Currently Playing: Denison Witmer - Are You Lonely.
Airports are fascinating places if you pay close attention
to the scenes that take place in that setting. I’m particularly drawn to the
Arrival and Departure gates, drawn to the stark contrast of images between the
two. These two points bear witness to the height of human emotions – tears of
joy at the sight of a loved one, tears of sadness as they walk away beyond a
point into the territory reserved for flight passengers only. Airports are one
of the few places that offer the privilege of these remarkable spectacles; a
terrain that mark reunions and separations.
We sent Lutfi off the Thursday before last. All around, I saw students
lining up with their luggage at the check-in counter, checking passports,
taking photos and having last minute conversations with their families. Summer
holiday was over; it was time to go back for another university year. It was
somewhat overwhelming taking the whole picture in. I spotted a familiar sight in one corner; JPA
students gathered in a circle, all with their uniform blazers on, listening to
the briefing being delivered by a JPA official. Their families were standing in
the outer circle, watching and waiting. That was us last year. That was us,
watching and waiting. And the one thing I remember was Lutfi leading the du’a
for the students before the circle dispersed.
If there’s one thing I cannot stand, it’s a rich kid on
scholarship with a family who can afford to pay for his education overseas. I
have an extra soft spot for students who come from poor backgrounds and are flying
for the first time. I’m all the happier for them, that they’ve been given the
opportunity to build a better life for themselves and their families. You can
sometimes tell who they are, spot them in the middle of a crowd. Usually,
almost the entire extended family is present to bid them goodbye, if not the
whole kampung. They’ll look a little tired, perhaps worn from the long journey
to KL from their homes, but there’s such an excited, hopeful air about them
that you can’t help but smile. My heart and prayers go out to these fully
deserving people. It’s their turn to shine.
It’s funny, thinking back, that I didn’t shed a tear that
day Lutfi left. Widad let hers flow freely and Luqman was quiet. It’s no guarantee
that we’ll see him again in 9 months because anything can happen, and that
scares me. I never let on, but it scares me to the core. But I couldn’t feel
anything that day. It was as if my brain wasn’t really processing that he was
going to be 23,000km away once again, as if all it would allow me to think was
that he was going to some place not so far away for just a little while, and
that was all.
He was a different person leaving this time around. No
longer the stiff, uniformed junior scholar heading off for the first time, he
walked away from us that day a senior with a confident stride, dressed casually
with a guitar strapped to his back. We saw off two different personalities in
one person in two years.
Students, siblings, they come and go all the time. They
return for the holidays and fly off for their studies annually – it’s normal,
it’s the routine. So why am I being so dramatic about this?
There are reasons, reasons which bore deep, reasons which
are real. The recent death of his junior doesn’t make it any easier either. That’s another sad story I’m willing to share only in person, not here.
Maybe it’s harder this second time around because I remember
how hard it was before. We thought time would pass quickly, but it didn’t.
Changes happened at home without him being involved. And now I’m being reminded
again of how it was. His absence is marked everywhere – one empty seat at the
dinner table, one plate less to set, one empty seat in the car on sibling
outings, and one room with only half of its original two occupants. I don’t
think I registered Lutfi was actually gone until his message came in the other
day, and I saw the NZ number. It finally hit me then that he wasn’t home, and
all football talks would have to be through the Net again, and that we didn’t
have him around to state completely random facts at odd times, or to be a
confidante to Luqman, or to patiently listen to our grouses or to be there to
help and never complaining about it. That’s just who he is.
When he came home for his summer holidays, I was sick in the
hospital at the time. He didn’t grumble one bit at the fact that he was put to
the task of running errands right away. Not one bit. And I remember when I was
having those long coughing and retching fits at the sink that he’d just stand
there until I was done hurling my insides out, making sure I recovered. If I
accidentally threw up on the floor, or worse, on the carpet, he’d usually clean it up himself. It’d
embarrass me no end, but I was too sick then and so he did it, no protests made.
Maybe it’s awkward to read about all this, but I don’t feel
awkward writing it because it’s the absolute truth, and I say this as a
matter-of-factly. That is why I regard him the way I do. Already, I want my
brother back home. It sounds pathetic after only one week of him leaving, but
I’m not ashamed to say it, despite the fact that open familial affection nowadays
usually raises eyebrows.
But I know this won’t do, and that there will come a time
that our family will have to grow and include strangers in our fold. Sooner or
later, we will have to separate anyway. I hate this particular consequence of
growing up.
I don’t think it’s as hard on him to leave us here as it is
on us for him to go, but isn’t that always the case?
That it’s always harder on the people whom you leave behind.
Godspeed, Lutfi jan.
Sending du’as your way,
Your sister.
Enough said here.
