For some awful-unseen-and-undefined reason, I feel empty. I hear the takbir raya in the distance. Slow, soulful, melancholy. This eid is not going to be like all the other eids that I've taken for granted. This time it'll be slightly different. Maybe even vastly different. Maybe superficial as usual. Who's to know? No one can tell the future.
Wednesday was a blur between a yes and a no. In a normal circumstance, champagne chilled on ice would have been popped and now be flowing freely in line with a celebratory mood. An inflation of the happy bubble. An influx of endorphine. But caution keeps whispering in my ear, reminding me to take heed of its warnings. Yes, I'll keep them in mind. I'll be careful this time. I must be.
Beneath the surface, behind the smiles, after the laughter dies, I feel alone. A solitary figure in the desert, being wind-swept but rooted to the spot. I don't know what to do or where to turn to. I still feel the loss, one month on. Is it guilt talking? I'm not sure, but it's a high possibility.
One less person to tell me that my tyres are flat and need to be checked out, one less person to pick out loud colors for my baju kurung, one less person to notify about my exam results, one less person to call me and tell me that my car is needed, one less person to rely on to come get me no matter which part of the globe I might be unfortunate enough to be stranded on, one less person to tell me that dinner is on the table whenever I pay a visit, one less person to send my car for a much needed wash, one less person to salam and ask for forgiveness on raya morning.
And the last thing I ever did was kiss you on the forehead which had turned as cold as ice, for the first and last time. Too late for a sorry, too late for making up for lost time, too late for a goodbye. Tears are futile. They don't change anything. I have been and still am a useless daughter.
Happy raya, Papa. I miss you.
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