My Siblings

At first there were eleven of us. Then there were eight. Now only six left.

I was 6, my brother Din, 4, and Omar, 3. No days passed without us chasing, pulling and wrestling each other. Their punches were real and hard. But I don't ever remember crying. We were tough. Our laughter, our screams are still fresh in my memory.

As youngsters we played as hard as we work. Even at that tender age we were given tasks. Responsibilities we carried out religiously without being reminded. Each morning Mak's gentle voice was the alarm clock that woke us up. Within minutes all three (elder sis - Tam, younger bro - Din, and I) were ready and set reporting for duty. We were working in sales and marketing. Fast with counting and good at knowing people's character.

B4 it got too hot we went for a dip in the river. Only to be back on time for lunch, unless you fancy the cane for your meal. By evening everyone must complete their routine. Filling the drums with water taken from the well half a mile away. Cutting the firewood and arranging them neatly under the house. Feeding the goats and chickens. Sweeping and cleaning. Done the homework and then off to mengaji (religious lesson).

Religous Lessons. There was something I couldn't understand then. No matter how early I came, I would always be the last taught the Quran and the last to go. Only later on did the reasons dawned on me.

To me time was not really an issue. But then I was just a little girl, 7-8 years old. The sense of climbing down the high steps and of walking back alone in the dark still haunts me in my dreams.

One day my bro Omar was crashed by a drunkard. He was barely eight. I was then schooling in a SRJK. Only God knew how it hurts. My sis Tam passed away 10 years ago. She was my bestest friend. I still miss them. Then on Dec 2006 my eldest sis crashed under a trailer that was blocking her way, killing her and her grand child on the spot. A week after I clean, bathed and shrouded her body. Then I left the kampung for good.