#Babak 1:
I could never do the nomad thing, like you and Kokang, M said to me, which she is adamant is a compliment of sorts. A nomad? Me? Then I remembered a conversation I had with my dad upon my arrival last Saturday. “Can I technically pray jama’ and qasr,” I asked him. “But you’re home,” he replied. “Am I?” I asked. “Along dah tak kira mastautin sini kan? Ini macam kalau abah balik Tanah Merah lah kan?” He stared at the floor for a few seconds and then he said, “Hmm. Makes sense.” In Abah-speak I took that to be a yes.
#Babak 2:
You sort of start figuring out that your presence is nothing special anymore when instead of having an entourage worthy of the Hajj season send-off, you are dropped off in the layby by your brother-in-law.
#Babak 3:
In the four months that I have left, Bangi has changed perhaps more than it did in the previous twelve-month gap that existed between my previous visits. There is now an Old Town White Coffee in the new shop lots facing the main road that goes past the Masjid Jamek;
the McDonald’s Drive Thru (or the Wait-Thru, as I have been reliably informed) is now in operation,
and we now have a business center/complex of sorts being built with – get this, Edna, you’ll love it – the name ‘ Paragon Point’. How apt, no?
# Babak 4:
Alas this trip was not one of pleasure, although where I could I derived as much enjoyment as a five-day emergency visit could muster. For the first time ever in my life, I experienced what it felt like waiting outside an operating theatre, anxious for news, clinging to the hope that the adage ‘no news is good news’ is true. Initially I dreaded my 13 hour flight back to London because it was a daytime flight and I am unable to sleep during the day if it isn’t Xanax induced; but hey, when you’ve survived 8 hours waiting and watching the drama outside the Dewan Bedah, I suppose other anxieties took a quick back seat. I tried to learn as much as I can from those around me on how to compose myself, how to stay upbeat and most of all how to leave everything down to fate; I know full well that one day, preferably very far into the future, it will be the soles of my shoes that shall tread where those of my dad’s once did (newsflash: Abah has actually now moved on from wearing Larrie shoes exclusively ! My siblings and I greeted this change with much gusto).
#Babak 5:
Was there time for futsal? In a word: yes . Hands up any of you who were really surprised at that.
#Babak 6:
I sidled over to the bookshop as Faiz sped into the unrelentingly scorching Sepang sun, looking at what could be read en-route to LHR. I wanted to pick up a copy of TimeOut KL to read on the plane, but I figured that would make me homesick more than anything else. So I looked behind the 3-mth late editions of PC World to see if I could find a copy of Wired magazine. Interestingly enough, there it was hiding, with a cover that spoke to me instantly: there, emblazoned on the front page, was a finance formula! (Okay, the copula equation to be exact, but we don’t want to be too nerdy now, do we?). Ah, as a discipline we were featured in Wired! Wired, of all magazines! Suddenly I felt sexy.
