Love. I have faith in it. All these while, in my life, I think love always equals to responsibility to me. After my parents split up, I lived with my father. He loved me alright. Not soo much warm and fuzzy ,what do you expect from an ex RELA, lieutanent of some sorts. But there was love in how he made sure there was roof over my head. Food to eat. Money for books ( academic only, he stressed. I deviated from his trust on this one ..and so, my life, as one who betrayed a father’s trust went haywire from that moment on ..huhu). He was a strong character. I looked up to him. Especially on going after what you believed, searching for truth. Never resting because that is the great cause. For him. And eventually mine. Mine got halved I think, because he, because of his life’s work, answered the best of questions any normal human would eventually question and querry.
It just so happened that the marriage only lasted 10 months. What was he to do? He fell in love with my mother, right across the lecture hall. He got the best view of my mother. I think, he secretly admired from afar and somehow managed to muster enough courage to cross the threshold and asked for my mother’s hand. I heard my granpa rejected it at first but I knew that my father was a good candidate, even though there was already talks of matching my mom with a close relative. My dad was the lecturer,I know ..sleazy a bit right. But who are we to judge love? My father, the cleverest of the lot, by some who’d attested to that in his field, marrying eventually into one of the oldest royal family in the region ..hua haha..
Nah, my gramps is a simple ustaz, a village man. Respected yes, but not royal in that sense of the word in ways that we associated royalties nowadays. He is, or was, supposed to be of sorts, if things were different, a possible successor, just like TGNA’s gramps, both were siblings, but time changes. Royalty and a name, and a legacy. But responsibility yes, to always be with truth, as best as we can.
It’s so happened that, somebody was not very happy with the union. And a nasty curse was casted, resulted in my parents, as recounted by my aunt and grandma ( before she passed away), fighting fiercely, body burning hot in flames torture like feelings. They can’t even sleep together. The unnatural tendency to hate and destroy. Whenever they were in proximity, the heat resulting in feeling the body just about to get cooked well done appeared. It was no mere miracle that I was conceived nonetheless.
After hearing that from my grandma, whom I trusted not to be spewing nonsense to a large extent compared to anybody else, I was actually cool about it. That explains it, I sighed, maturedly. I was at that time 27 years old. I would like to believe that it was love that made it possible for me to be conceived. Love against all evil and deviousness, triumphed at that one moment. Because my parents went on maybe not full on hatred but cold war and skirmishes and ambush attacks at opportune times until forever.
Nobody told me that before. It may sound stupid a cause. It’s stupendous. It’s bizarre. And that’s just what happened.
My mom never knew it had coming. My father at times, unable to fathom the cause, would be angry at me for the littlest things, because he sees my mother when he sees me.
Why is there such sihir, or black magic that can tear people apart and make at least three people suffer this much? Is it because we are not a performing obedient muslim? What sins have I done to be cursed at birth? Is it really the sins of the father? What then did my father had done?
I wonder at times, who did cast the spell? For the longest times, I would say to myself that it is not my concern. I kept on denying the natural curiosity to find out. There was even that notion, I think too highly of myself that, one day, when I finally gathered enough strength and becomes a devout muslim, I would finally, perhaps become the one to unchain the curse, and we would all live happily ever after. Maybe not together as in together, but there are numerous possibilities. Me, taking care of them, with them not too far from each other. Them, cordial with each other. Malah, helping each other to go into the path.
Somehow, even in the eye of evil and wickedness, love do triumphed. I was not out of wedlock. It was a justifiable union. But in some shrewd understandings, like all divorced couple, the children from that, are sometimes, things that they want to undo or left behind. No, I am not saying they don’t want me, as in most from divorced families.
Whenever I pondered about this, after given this bit of info from my grandma, I am thankful for the love Allah swt had and is continuing to give me. I suspect, children conceived during such a unique times, facing such strange circumstances in order to be in this world must also be equipped with facilities to face those obstacles. I’ve lived through that impossibilities.
In many cases, child can’t be conceived during those accursed times because the heat of the bodies amped by the unwanted forces, really just destroys any bit of possibilities there is. I know we live in modern times but I am not the one who won’t believe it either. No matter what the person planned, to a point, my parents separated but they held on, until l was born. They staved off divorce to have me. I was one month, then it was official.
I never knew the bitterness or after effects of divorce. I grew up with love that I can conceive and comprehend. Not saying I was happy all the time. I made myself happy. There were countless ibu susuan and care takers that helped me.
So, there was much love. And for others, I know I have to strive for it myself. It’s hard to be a parent, I understand to a point. I respect the decisions my father made for me in how to raise for me. I would object to some ( I was a very opinioted child)but overall, I am astounded and felt blessed. I was safe in many many ways. Although it was far from perfect, it was just perfect enough for me .I wouldn’t be who I am if not for that and what I had to go through there and then.
To love means to sacrifice .What do I know about love then? How much sacrifice had I made? I felt I had loved and loved but till the time is right, I will take a step back and relook at all my loss love and not a few unrequited ones, to be just that, blessings.
Love comes in many a varied shapes. Everyday I can feel love. Walaupun the one that at times pepagi teringat dia, wajah dia, never called me back. I will treasured the memories. I can’t undo what I feel. I also don’t want to suffer. So, I decided long ago, I will go on loving.
Tak apalah orang yang kita suka tak suka kat kita. Maybe one day dia suka. OR maybe one day, ada orang lain yg akan suka kat kita, that will be the day.
Pic credit to lata, ThisisColassal