The passing of a kind-hearted soul

I had always thought that when the eventual event happens, I would be ready. I had rehearsed it over and over again in my mind, on how I would react to the situation. But I guess in the end, the shock and utter sadness of it will always overcome whatever preparedness we think we have.

My good friend and former classmate from secondary school, Roswati Abdul Wahab, went to Makkah to perform the hajj last month... but she is not coming back. She passed away three days ago.

Roswati and I studied at MRSM Kuantan. Apart from being classmates, both of us were active in the publication bureau of the school's student body. After completing our MCE exams in 1979, we lost touch with each other. She continued her studies at a local university while I went overseas.

In July of 2010 we re-discovered each other, thanks to Facebook of course. We exchanged news and met up again in reunions and gatherings. During the past two years, I learned more about what happened in her life during the `lost' 31 years. She got married while still at university, bore 3 children (a girl and twin boys), started work as a computer programmer in the private sector but ended up being a mathematics teacher in government schools. Some years ago, she was diagnosed with liver cancer. And as if that is not enough of a misfortune, her husband left her for another woman. Sudah jatuh ditimpa tangga...

Despite those challenges plus many more, she soldiered on with her life, always putting on a brave front to mask her suffering inside. She ventured out on a quest to search and re-discover old friends (especially the girls) from our MRSM days. I have a database of all the students in our batch which I used to help her recall names of long-lost friends. There were 121 students in the MCE/SPM 1979 batch, consisting of 87 guys and 34 girls. With the aid of Facebook plus a lot of actual legwork, she managed to track down all of the girls but one. But she did not just stop at being re-connected in cyberspace. She made the effort of actually visiting these friends to meet them in person, even though they are spread all over Malaysia. Her travels took her to Kedah, Trengganu, Pahang and Johor. At each meeting of a newly re-discovered friend, she would present a gift of her own handmade brooch (for the girls) and framed photo reprints (for the guys). Photographs taken at these reunions were then uploaded in a series of albums in her Facebook which were titled `Jejak Kawan'. In May of last year, she compiled the photos of all the girls into a collage and had it printed as a poster. Every girl that she re-discovered, got a copy.

All this she did while not being in the best of health... she seldom talk of her sickness with any of the friends. Most of us knew but not many dare broach the subject. I am one of the very few with whom she shares the state of her health.

She was slated for a chemotherapy treatment early next year and so decided that she has to perform the hajj this year. Otherwise, the chemo treatments would prevent her from travelling. At first she approached Tabung Haji to try secure a place but was not successful. She then went to a private travel agency to register under a scheme called Pakej Haji Tanpa Giliran. This package costs almost double of the basic Tabung Haji scheme and even so, is not a sure thing because it depends on the visa approval from the Saudi government. She was then told to wait for confirmation. She waited... and waited... and waited. By the grace of Allah swt, the travel agency managed to secure the visa for travel on the very last day of entry to Makkah for this year's hajj season.

She texted me a few times while she was there, giving brief updates of what she was doing. In her last sms to me on 28 October, she mentioned of having a sore throat and losing stamina. Her text message ended with the words, `Please pray for me...'

I prayed to the Almighty to give her the strength to complete her hajj rituals and to return home safely. But the Almighty loves her more and has chosen for her the final resting place in the holy land of Makkah.

I will miss you dearly, my friend. You had such a kind heart and were an inspiration to most of us. May the Almighty bless your soul and place you in paradise amongst the righteous.

This scanned pic from 1979 showing Roswati (in tudung) sitting next to me

This pic from July this year, my two classmates, Roswati (right) and Suzyanna (left)

The K79 poster girls

An ailment without a cure

Psoriasis is a chronic disease that affects the skin. While there are various methods of treatment, a definitive cure for the disease itself has yet to be discovered. Doctors and scientists still do not know what is the cause, although some research point to genetic links.

My wife suffers from this ailment. It occurred soon after we got married. We first went to a private skin specialist who suggested ultraviolet therapy, in addition to topical treatment. We tried it initially but the cost was getting way too expensive for us to afford. We went to other skin doctors and on the advice of well-meaning relatives, we even tried traditional medicine.

A few years ago, a GP suggested to my wife to seek treatment at Hospital Sultanah Aminah because they have a good dermatology unit headed by a very experienced specialist. The GP duly wrote a letter of recommendation and thus began my other half's regular visits to Johor Bahru's oldest government hospital. Since then, she has never sought treatment for her skin condition anywhere else. The level of dedication and service of HSA's skin clinic is excellent.

Last Sunday, the newly formed Psoriasis Association of Johor held an event day at a local hotel. The activities included a chance for the members and their family to show off their skills in colouring using paints and crayons. There was also a talk given by the Senior Consultant Dermatologist at HSA, Dr. Choon Siew Eng. My wife's treatment regime is now under the direct supervision of Dr. Choon.

The association hopes to gather all psoriasis patients in Johor with the objective of providing support and the sharing of knowledge. Hopefully this can help psoriasis sufferers and their family to cope with the challenges that such a disease brings.

The missus and her cousin Kak Atik, writing down their hopes for a cure

A collage of the painted posters

Smaller posters coloured with crayons

In my opinion, this crayon poster was the best

Dr Choon giving her presentation

Group photo of the team that won the colouring contest

A grand old man... again

Last weekend, we made the trip to Kota Tinggi to visit the latest addition to our very large extended family. Our nephew's wife, Melati Razak, has safely given birth to her third child a few weeks ago. She now has a son to add to her two daughters. Our nephew is so happy to have a boy with whom he can probably later talk about football or table tennis or other sports.

Our grand-nephew was born on the daybreak of Friday 21 September 2012 and has been named Muhammad Hidayat Asraf. The sister to this baby named Nurul Aqilah, is the one I wrote about in a previous post in February 2009, titled A Grand Old Man. At that time, the sister is the 10th great-grandchild of the Hj. Mohd Amin clan. Three and a half years down the road, the new baby boy holds the 22nd position. My wife and I now have 22 kids calling us `Tok'.

Muhammad Hidayat was delivered a few days delayed from his due date. I told the mother that the baby purposely did not want to come out earlier because he wanted to wait for a special day. He shares the same birthday as his grand-aunt, Mrs Oldstock.

Oldstock with latest grand-nephew and 3-year old grand-niece

Regrets...

"I should have listened to you," she says.

The soft sigh is only just audible. She looks out of the restaurant window but her eyes do not seem focussed on anything in particular. The gleam of tears pooling down the corners of her eyes can be clearly seen. I feel like holding my hand out to wipe those tears away but I am not sure how she will react. So I remain still... and silent.

The small boy sitting next to her happily munches down a slice of pizza. He doesn't bother his mother much, just occasionally asking her about this or that ingredient he finds on the topping. Seems like the first time he is tasting pizza and he is liking it.

She turns her head to look at me and continues, "He divorced me almost one year after I gave birth. He said that his first wife gave him an ultimatum. Either me or her. Of course I lose out. The family of the first wife is rich. They are the ones who support his business. If he leaves her, his business will go down."

"And what do I have? Compared to her, I may have youth and beauty... but that counts for nothing now. I am not rich. I cannot compete with the first wife on that. So I try other ways... I wanted to be a good wife, I treated him well, I loved him as much as I could. But in the end, the power of money beats everything."

"Men are only concerned about themselves. About their own comfort and happiness. About short-term gains. They don't care if they make life miserable for others!"

There is now a bit of sting in her voice. I don't want to add fuel to the fire so I continue to remain silent. She turns to look outside again... biting her lip as if trying to stop herself from further outburst.

I look closely at the son, slowly chewing on his food and oblivious to his mother's anger. Very well-behaved young man. He is around 4-years old, slight build towards skinny and with very fair skin. A thick crown of hair with facial features undoubtedly oriental. I have met the boy's father only once before but it is as clear as day that the boy has his father's looks.

"I know what you're thinking," she says as her eyes dart from me to the boy and back. "Every time I go out to the local market with my son, people always say the boy looks like his father... anak Salim Apek. He has taken everything from me. Even my son cannot have a bit of my look in him!"

I let time pass by a bit before finally responding, "Looks are not everything... but I guess you do not believe me. You place too much importance on looks. Did you not use your looks to catch his attention in the first place?" The next sentence in my mind is, and look where that has taken you. But I leave that part unspoken.

She shoots a spiteful look at me and say, "You are cruel, you know... but very kind." A hint of smile is finally evident, but it disappears almost instantly. She shakes her head and repeats, "I should have listened to you, all those years ago."

"So what do you want to do now?" I ask.

"I am broke," she says. "He has not given us any money for the past two years. After the divorce, he provided the maintenance quite regularly but then he started to slack. Business problems, he said. I had to go back to court to get him resume paying. The judge has already given the order but he gets away with a thousand of excuses. I cannot afford to pay the lawyer any more to fight him."

"You know, the last time he came to see his son was during hari raya last year? The boy was just 3-years old then. Look at him now. I don't think the boy even knows that he has a father."

"I need to find work. But at the same time, I can't afford to pay someone to look after my son."

She looks lovingly at the young man, pats him gently on the head and with an unwavering voice say, "I am going to give him up."

Go ahead... make my day

It was a Saturday afternoon and I was sitting in my site office cabin, looking at some paperwork. My Safety Supervisor popped his head past the door of the office and asked, "Boss, are you interested in shooting?"

"What, you mean shooting as in guns?", I asked back.

Yes, came the reply. He explained to me that the company we hire to handle the security at the project site is holding a shooting practice for their staff at a nearby shooting range and he thought that I might be interested to watch. Perhaps, if we are lucky, they may even allow us to handle the weapons. I have never done any real gun shooting before so I decided it might be a good experience to see them practice.

The shooting range was about 12 km from the project site. When we arrived, the practice session was already under way. We could hear the loud boom of shotguns being fired away. I was introduced to the security company's senior staff and also to the Royal Malaysian Police officers who were there to oversee the practice. I was told that all live firearms practice were carried out under RMP supervision.

There were four shooting lanes prepared in the open field. Each line had a simple table where the firearm and ammunition was placed. Down the other end at 25m away is the target board on which the printed bull's-eye paper is stapled on. After some of the security staff had done a few rounds, we were then invited to have a go.

Before holding the shotgun, a police officer briefed us on the safety and handling aspects. A senior staff of the security company acted as my instructor and stood behind me to guide me through the whole process. The shotgun being used was a Mossberg Maverick pump gun. Three rounds were first loaded into the chamber and I was shown how to place the gun against my cheek and look down the barrel to aim. When I was ready, my instructor told me to release the safety, place my finger round the trigger and fire.

I squeezed the trigger and heard a loud Boom! I immediately felt the hard kick of the shotgun's recoil on my shoulder. Whoa! Although I felt the pain, there was also a rush of thrill.

I couldn't see if I had hit the target but I heard my instructor tell me to pump the gun to eject the spent shell and load a new round into the chamber. Aim a bit lower, he said. I then fired off another two rounds, re-load the gun with 3 new rounds and shoot again. Aim, squeeze, boom, pump and aim again. Total of 6 shots.

At the end of the firing, the guns were checked to make sure no live rounds remain in them and safety lock re-instated. We then walked down to the target end to view our handiwork. The target paper was peppered with tiny holes caused by the pellets from the shotgun ammo. My first shot was a bit high but the remaining 5 shots all hit the paper, with a few quite close to the centre. Not bad, my instructor said. If my target had been an animal or a criminal, 'pasti rebah' were his words. Not that I really want to be in a situation to be letting off a firearm at any man or animal.

I thought that was the end of our session but I was told to hang on for while because they'll be practising with handguns next. There were two types of automatic pistols on offer, a Sig Sauer and a Glock. I chose the Glock. A similar briefing was held before we were allowed to hold the guns. My instructor showed me how to load the bullet clip into the gun, hold it properly and aim at the target. When I was ready, he told me to release the safety and fire away.

The gun let out a bang as I squeezed off my first shot. I couldn't see where it went. Again, my instructor told me to aim lower. I re-aimed and let off the remaining 9 rounds in rapid succession. At the end of the firing, we were shown how to unload the empty clip and the instructor checked to make sure no live round remain in the gun.

We then made our way down to the target end. Fresh target paper had replaced the ones we punctured during the shotgun session. My target paper showed 6 small holes. That meant 4 shots had gone haywire. But of the 6, two shots were just about 3 inches from the centre bull's eye. Not bad for a first-timer, not bad at all. The instructor said that I had a natural skill for aiming and shooting.

Well, natural or not, and exciting as it was... I don't think I'll take up shooting as a serious hobby. I still have this uncertainty about guns. Maybe I'll take up archery instead.

The briefing...

The pump gun and ammo

Aim, squueze and fire!