, away from the crowds.
From this secluded place, Penang Island spread out before us. We sat on the grass, the vast expanse providing a backdrop for the conversation I knew we needed to have.
"Years ago, after you and your mom left for Johor, whenever the burden of that separation felt too heavy to bear, I came here. The height seemed perfect for ending everything. I would sit here for hours, sometimes even sleep here if I missed the last train down. The weight of my emotions was so intense that, at the foot of the hill, I often thought, 'Let's end it today.'
"But when I reached this spot, the tranquility, the scenery, the freshness of the air cooled me off. One day, after your mom remarried, I came here and realized something. She had made her choice, and it wasn't me.
Yes, I was frustrated, but I understood that the three of you still needed me. No matter what your mom decided, I still had a responsibility as a father. I couldn't sacrifice my own blood for my selfishness.
"That was the defining moment that changed me from a frustrated, blaming person into who I am today. I may not be there with you all the time, but my duty as a father must continue.
And now, I want you to find that same strength within yourself. Life throws us down, but it's up to us to get back up and carry on."
Isaac's tears began to flow. He bowed his head, curling his body and hugging his legs tightly. I put my arm around him, pulling him close in a comforting embrace. We sat there quietly, letting the moment work its way through him, offering the solace and strength he needed.
While waiting for breakfast, I continued to soak in the tranquility of this Wesak Day. The serene atmosphere, coupled with the gentle sounds of nature, provided a soothing backdrop, allowing me to reflect on the newfound connection with my son and the peacefulness of the present moment.
My daydreaming was short-lived. Chomel jumped onto my lap, rubbing her body against mine as if relieving her own longing. It wasn't just Chomel that interrupted my thoughts—there was a familiar woman's voice coming from the kitchen.
No need to guess further; I knew it must be Clara. What surprised me was whether she had waited purposely until Isaac got home or if it was just a coincidence. Whatever the answer, I smiled at it.
Soon, I heard footsteps approaching and the sound of a chair being dragged. I pretended to be deep in contemplation or maybe asleep, keeping my eyes closed. A big tap rocked my body, followed by the tempting aroma of familiar nasi lemak. Clara was parading a plate of it right under my nose.
"I will definitely master Kak Gayah's recipe," Clara chuckled, handing me the plate. She sat beside me while Isaac, with the chair he had dragged, settled at the far end of the balcony. Deep inside, I felt that my solitude was nearing its end, and a new chapter of lives was beginning.
One might wonder what brought Clara, Isaac, and me together for a morning breakfast. Well, let me take you back to the day Isaac and I returned from Penang Hill. Isaac was quite stable when we got home and decided to take Chomel for a stroll along the beachfront, leaving me alone at home.
I fetched my mobile and settled on the balcony. It was nearly sunset, and the weather was pleasant. The beach was packed with Songkran's crowd. When I turned on my mobile, the notification melody beeped frantically.
Surprised, I noticed numerous missed calls, most of them from Clara, except for one from Daniel, my eldest son. I guessed he must be asking about Isaac.
I clicked on WhatsApp and saw over ten unread messages from Clara and one from Daniel. Daniel's message read, "Dad, tell Isaac to call or WhatsApp mom. She's worried. Tq." I murmured, "Okay," and then turned to Clara's messages. Her short texts were filled with concern:
"How are you, Em Jay?" "How is your son?" "Why didn't you reply?" "I am so worried" "Knocked on your door, even Chomel didn't answer." "Hey... where are you? Call me when you are available." "Hey... I'm waiting for your news."
Then there was a longer message sent during dinner at Kak Gayah's:
"Em Jay, please don't get angry with me. You may find me nosy, and maybe what I did may hurt you, but I just couldn't help it. Something inside me is urging me to get to know you. Well... you may take me as brazen-faced. It is okay with me. Not that I am selfish, too. But honestly, the first time I saw you... that day while unpacking... something in me giggled. The cake that day was meant for your birthday. Don't ask me how I got the date. The outing to TESCO was meant to get your number. And tonight, this dinner was meant to ask your forgiveness for all I did."
It ended there.
Then another message: "Well... I guessed my plan didn't end well. You didn't bring your mobile. Anyway, please forgive me if what I did hurt you. If you want me to stop, please say so, and I will."
Reflecting on her messages, I realized the depth of Clara's feelings and efforts to connect with me. Her honesty and persistence touched me.
With the phone still in my palm, I gazed out, focusing on our building's booth, scanning for Clara. I decided to call her. After a few rings, her voice, a bit loud, answered. "Em Jay... Em Jay... is that you? Where are you now? Can I come to you?" Her tone, full of concern, moved my heart. It sounded like she had been crying for a long time.
"Relax... take a deep breath," I calmly told her. "We are perfectly fine. I am at home now." My tone was full of assurance. Then the line cut off. Did I cause it? While processing the reason, there was a knock on my door. It wasn't the door alarm. Isaac had his own key. Then who could it be?
I made my way to the door and pulled it open. Clara was standing right there. Her red eyes were noticeable even under the corridor light. She wore a denim jacket over her night blouse and black track pants. Feeling empathy for her situation, I let her in. I kept the door open; I didn't want to hurt Isaac.
I told her to take a seat on the balcony. Although letting her in stirred a restlessness in me, not allowing her in or taking her out into the public in her condition wasn't a good idea either. I went to the kitchen, poured a cup of warm water from the dispenser, and headed to the balcony.
I passed her the glass of warm water and gestured for her to sit beside me. If that was her wish, I was fulfilling it.
I settled into my rocking chair, leaning back and closing my eyes. The noise from the Songkran festival at the beachfront, the waves hitting the shore, the night sky, and the sea breezes all mixed into one, mirroring the emotions in me—a mix of joy, empathy, hope, expectation, reluctance, and uncertainty.
Being old is not a choice; it is near the end of a journey one has to endure. What lies ahead isn't something one can plan for too long. The limited time offered is a certainty. Health is the collateral. A slight mistake risks one's very existence.
Isaac and Chomel entered. It was Chomel's meow that alerted me. In my contemplation, I wished Isaac, as a young man, would understand the situation. The door left wide open was a sign of our old generation's wisdom to preserve our dignity.
I kept myself adrift in the realm of contemplation. Clara remained silent, maybe, she too, lost in her own thoughts.
Then, Isaac's voice broke the silence, "Come, Dad, Aunt, let's chew something."
Like an abstract canvas with mixed colors, a layer of white paint covered all but the brightest emotions—gratefulness. Isaac is a grown man. My son has become an adult.
Returning to the balcony, I saw a mix of Thai tidbits on the coffee table. Chicken pandan, fried prawns, small crabs, and a few others, still in their polystyrene packs, awaited us.
"This is a belated birthday party... let's rumble!" The humorous side of me came alive. Clara's face lit up, shining with that magical glow that stirred the wild bees within me. Isaac stood by the railing, his legs crossed, holding a piece of Chicken Pandan.
So, it was this event that transformed my little kingdom into a warm family haven. Isaac and Clara grew closer each day. Breakfasts, lunches, and dinners became everyday catalysts, strengthening our bonds.
Over breakfast on this Wesak holiday, Isaac announced that he had resigned from the company in Johor. He planned to hunt for a similar position here in Penang. Holding a degree in IT Network Security, he had confidence in finding opportunities. Clara was the first to celebrate. "There it is. My weekend driver is confirming his duty."
Isaac grinned. "As long as the pay is hourly."
What more could an old man like me ask for?
After breakfast, Isaac stood up, his gaze distant. "I'm going to Penang Island," he announced, slipping on his shoes. "I need some time to think and clear my head."
I nodded, understanding his need for solitude. "Take your time, son. We'll be here when you get back," I said, my voice calm yet filled with unspoken concern.
Isaac left, the door clicking softly behind him. I watched through the window as he walked away, his figure slowly blending into the morning light. The hope that the change of scenery would bring him peace weighed heavily on my heart.
Clara suggested a drive for lunch. "It'll be good for us to get out as well," she said with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
We stepped outside, and Clara tossed her maroon SUV key to me with a playful grin. "Excuse me, Mr. Em Jay. Since I'm an outsider and you are the local, please take the driving seat."
Catching the key, I nodded and climbed into the driver's seat, adjusting it to my comfort. Clara settled into the passenger seat, her smile fading into a thoughtful expression.
We drove through the scenic countryside, the car humming softly beneath us. Clara gazed out the window, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the glass. The verdant landscape rolled by, a tapestry of green and gold under the midday sun.
After a long silence, Clara spoke, her voice tinged with both pride and sorrow. "I've been meaning to tell you about my children," she began, her words carefully measured. I kept my eyes on the road, my hands gripping the steering wheel, but my focus was on her.
"I have four children," Clara continued, her gaze fixed on the passing fields. "All of them are single. My eldest daughter is in her 30s, working as a pharmacist in Kuala Lumpur. The second is a beauty consultant in her late 20s. My third child is a young man around Isaac's age, an online entrepreneur. And my youngest daughter has just started her career as a nurse."
I listened intently, the rhythm of her words blending with the steady hum of the car. Clara's life unfolded before me, a tapestry woven with both joy and hardship.
"Their father lives just a few kilometers away from where I used to live," she continued, her voice growing softer. "When we separated, all the kids stayed with him. I would take them every weekend, and they practically grew up with their father."
Clara's voice wavered, a tremor of emotion threading through her words. "About ten years ago, they decided to move in with me. I thought it was a happy occasion, and I was delighted. But out of expectation, they treated me just like a maid or nanny. Initially, I was very patient, meeting all their demands. But as they started their careers, the situation worsened."
She took a deep breath, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I remember one day vividly," she said, her voice cracking slightly. "I had collected all their clothes, put them in the washing machine, then dried them out on the hanger.
I expected them to collect their clothes later. But for days, they just hung there, untouched. Can't they at once feel this old bone starting to crack?"
The pain in her voice was palpable. "They would come home, drop their bags, and head straight to their rooms. No 'thank you,' no acknowledgment. Just more demands. 'Mom, where's my dinner?' 'Mom, I need this,' 'Mom, I need that.' I was invisible, just a maid in my own home."
Her hands trembled slightly as she continued, "I would lay awake at night, my body aching, tears streaming down my face, wondering where I went wrong. The love I gave so freely seemed to disappear into a void. That was when I decided to move to Penang. I needed a fresh start, away from the ungratefulness and the feeling of being unappreciated in my own home."
I reached over, gently squeezing her hand. The warmth of her fingers, the silent acknowledgment of shared pain, created a moment of profound connection. We drove on, the countryside a blur, as Clara's story settled into the spaces between us, a testament to her resilience and strength.
We arrived at d'Tandoor Restaurant in Bukit Mertajam, a cozy spot serving Northern Indian delicacies. This place was a familiar haunt of mine, frequented over the years with family, friends, and business acquaintances. By bringing Clara here, I was, in a way, welcoming her into my life's tapestry of memories. Clara seemed pleased with the choice, her eyes lighting up as she took in the ambiance.
The restaurant's interior was inviting, with warm, earthy tones and rich wooden furniture. Intricate patterns adorned the walls, and delicate chandeliers cast a soft glow over the room.
The air was filled with the aromatic scent of spices, mingling with the gentle hum of conversation. Colorful tapestries depicting scenes from Indian mythology hung gracefully, adding to the cultural charm of the place.
I chose a lunch set, Birbal Ki Pasand, a delightful selection of vegetarian dishes accompanied by two glasses of mango lassi. Clara didn't object; instead, she looked happy and content, ready to immerse herself in this new experience.
During lunch, I aimed to bring a smile to Clara's face. I leaned in, pointing discreetly to a corner where a group was now sitting. "See that spot over there?" I began, a mischievous twinkle in my eye. "Years ago, I had a memorable lunch session with a company management team right there."
Clara's curiosity was piqued. "What happened?"
I chuckled, recalling the incident. "There were about six or seven of us. A young waiter accidentally slipped and poured a jar of cold water over one of our staff members, a young single lady. The whole restaurant's attention was on our table. The poor girl was soaked and shocked, and so were we."
Clara's eyes widened, her expression shifting to one of amused anticipation.
"The manager at the time, a young man named Amit, came running over. He bent down on one knee, just like in a Bollywood movie, and begged for forgiveness. Suddenly, a Hindi love song started playing, and everyone was stunned. The tension melted away, and a female waiter came with a towel, helped the young lady to the washroom, and moments later, she returned in a beautiful Northern Indian traditional dress. The entire restaurant applauded, and the young lady shyly smiled."
Clara laughed, the sadness washing away from her face. "That sounds like something straight out of a film! Did they plan that?"
"I don't think so," I replied, grinning. "It was just one of those magical moments."
As we enjoyed our lunch, a man in the restaurant's uniform approached our table. His dress was formal yet familiar. As he got closer, recognition sparked. It was Amit, the manager from the memorable incident.
"How do you do, Mr. Em Jay? It's been ages. How is your health?" Amit's greeting rang a bell, and I smiled warmly.
"You are…," I began, searching my memory.
"I am Amit, the manager who bent his knees," he laughed heartily.
"Yes, yes… Mr. Amit. Sorry, this old man's CPU runs slower, you know," I chuckled, shaking his hand.
I introduced Clara, and we exchanged pleasantries.
"You won't believe me if I told you this, Mr. Em Jay," Amit said, sounding serious but with a hint of pride. "That girl from that day, she eventually became my wife and the mother of my children."
Amit's laughter was infectious, and Clara and I joined in, both exasperated and delighted by the twist of fate. "Congratulations! She is a beauty, isn't she?" I chuckled, patting his shoulder.
"She certainly is," Amit beamed. "Thank you for being part of such a memorable day in our lives."
We finished our lunch, the warmth of the food and the conversation lingering. Clara looked at me with a renewed sense of happiness, the earlier gloom lifted.
As we drove back home, the conversation shifted to lighter topics. Clara's mood had visibly improved, and she spoke animatedly about her favorite places in Penang. We discussed our plans for the future, the places we wanted to visit, and the simple joys of life. The drive was long, but the company made it pleasant.
"Thank you for today," Clara said softly as we pulled into the driveway. "I feel lighter, happier."
I smiled, feeling a deep sense of contentment. "Anytime, Clara. It's good to share these moments."
We got out of the car, the sun setting in the distance, casting a golden hue over our home. The day had been a mix of emotions, but it ended on a hopeful note. As we walked into the house, I felt grateful for the connections and the stories that bound us together.
This Wesak Day has brought much reflection and change. Isaac, with his renewed spirit, Clara with her shared stories and newfound joy, and I, rediscovering my own strength and sense of purpose.
Sitting here in front of my laptop, sharing my life journey with you, the readers of this blog, I admit that my old self—the lonely and reserved part—has begun to transform back into the young IT Consultant I once was.
Yet, part of that old self still lingers, like a dormant volcano. Taking a toll on my confidence to embark on a new married life. What if I couldn't fulfill the type of man that lives in Clara's dream? A question that haunts me every time.
As I type these words, the house is quiet. Clara is back at her apartment unit. Isaac is still out there on Penang Island, relieving himself. Chomel is napping in her favorite spot, the settee.
The calmness is almost surreal, a stark contrast to the turmoil that has often filled these walls.
Then, just as I am about to shut down my laptop, an email notification pops up on my screen. The sender's name freezes me in my seat—it's from Isaac's mother. My heart races as I click to open it.
"Em Jay,
I've been thinking about everything and there's something you need to know. Please call me as soon as you can. It's urgent.
—Sara"
My mind swirls with questions. What could she possibly have to reveal now, after all these years of silence? The sense of foreboding that has been lurking all day comes crashing down on me.
The calm before the storm has ended, and the storm is about to break.