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grandma's call

  • 2
  • Sufi
  • 12 years ago
  • 3,851
  • FREE










     "Saye sayang opah saye. Muktamad. (helmet itu adalah helmet saye.ngee)"






I have a grandma and she is like 90. She still can walk, cook, solat, taking a bath and membebel when she please.

She enjoys being urut or picit very much dat all of us have been avoiding dat particular concern ever since. She has 8 children n 1 had passed away at d age of 18.

Now d other 7 are all grown up, have children n some even have grandchildren.




I am like among the 2nd batch of her grandchildren, n I strongly think we are the finest batch of all. We have entreprendes, we have academicians, we have musician, we have playboy(wit s plz kakakaka), we have racers and we also have fighters. Its like if we decide to form some sort of mob organization, d work wud b like d Italian’s. (demolition expert’s stil in matriculation =p)

So d thing is we have a good life over here without extreme challenge and we are enjoying d pride of it very well. And more than occasionally, our good life wud surely rally up wit grandma’s.




One thing about grandma is dat she is heavily down to negative attitude bout everything dat surrounds her. She seems to suffer from bipolar disorder but only sticks wit d depression episode. She always talks bout our late grandpa, she always talks bout death, bout her asthma, n bout her despairs. Jz name it n I’ll most likely say yep.

Her eldest son is an entreprende; big cars big money big schedule. But to her dis uncle of mine got more time to sparkle d S class rather than having a lunch wit her.

Her 2nd eldest son is d head engineer in JKR; tons of paperworks n computer screen but to her, he worships d sweet smelling secretary rather than her greyed hair n wrinkled skin.

And her youngest daughter cum my mum; is a teacher. Student’s affair n PIBG meetings but again, all of these are jz some fucking excuses from us to keep her cold in d forgotten bin.

All of dat fuckin pitiless thoughts of us are obviously poignant myths; they are not true at all. I mean, despite d busy life my mum have always got a time to spend every weekends wit grandma. Same goes to my uncles n my aunties; dat forgotten bin never exist.

But as I said, she can still membebel and she enjoys it very much, shes good at it, she must have taken a PhD in it. All d poetic and lyrical facets are appropriately included. Wutta.

Like they have in physics, certain action will produce certain reaction and dat particular reaction wud be accordingly defined by d joules of d energy. So if 20k joules of soothing speech are projected onto d sets of thin eardrums wic belong to a group of bad-tempered grandchildren on d average of once every week, u can imagine how handsome d reaction wud be.



Yes, sadly d group of d thin eared bad-tempered grandchildren ends up wit d rude n harsh words n attitude. N double sadly, more than occasionally dis includes me, d soft-hearted n properly taught sufi. Fuck me.




Sometimes when we were staying up late playing pakau, she came around n served us wit dat soothing speech again. N in d morning (I mean afternoon) she came to me n woke me up wit d sudden accelerating move (jurus memintak kaki kalo bukan nenek aku).


N I din jz growl, but closely to yelling I said: pah ni apasal nak bunuh orang ke kejut2 camni?!! Mesti nk jerit2???orang baru tido ahhhhhhh.

Yeh, like dat. I did feel a lil remorse subsequently, but I’d always managed to forgive myself wit some soft talk wit her later on (bodek2). But like 2 or 3 days later, same thing will happen again. U know, like a constant cycle.


But I din mean to be rude or whatever; its jz like our unique way (our unique fuckin way) to be outspoken. U know how they say it; d level of politeness is at its lowest wit d closest ones. So we ve been using it as our finest excuse to keep doing d thing, we ve been keeping it as our finest defense to eradicate d remorse n forgive ourselves. Its not dat we dun luv our grandma; we luv her very much like we wud die for her n we wud cry if she dies.

But it’s jz dat we are a group of grandchildren wit a stupid attitude n manners constraint. And dats y we ve been reacting like dis towards d 20k joules of her soothing speech.





And few days ago, I was on my way to campus. Since I left my spare helmet in grandma’s house, so I dropped in. It was like 2.30 in d evening. Hot, searing, dry air, no wind. Like a sizzling sun. I parked my bike under d tree n jumped off as quickly as I cud. N dat was when I saw her sitting on an aged chair, staring uncaringly thru d winds, tho there was no wind. She was alone, in her washed out baju kurung kedah, holding her favorite tasbih, wit a very mind-numbing facial expression.




15mins previously, as I was on my bike, one average-good-looking chick illuminated my emotion wit her damned pretty smile when we were stopping side-by-side for d red. Eventho it is considered as a short-lived event, but things like dat cud b a good stimulus to keep my days going. U know, I mean like if I am tired one day n feel sluggish for d one hour trip to campus, events like dat cud b some sort of motivation to me, slight motivation I mean. It cud be part of d things dat make d days of a guy at my age. Dat event is not important at all, but it cud help me up to accomplish important ones.





So, now here’s d point.


I got chick on d red to cheer my days up plus a good fren oversea.

My kezen got his EK 9 large v-tec for d pride plus one loyal gf whose name is included wit ir.

N my uncle is having a constant conversation bout buying d brand new eagle eyes. Oh yes, he doesn’t plan to trade-in d s-class.

But wat do my grandma got?

Macho man on d red?
She haven’t seen no traffic light like years; d bed d kitchen d aged chair d front yard have been d only regular sight of hers n most probably it wud b routine until death.

EK 9 large v-tec? She got carsick thus no car wud stimulate her.

N like I said before, she talks a lot about our late grandpa so a conversation bout big cars won’t draw her attention at all.




So wat wud make up her days?

Then I remember on d last Ramadhan when most of her children n grandchildren dtg lepak berbuke puase kat umah die, she seemed to be so full at hand. Her mouth was like pot pet2 cam mulut pakai bateri suh org sume mkn. She had made a nice n crispy karipap n lempeng pisang for our dessert tho her condition is not appropriate for any kitchen work. But she did it. n from d shine in her greyed eyes, I knew dat it were things like dis dat made up her days. She talked much n she laughed at d stupidest joke. N I din see her staring uncaringly thru d wind, tho there was no wind.


Yep. Things like dat wud make up her days.

But to we; dats damned boring.



WE; all her fellow sons n daughters n grandsons n granddaughters have been neglecting her, at least in her points of view. When she kept babbling n nagging as if we were keeping her cold in d forgotten bin, we simply perceived dat she was very demanding n making use of her status as an old widowed woman. We simply convinced each other dat she was exaggerating. We ignored our fucking selves; we ignored her loneliness n her needs; for a fucking simple depth-listening.


She din ask for money.

She din ask my mum to dump d students n stay wit her days n nights.

She din ask my uncle to rebuilt d old house n bring in mahogany sofas.

All she ever wanted was a group of us, a group of people for whom she cud make a nice n crispy karipap.


to kill her boredom.

to be her companion when d noon is hot n searing.

to sooth her memories of our late grandpa, when she wipes d tears on d wrinkled skin.



And now, she was in front of me wit dat uncaringly stare. She din notice me; she din hear d growling engine of my bike since her ears were out of coverage long time ago. I looked at her. I felt my chest was starting to double its weight. Wat is she doing? This is damned boring, I wud have gone elsewhere, perhaps hanging around at bb. But where shud she go? There is no one; she’s all alone, sitting purposelessly on d aged chair. Nobody to talk to. Nobody to make some crispy karipap for. N the sun is hot, she cud nt sleep so d boredom wud die away.



I felt my eyes were starting to get very wet. So I stepped ahead n called her but then I had to shout to her since it was very hard for her to catch up wit my words. Highly-pitched, I explained to her dat I was on my way to campus, dat I was here for d spare helmet. Then she told me to study hard, get good job, make good money n find good wife n have a good life. I jz stayed muted. I cudnt produce any sound. My chest was very heavy.





Then i took n kissed her hand, I kissed both of her cheeks n I kissed her forehead like I always do when I was a kid. Then I grabbed d helmet behind d door. N as I kissed her wrinkled forehead again, I promised her dat I will stay here for d night.




I put on my helmet n headed for my bike. I felt an unfamiliar heat in my eyes. Silently i asked myself; wat a fuckin grandson i am.



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  • 1) Ah orang tua. I guess it happens to everyone when we get old. We just do not want to be lonely.
    Sufi, I like this. Probably with properly spelled words, it would be a thoroughly enjoyable read. And of course, cut down on the swearing. Not that I say this is awful. Just suggestions on certain areas that can be improved

  • (Author)
    2) tqvm for ur detailed comments.huhu. i saje tulis camtu, kalo ikut spelling normal cam skema lak =p

    n of course, the swearing was purposely included; so dat ppl wud know how terrible grandson i am T_T

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