At 70, Mok is still strong and energetic. She lives alone in a house next to my family’s house. It is the gracious gift from her children who do not want to live with her. Even her many grandchildren are reluctant to stay near her sight. But that’s not a problem for Mok, because Mok is very rich. To accompany her at night, she pays Mok Nik Jaroh (an old friend of hers) RM5 per hour. Hmm, that’s RM1200 per month, considering that Mok Nik Jaroh spends 8 hours every night with lonely Mok.

But there is one little problem – she is extremely senile. She keeps her money everywhere in the house and she doesn’t remember where she puts them. During Hari Raya, kids like to visit her because, if they get lucky, Mok will give them RM50, which she mistakenly thought as RM2. God Bless Mok, say the kids.

So what makes her a living legend? Her powerful tongue.

Everybody in the kampong knows that she likes to mind everybody’s businesses. Just right after her return from Mekah, she couldn’t wait to catch up the latest gossips – whose wives just got divorced by the husbands, or whose husbands just got beaten by the wives. Adding to this naturally-acquired skill, she likes to pass glaring remarks for my family members behind everybody’s backs. Eh, why your sister so clumsy? Hey, I think your brother is so stupid. Isk, how can your father drive Toyota only? Hey, why your sister study in Egypt when she becomes ustazah only? Alahai Cekmi, why he want to be a lousy teacher like his father?

That's Mok.

Of all these poor victims, the person who suffered the most was Ma, my late mother, who befell under Moks’ powerful regime for many painful years. For many years of Ma’s life, Ma always became the subject of Mok’s nastiness. Being bullied mentally, Ma was tolerant with Mok’s meanness. I remember Ma’s cool and patient face whenever Mok said unpleasant things to her. She just smiled. She indeed sacrificed a great deal to please Mok’s crazy demands, which included taking care of Mok’s paralysed mother for many months.

However, nothing seemed to satisfy Mok’s hunger for sweet brutality, as if Ma was her biggest enemy. Mok sometimes said the meanest things to Ma in front of close relatives and friends during Hari Raya gatherings. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the chance to ask Ma about what actually caused the bickering relationship between her and Mok. I am not sure whether Mok had asked for Ma’s forgiveness before Ma left this world for good, but I am sure Ma has forgiven all of Mok’s various sins.

Did I hate Mok? Nah. How could I? No matter how much I detest the holy bitchy Mok, she will be forever stuck in my family, because she’s in my blood – she’s my auntie, my father’s one-and-only sister.

For all Ma’s sufferings, I wish Mok a good life in Heavan. Opss, not yet, she’s still around.

Thought that this is a ready-to-be-thrown-into-Kelantan-river cupboard?

Think again.

My father would have a different perspective about it.

"Please, don’t throw it away!" my father insisted.
"Ayah, this is very old already. Why should we keep it here? Menyemak je," my eldest brother argued, followed by fast nods from the other siblings, including me. We had been arguing about this for a few times. Being young and modern, we were so eager to clear up some space and fill them up with more stylish stuffs. What's more, the cupboard had been located near the living room, so we didn’t want to force the guests making such courtesy remarks as "Wow! What a lovely classic cupboard," or "Ooo, what a taste," or "Hmm…that looks so elegant in this house," or something like that.

After long stillness, my father finally said, quite sadly: "We should never throw away what used to be so good."

My father’s words made me totally tongue-tied. All of us were silent. His rare wisdom was empowering me like a wild thunderstorm, shaking me up as if I had just been electrocuted. I was thinking: Hmmm… not bad ar, my father can also be so sentimental and melancholic, just like me.

That happened one day before he got remarried. We, all the get-back-together siblings, were busy rearranging all the stuffs in our house in Kelantan when we found mountains of old books, magazines, notes and uncategorized stuffs belonged to my father. They must be 40 or 50 years old! I couldn’t believe that my father still kept all those things, putting them nicely in various hidden locations in the house. My sister lumped them together into a large waste bag, ready to throw them away. I managed to rescue some of the books which, I thought, were worthy of continuous safeguarding, like some old reading books in English and dictionaries. How nostalgic.

Honestly, I myself have been doing things like what my father had done, a lot actually. I always keep all those petty things, like movie tickets, sales receipts, brand tags, paper bags, shoe boxes, etc. (God of Small Things?) I couldn’t simply throw them away, ironically for no apparent reason. Until after some time, like when I want to move out, and feel that those piles are annoying, then I will voluntarily dump them into a dustbin, for good (Do you guys out there do what I do?).

Oh, back to the cupboard story, my other siblings were still determined in getting rid of the poor cupboard in our house, especially my eldest brother. It was okay to throw all those documents, said my father, but not that lovely cupboard.

Sigh.

Actually, I started to have the same opinion like my brother, thinking that it was about time for my father to let go some of the physical things in his life and start his brand new life with our new Ummi. Of course we need to remember what used to be good, but along the way to the future, we need to let go some of them. Don’t you agree?

Finally when my father was not around, we did what was not supposed to be done, without his knowledge.

"Come on, let’s do it now!" my eldest brother whispered to us mischievously.

And so, here we go. One. Two. Three. Now!!

Alhamdulillah.

The wedding ceremony went so unbelievably successfully. All my brothers and sisters were there, lightheartedly welcoming our new Ummi. Finally, all of us were fully supportive and, for the first time, buying a wedding present together for the bridegroom, our beloved Ayah. It was overwhelming. We were so over-excited preparing for sambut menantu ceremony (well, in our case, it should be renamed to sambut ibu ceremony).

The foods were marvelous. The invitees were smiling cheerfully. It was heartwarmingly bizarre.

The akad nikah was done so smoothly with only one lafaz (wah, my Ayah was so well-versed).

But most surprisingly, my new Ummi. The first time I saw her, she reminded me of my late ma.

The similar soft smile.
The similar square face.
The similar soothing eyes.
The similar motherly gesture.

“Pandai ayah kau pilih,” said a lot of my relatives.

It is true. I like my new Ummi.

May their marriage lasts for a lifetime.

Whenever my colleagues look at this nicely-framed picture on my desk, they will typically give such annoying remarks as “Where are you?” or “Is that you?” or even worse “It can’t be you!”. Okay buddies, it was really me, proudly me - a slimmer version of Cekmi where the fat was out of sight. I can’t believe that my physical look has changed so much – the sacred versus the profane.

This is actually one of my favourite family photos. It reminds me of the vanishing world of blessed ignorance, of the time when everything was easy and simple, of the things I took for granted. I remember Kak Lun once commented that I looked so innocent (and naïve too?). Maybe yes. I was a lot different back then. My family had once shaped my personality so fragile I hardly recognize after years of getting lost in the sinned world of urban life.

Before I go on with my laments, let me tell you who is who on the photo. Taken somewhere in 1996 during my eldest brother’s convocation in UPM, the picture shows all my family members except my second sister who was at that time studying in Egypt. Being the only one who ever made it to the foreign lands to study, she was the toughest and most persistent iron lady in the family. This strength provides the fire in the family that keeps burning the sparks of love. Oh, she is still strongly single and available.

Now, standing on the left was my eldest sister, the idol of the family who is now happily arranged in perfect marriage to a perfect husband with four adorable kids. And with her newly-bought house in Kota Bharu, she is the role model of the family I always envy – the kind of anak emak who always follows the tradition of the family with all its dignity and pride.

Next to her is my late mother, who was always mistaken as my other sister in the family (didn’t she look young and pretty?). She was the most excited person on that day, knowing that her first son had made her proud, done his best and received a degree of Binjal dream (my brother was in fact among the pioneers in my kampong to ever enroll in a public university).

In the middle is my brother, the brother who first established the honour of education in the family, which was later followed by two UKM-raised sisters, two UIA-educated products (me included), one Azhar University origin, and one is to be determined – that makes almost all of us proud graduands of various ‘U’. He is also happily arranged in a beautiful marriage to a beautiful Pasir Mas lady, and further completed with two lovable kids. Lecturing in Sabah, he keeps insisting me on pursuing my career there (which, yes, I will consider after getting my master’s degree).

Standing next to my brother is my father with his never-let-go kopiah (I used to have this habit too – that would cost me another long entry). Apparently, he was the coolest figure in the family, but it could get ugly when he shows his bad temper through his subtle gestures and sounds that only my siblings and I could understand (like his famous ‘hissing’ sound).

Oh, next to my father is you-know-who – the black sheep of the family. Hah! Yes, I am the soil of the family who is supposed to be the opposite of my fiery sister. Being number four out of seven siblings, I am always caught in the middle and, to exaggerated extent, abandoned (so four is sei, ek?)

Now, sitting on the right side was my youngest sister, my closest sister. She is merrily doing Laws in UIA, and the fact that we share the same UIA sentiments could be the very reason why we are so ngam. Whenever we are together, we will giggle, laugh, giggle, and laugh hysterically over petty things, as if everything was funny and amusing, as if the world has never warred, as if we share highly classified information, as if we have never been apart for even a day. This ‘girlish’ behaviour sometimes makes people around us irritated and think that we are weirdoes from some alien planets. But, I always enjoy her company.

The smallest brother sitting shyly is the youngest member – the spoilt little brat who will later hopefully gladden the family with his SPM result. Poor brother, he missed a mother’s love at such a tender age. But, he is surely going to make his family proud.

The one with a Kelantanese turban is my grandparents’ brother. His presence takes me back to my root that harmonizes and binds the family ties. And the last person sitting on the left corner is my younger sister, now married to a Law-graduate husband and gifted with a charming son. It is weird to have an adik ipar who is older and more matured than me (If I were a woman, I would have gotten all those langkah bendul gifts.)

Oh, my younger sister’s marriage was arranged too. As the trend shows, all the married couples in my family are blissfully match-made. And it was amazingly successful too. However, my UIA sister and I have plotted that, for the second generation, let us define (and find) our own definition of love, American way (hah!).

And that makes nine of us in the family. Yes, I still have a family.