I don’t know how old I was when I started listening to Abang Fadil’s stories. A former national hockey player, big-sized, confident and a funny man with a strong yet warm presence; Abang Fadil was always the highlight when our family gathered together. He was a story-teller, whose tales would captivate you with its exaggeration and humour. I grew up listening to his advices and life lessons while riding at the back of his car every year for Eid or Raya with two of my closest cousins, Yayan and Syasya, the latter of whom is his own daughter. We were young then, and we would be upset that the older cousins wouldn’t hang out with us. But the three of us would feel a bit better because Abang Fadil would always say “Mel, Yan ngan Syasya… naik ngan Abang Fadil, kan?” Those days, Abang Fadil had the coolest cars, those cars that had small TV screens... it was such a novelty for me back then. So we would spend hours from Muar to Kota Tinggi listening to his favourite lagu dangdut or watching him tease my aunt who almost always falls asleep throughout the journey.

 The family would gather every Saturday and in an almost complete circle, laughter would echo through our walls as Abang Fadil would tell us the same old joke over and over again. Each one of us, the kids, the teenagers, the adults would be laughing with him. My parents, my uncles and aunts grew old with him, with memories of when he first masuk meminang for my aunt’s hand in marriage more than 20 years ago, to the moments when he was admitted into the hospital because of his diabetes a few months ago. For me and my cousins, we grew up listening to his stories, laughing at his jokes. With every moment that he was present, there was never a dull moment. He was the mood-maker, the energy-booster and in his own way, the one who always brought us together. He was loved in so many ways.

 Without realizing it, time passed us by. Abang Fadil was my favourite uncle, and I would like to think he is one of my closest uncle. And on 28^th November 2013, he passed away. 

When my cousin first told me of Abang Fadil’s condition, I was a thousand miles away in Cardiff, alone in my small room. It was so sudden; him missing, him being admitted into the hospital, him losing the capacity to talk, move and respond and him leaving us. At the core of everything, I just wanted to be home. I wanted to be with my family, cry together and be united in accepting God’s will.

And in those few weeks, for the first time in my life, I truly understood what being far away means. I finally understand why people say it is hard when you have to study abroad, because before this, I never truly understood what being away entails. Being away means that with every waking moment, you are spending each second alone without your family. A family member could get married, pass his exams, get admitted into the hospital, got accepted into university, got a new job, get into an accident, give birth to a baby… and all this could be happening while you are painting your nails, revising for your next exam, doing homework, eating lunch or even watching tv. Being away means that whilst your uncle is fighting for his life on the hospital bed, and when your closest cousin is crying and is in dire need of your support, you are unable to be by their side. 

What distance really means, I finally understood. We take for granted the distance, being able to be physically and emotionally present. My family spent a few days, attending to my uncle who was physically there but emotionally absent. My sister in Australia, my cousin in Aberystwyth and I who was in Cardiff, were emotionally united with our family but unable to physically be there. We spent hours praying, crying and worrying as did our family back home, but the fact that we were helplessly so far away made all the difference.  Kerana, bila kita diuji sebegini, tiada kata yang mampu mengubah keadaan, menenangkan fikiran atau menghentikan air mata, because moments like this, you can never find the right words to say. Tapi, bila kita dekat, when we are physically there, kata-kata boleh digantikan dengan doa, perasaan ribut boleh digantikan dengan pelukan dan tangis boleh dicurahkan bersama-sama. Bila kita jauh, when we are far away, we are more than helpless because bila kita jauh, tiada apa yang mampu dilakukan. For once in my life, I felt so far away. I couldn’t be there for my family in this time of grief, and I couldn’t see him one last time. 

I don’t remember the last time I saw Abang Fadil. I don’t remember the last time I kissed his hand. I don’t remember the last thing he said to me before I left for Cardiff. I do not know how my family is gonna move on from here, it seems like we are at a standstill. I don’t know how Raya is going to be from now on without Abang Fadil’s overpowering voice calling out “duit raya! Mari, mari, mari!” or when the ice-cream guy stops by our kampung and he says “Sape nak ais krim, beratur sini satu line!” I don’t know how our family gatherings are going to shape out without him. Things will surely change. After he took his last breath, my cousin whatsapped me “Mel… abang Fadil dah takde”. Receiving news of the passing of a loved one through a group chat is one of the most painful things that could happen. Emotions become reduced to flat words read through the phone screen and sadness reduced to emoticons. I cried myself to sleep that night thinking that I never got the chance to say thank you for all his generosity, his wisdom he shared with us, the laughter he provided us and the amount of joy he brought.

 I was taught to respect traditional values when it comes to family ties. I was born into a close-knit family, who I’d like to believe would do anything for one another when times are hard. We don’t say it out rightly but our actions speak for themselves. Bila satu daripada kami bernikah, kami dengan bahagianya mendoakan kesejahteraan hidup mereka sehingga ke anak cucu. Bila satu daripada kami hendak meninggalkan tanah air untuk menuntut pelajaran di luar negeri, kami ke lapangan terbang dan mengucup pipinya dengan air mata dan kata-kata semangat. Bila satu daripada kami melahirkan, kami gembira dan mencintai anaknya seperti anak kami sendiri. Bila satu daripada kami sakit dan terlantar di hospital, kami berkampung di hospital tanpa mengira waktu. Bila kami kehilangan salah satu anggota keluarga kami, kami rebah. 

Abang Fadil was my family member, my uncle who I’ve known all my life and an uncle I loved very deeply. Even now, I find it hard to believe that he is gone. But we have to be strong and accept God’s will, for on the day that he passed away it was not only me who lost an uncle, but a wife lost her husband, a child lost a father, siblings lost a brother, a mother lost her child and many lost a very dear friend. His presence is one that cannot be replaced. Abang Fadil, Mel doakan agar Abang Fadil tempatkan dengan orang-orang yang beriman. Maafkan jika ada tersalah kata atau bahasa dan terima kasih atas segalanya. One thing I know is that he lived his life giving joy to others and I will forever remember the happiness that he shone over us.  A man with such a prodigious presence will sure be missed. 

-as tweeted by my sister in law    

                                                                                                

I’ve always thought that we could live forever, my family and I, that time is somehow irrelevant and that nothing would change. But now I realize that the people I love and look up to are growing older each day and the people, like me who was once young  and afraid of letting go of our parents’ hands are now growing up. Don’t take for granted what you have now. Kita hidup ni, sekejap sahaja. I’m scared of waking up in the morning, knowing that every second we have in this world are numbered. Tonight, I recite Al-Fatihah for those who have left us, and I pray for strength… for those who are alive, for those who have lost and for those who are lost. Hidup ini hanya sementara. Kita terlalu sibuk dengan hal masing-masing sehingga kita lupa dan leka.