Derama


Have not spoken with Mak for more that 2 weeks. It was her birthday last week and I have been a bad daughter , literally, and only called her this morning.

Abah answered the phone bukan Mak like she always do. As usual when asked Abah how is he doing, the list of all his sakit was shared. Yes. My Abah is an attention seeker. He always has been. He has not discovered social media.Imagine if he had, it will be a Hindustan induced status update or tweet every few seconds. Had a chat with him for more than 5 minutes and he passed the phone to Mak.

Mak has a high pitched voice, which I inherited one pitch lower. When she started speaking into the line, for those who does not know her, it sounds annoying. For me, itu suara syurga. Nothing matters in this world when she speaks to me. Aku layan cerita Mak sambil menghayati intonasi dan lenggok bicara Mak. While dictating her story, I celah with few jokes, said padan muka to her at the right time and inserted with few words of caution with regards to Anak Prodigal Yang Ada Udang Di Sebalik Batu. The 15 minute conversation encapsulated an essence of cure for my lost soul. We ended the call rather abruptly, she had to attend to something boiling in the kitchen. But that 15 minutes is good enough for me.

Both my parents are born during WW2, bundaran umur mereka adalah di umur 80. Being a daughter staying so far away from them, one way for me to find signs of Alzheimer is through my conversation with them. I love them too much and too afraid of losing them to Alzheimer.

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