Just under twenty one years ago, my mother gave birth to her first-born, me. I am the first grandchild, and great grandchild in both my maternal and paternal family. My parents have cousins who are about my age, and some are even much younger than me. But I grew up seeing many of them as my own cousins, too. But more importantly, my grandparents were like my parents, too, and I was as close to my great grandparents as I was to my grandparents, especially on my mother’s side.
Like any other family, mine is ever-growing as if it is not big enough already. Still, we see each other quite a lot and are quite close, although part of the reason is how many of us live either in the same simpang or just a few simpangs down. I spent most of my early childhood years with my maternal side of the family. Back then, we used to have barbecue nights over Formula 1 races and (even back in the day when AF was pretty much the in thing) Akademi Fantasia concerts, fancy dress themed birthdays, and sometimes even just having tea outside with Babu’s (my late great grandmother) kuehs in the afternoon as everyone comes home from school and work.
School holidays usually meant sleepovers at Nini (my late great grandfather) and Babu’s with my cousins. When I was younger, we used to sleep in their room mainly because they had three different sets of tv (one that’s always on a News channel, the other for some other channel Nini felt like watching, and the last one was Babu’s), although much to our dismay, none of the Astro sets in the room were subscribed to all of the cartoon channels so we had very limited choice! As I grew a bit older, we started sleeping in the living room instead with ‘bigger’ kids. Long before the days where weddings were held in hotels and halls, everyone had theirs at their own homes. So naturally, having a huge family, Nini and Babu have loads of chairs that were used for pelaminans, so me and my cousins would play pretend and take turns to be a bride – I swear I may have ‘gotten married‘ at least five times in my childhood, haha. We’d stay up all night although I can’t remember much of what we actually got up to. But I mean, school holidays with your cousins, and no parents to tell you when to sleep? Gah, it was everything a kid could ask for.
December school holidays were particularly the most exciting one out of the others that we have. Mainly because we have the whole month off and Nini celebrates his birthday on the 25th. So every 25th of December, Nini would host a gathering for his family, friends, colleagues and even people from the same kampong. We’d have a variety of food stalls manned by family members, which slowly became a competition on whose stall served the best food. But I guess one of the highlight was the lucky draws, too. I remember me and my cousins getting all excited seeing all the prizes up for grabs being delivered and slowly fill up the living rooms (also low-key calling dibs on the prizes we wanted to win, and hoping that you don’t get one of Nini’s kambing).
One thing about Nini, if you haven’t worked it out, is that he is so very kind and has the biggest heart. He doesn’t just care for his family, but everyone he knew, too. He doesn’t just host a massive gathering over his birthday, but over the first day of Eid after the morning prayers, too. His place is always open to anyone who wanted to join us over Tarawih prayers or Tadarus over Ramadhan and he would insist that you stay to have some tea and cakes after.
Both Nini and Babu spoiled us rotten, though. I think I’d probably understand it better when I’m in their shoes, and have kids (or even grandkids) of my own, but I know they feel joy knowing they make us happy. My great grandmother, Babu, spends most of her day in the kitchen. She makes the best kuehs, and would tirelessly cook up a storm to feed her family without fail, every single day. Not once have I heard her complain that she’s tired, or when we’d try to grab some kuehs before she even gets to serve it. Nini, on the other hand, would gladly take us to the convenience store and let us get anything (except chewing gum!). Nini had a way to get in his (great) grandkids’ good books. He’d always have ice cream in his freezer whenever we come to visit, and without fail, we’d always have our own fireworks display every year.
If there’s another thing they have in common, it’s their dedication.
My Friday mornings would normally start with piano lessons, before joining the ‘Girls Club‘ for breakfast and sometimes a weekly shop. Girls Club, because well, it was mainly always us girls of four generations – my great grandmother, my grandmother, my mother and her sisters, and me and my cousins. Babu would always insist on going to the tamu first thing in the morning, and then choose a place to eat (she has her favourites but she doesn’t remember names, but rather how the tables are set up, or what colour tablecloth the tables had, haha). By 11, she’d worry and would ask if we could rush home because she wanted to start cooking for Nini and have a meal ready for him by the time he comes home from his Friday prayers. I used to get upset over having to rush home time and again, week in week out, but now that I look back, 10000% #goals!!!
Out of my 20 or so years knowing Nini, most of it was spent seeing him work tirelessly, dedicating his life to the nation just to provide for his family. While many would see him in the newspaper or on television screens over coverage of the many big events Brunei has had, I dare say that that’s just part of it. We’ve seen him work on many huge flags that would be raised in the capital before big events. We’ve seen him work until late hours in spite of his age. We’ve seen him in the hospital, repeatedly asking the doctor how soon he could return back to work. How the first place he dropped by as soon as he was discharged is his office and not home, just because there was a big event coming up. We’ve seen him still working in his hospital room, just because he couldn’t be away from work for so long.
As I got older, we have outgrown the sleepover phase. Every visit to Nini and Babu’s house would start with the warmest welcome from the both of them, and ends with “Bila lagi tidur sini?” (“When are you sleeping over again?”). With every visit, would undoubtedly be followed by a peek of what food there is on the table in case Babu made your favourite kueh (love Babu’s karipap and wajid!). But Nini and Babu’s house will forever give me that feeling of nostalgia, of where I spent my childhood, of the house that wasn’t my own but is filled with so much love and fond memories. Every visit gave me the same excitement I had when I was young, excited to see my Nini and Babu.
But over three years ago, Babu started to get unwell. She was in and out of the hospital, and occasionally having had to fly to Singapore for treatment. This went on for quite some time but I had already been in boarding school then so I didn’t know what it was exactly. I remember finding out that it was a later stage of cancer – I was scared to say the least, but hopeful. But Babu’s health was just slowly deteriorating. She looked weaker and frail after every visit. It was around the same time that I was in my last few months of A Levels (kind of important then as it determined which uni I’d go to), I think I had a mock exam around the corner, too. But I felt so guilty for not seeing her, so I went to see her this one day. I remember that I stayed there longer than I should’ve, but I’m glad I did because Babu left us the day after. I wasn’t at the hospital then, but we rushed as fast as we could. I didn’t know it then, I just thought she was just getting really weak, but I had a gut feeling when I started seeing many family members looking rather distraught as they walk the opposite direction. I remember walking to the room, seeing so much more family members crying. Some by the bed side, where Babu laid. I walked up to her bed side, hugged her body tight and having to come to terms that that would be the last time I’d get to do so.
That day, I think Nini wanted to be strong for everyone. But weeks after, he wasn’t himself. He was slowly losing his appetite because none of them were cooked by Babu. He was slowly forgetting things, but I wouldn’t blame him. I guess his place started to feel a little bit lonely without Babu who he’s spent so many years of his life with.
I don’t quite remember when exactly Nini’s started being admitted in and out of the hospital, too, but in the early days, I took it so lightly – mainly because I wasn’t home and more often than not I wouldn’t know that he’s in the hospital either (which I’d like to think was so I wouldn’t get unnecessarily worried…). Nini would always look out for me, though. Every time my mum visited, he would ask for me. At one point, he even mistook my aunt for me. I remember having to go on FaceTime with him while I was at Junjung Ziarah in London (which, by the way, was impossible to get good connection) because he was looking out for me. The smile on his face when he saw me, priceless – this was the case every time I saw him on FaceTime.
Some time four months ago, I had the biggest scare of my life. Many family members gathered in the hospital room to keep Nini company. He was at his weakest that day, and I had to rely on Whatsapp updates from home. I cried but it didn’t make me worry any less. I prayed, and end up crying even more reciting prayers, hoping that He grants Nini strength. Each second made me a little more anxious, although I flinch every time my phone rings. I wanted to know that he was okay, but I was scared of the possibility of receiving bad news. Things looked brighter not long after that, but I knew that day on, that I will never be prepared for when the day truly comes.
That day came 40 days ago. I woke up to four missed calls, and a whole lot of messages expressing their condolences. I immediately called home and felt numb throughout. I didn’t know what to feel. I didn’t know how to react. I didn’t know what to do. I kept a strong front, but the waterworks started the moment I hung up. It hit me that I’d return home and I won’t be able to see him anymore. It hit me that when I come home, my visits to Bengkurong won’t ever be the same when I visit his place. It hit me that when I come home, I won’t return to Nini’s warm embrace. My heart still breaks when I remember that Nini’s no longer here, but it’s finding peace in knowing that he’s in a much better place and he’s no longer in pain.
When I remember Nini and Babu, I don’t want to remember them when they were at their weakest, bed ridden by cancer, who’s probably become one of my biggest enemies now. So this is how I’ll remember Nini and Babu. For the people that they are, and the person they have taught us to be – compassionate, dedicated and selfless. Dedicated to the family. Dedicated to the nation. Dedicated to our Creator.
Pictures of me with my great grandparents, the last time I was home for Nini’s birthday. Coincidentally, also the last time Babu was around for his birthday.
Though you are not here anymore, we pray that He grants both of you the highest of Jannah, always. If you are still reading this by now, please take some time from your day and send your prayers to the greatest great grandparents, my Nini, Pg Seri Wijaya Pg Hj Ahmad bin Pg Md Yusof, and Babu, Datin Hjh Tengah binti Haji Abdul Ghani. Al Fatihah.
silahk 