My Tinking Philosophy


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Every knitter tinks at least once in their life. Some people, like my sister, are more careful and conscious when knitting and they could finish a good number of tink-less projects. I, on the other hand, spend far too much time tinking that I would like to admit.

Tinking in terms of knitting is basically ‘un-knit-ting’, removing the stitches you have lovingly tucked onto your needle because of a mistake (it is knit written backwards). Sometimes you miscount your stitches and realise that you should have purled instead of knitted or maybe you’re repeating the pattern for a particular row when you should have move on to the next step.

The most frustrating thing about tinking for me is that I am not a fast knitter and having to tink means that I am negating those precious minutes I spent wrapping my needle with yarns. It’s especially dejecting when I’m in the middle of a cable stitch, which takes even longer as I slip stitches onto a different needle or when I did not realise my mistake until I’m already a number of rows down. In my previous project, I have already done a cast off before I realised that I dropped a few stitches a number of rows down and if I don’t fix it, the whole rose could unravel.

It is not a secret that I am a generally careless person. I’ve sent in Maths homework where I got all the answers wrong because I added instead of subtracted back in my primary school days. I have accidentally poured water from my double boiler into my butter when I was melting it to bake a cake (a feat my mother thought impossible). And although I try to count my stitches and check my work at every row, I still tink at least once in every project, often times more especially in larger work.

However, I also do a lot of pattern-free projects where I experiment and improvise as I go along. With those projects, tinking is pretty much unavoidable as I try different ratios of knits and increase to get a flat circle or where should I make a decrease that would give the finished work a cleaner look. And interestingly, tinking in those projects do not feel like a regretted mistake because for every row I have to tink, I am learning something new.

When following a pattern, all I do is making sure that I get my work done exactly as the instructions are written so I would end up with the same product. A mistake is a problem that I would have to fix, a delay that I would have to extend. So my mind is focused on perfection, on keeping count on the stitches and rows, on making sure that I do a slip slip knit and not a knit two together, and so on.

When I am starting fresh from the start, I have no guide to tell me what to do, no pictures to give me an expectation. Every single stitch I make is a trial run and there is no wrong step because everything I do would produce a particular effect that one day I may put into good use. I rarely find myself getting disappointed over a failure because there is absolutely nothing to fail. Every knit is an opportunity and every purl teaches a lesson.

This dichotomy exists in other interests in my life too. My love for some areas in Mathematics is often hampered by the need to answer questions accurately and quickly in a cold and uncompromising exam setting. I enjoy trying out Maths puzzles even though I couldn’t solve most of them because each one of them could open my mind to a new way of thought that I hadn’t even considered before. When someone explain to me the answer of a geometry question I got completely stumped on and pointed out the relationship of different angles that I haven’t noticed, it’s like learning a new word in a different language or learn something about a culture I never knew existed.

However life does demand a certain amount of ‘perfection’. We don’t pat a faulty traffic light and tell it ‘That’s okay, you tried your best”, when it caused a massive pile up that took away lives. We don’t pardon a surgeon who mistook an artery for a vein and say “You’ll get it right next time!”. We don’t give the engineer whose mismanagement caused a radioactive disaster another project to supervise because everyone makes mistakes. We don’t do all that because the consequences of such mistakes are catastrophic and must be avoided at all costs.

At the same time, that faulty traffic light might shed light on human psychology and how we place trust on certain cues even though we are otherwise capable of watching the traffic ourselves. The surgeon’s fumble could enlighten us on the particular weakness of medical machinery and the engineer’s oversight illuminated flaws on the current plant design that might have otherwise be used elsewhere throughout the world. And if all of these mistakes are hidden behind closed doors, these lessons could never be learnt.

Mistakes, like most things in life, comes with a bit of good and a bit of bad and the severity of either would depend on the particular situation. They should be avoided, of course, but when one does occur, it shouldn’t be treated like a complete loss. We’re always offered lessons wherever we go and whatever we do and at every turn the worst thing that you could do is say “That’s it,” and give up–because when you do, you will close your eyes and your mind to something new and beautiful that was crafted just for you.

And so whether it’s the thousandth time I drop my stitch or get a lumpy hexagon instead of a flat circle or deface the stockinette stitch with a big ugly purl, I’ll still tink my way back and try to see what the lesson might be before moving on and keep my fingers knitting.

A Lesson From A Tree


I stood by my herb bed and looked up. The moringa tree that I’ve moved there two years ago was now more than twice my height, a testament to the length of time I had neglected my garden. What used to be a row of chili, eggplants, lemon grass and various smaller herbs was now a thick mass of ‘kadok’ and ‘belalai gajah’. Lemon grass leaves both dead and alive were tumbling everywhere like a wild mess of tangled hair. Amongst them were vines, which I do not recognise, climbing whatever they could grasp and pulling them down with their weight.

And of course, there was the moringa tree, towering over the whole place like a misplaced giant among dwarves. The thick and sturdy trunk stretched up into the sky to where I couldn’t reach if I wanted to fetch some of its leaves. Moringas are not hard to care for once they’ve gotten themselves securely rooted. They could withstand the lack of water when I forget to give them their drink so unlike many of the other plants that did not survive my absence, my moringas persevered.

In the past, I would trim down my trees at least once a year to allow for an easier harvest and to avoid having its roots digging in too deep so I could easily move them around. However, with my exams taking place last year and my months-long eczema breakout, my garden was slowly being transformed into a mini forest and as the number of days grow, so did the difficulty of the restoration project. And instead of taking the sensible and rational route of early intervention, I let the tides of sorrow crept onto me.

One of my biggest frustrations is how passionately I launch myself into things that I truly love and yet in the end, they somehow die away into nothingness. Some of them happen because of chances and circumstances but many, many more are lost by my own hands, either by neglect, fear, frustration or lethargy. Often times I find myself letting my own bitterness contaminate the sweet taste of pure fervor, and the satisfying scent that accompanies the exhaustion after a day’s work had soured into a musty odour of fatigue. Little by little, I lost sight of the sparkles that comes with tiny victories and saw only the mountains I have yet to climb–and I couldn’t find it within me to take another step.

However, every now and then my zeal would return and at a whim, I would pack my backpack and step back out into the blizzard with the intense wish to gain back all that I have lost. The medals in my trophy cabinet back at home assured me that I have done it before and I could do it again–but the assurance last only for a moment. Fixing a mistake is often harder than starting anew and while you may lose the height of your skills, the memories of them stay, mocking you in your face. It doesn’t take long for me to doubt everything that I do and sometimes everything that I am; because if this present me is nothing like the person I was–then who am I?

But for now, I pushed all of those thoughts from my head and I had one clear objective. This tree is too big for my herb bed and I am going to move it to a more suitable home,  some place where it would be given all the opportunity to grow and bring us the first of the much loved drumstick fruit. I sawed the tree down to a manageable height and kept the leaves for my mother. I pulled the mess of ‘kadok’ and ‘belalai gajah’ for our ‘ulam’ until there is nothing on the ground but the trunk of the tree and the roots beneath. And with a rusty trowel in one hand, I thrusted it into the Earth and started digging.

As it is my habit when I work in the garden, I began talking to the plant, apologising for my neglect and telling it that I am trying to get back into the swing. I told it about how the last time I felt I couldn’t do something turned out okay in the end and although I don’t really feel it, I think it’s a sign that I need to pick myself up and move on. I thanked it for waiting for me even though I don’t deserve it. The tree never said much but it lets me talk nevertheless.

The day was not hot. The sun hid behind clouds and our mango tree provided me a lovely shade from the dimmed sun rays. Nonetheless, my lack of physical activities in the recent months had started to make itself known. Although the moisture within the soil couldn’t be more perfect (not too dry and not too wet), I started to feel tired after going past half a foot down. It didn’t help that the deeper I go, the harder it was to navigate through the root and avoid the sharp edges of the sides of the bed which was covered in tiny stones. So I grasped the trunk tightly in my arms and gave it a gentle but strong tug. It didn’t give.

Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. I know that, I whispered, as I continued to dig. Say what I want about my own inner conflict, I made the decision to leave my garden and I have to make amends.

But, my dearest, my sweet, could you please help me out a bit?

I paused to look up at its leaves. The little green circles danced prettily as the wind blew, breaking its perfect mosaic for but a few moments. No, I gulped and pressed on. No, the tree had done more than I had done. It too had its struggle when the ground was dry and the moths fly by. I wasn’t the only lonely one. 

Relationships go both ways, do they not? But love, would you please, please lend me a bit of a hand?

The trunk did not answer.

Ah, you are just as stone hearted as I. Then so be it.

My hands are now red and a few of the cracks on my fingers which were about to heal had burst back open as they pressed on the hard edge of my trowel. The small bits of concrete jutting out from the inside of the bed are scratching me every other minute and the roots showed now signs of tapering off. My back was aching and I couldn’t find a comfortable position. I had forgotten how to whisper, or the fact that I have neighbours, and they could probably hear me having a full blown one-sided argument with a tree.

My child, the reason why I couldn’t go out was because of my eczema. Well, partly anyway. And if you don’t make way any time soon, I’m going to hurt it and that could cause another outbreak. Yes, patience, I know. I am trying to be patient but patience would not stop my hand from breaking. Do you want me to just saw your roots off?

The trunk stared me down.

Fine. Fine. Fine. You were patient, I will be patient too.

I groaned and went back in with the thinnest of patience. My hand was now shaking with a mix of exhaustion and frustration. I was covered in soil from head to toe and I no longer cared about keeping my hand safe. I stabbed the trowel into the ground again and again and again and the dirt that got into the cracks of my skin were now practically cemented with sweat and bits of blood. I was now a foot in from when I started. I placed my hand between the two main roots and tugged with all my might but I couldn’t move it even a bit. And I was starting to feel like a fool for even trying.

Please, I am trying to be better. I want to be better, I really do but it’s already so hard. Just the idea of it all seems so insurmountable. If I can’t even pull you out, my sweet, what can I do?

The trunk stayed quiet.

I was now desperate. I had done nothing today other than digging this hole and I have nothing to show for it. The sun would be setting soon and the roots showed no sign of thinning. I looked around at my garden in its horrendous state and asked myself if I have anything to show for all that I have done in my life. I just wanted to stop.

Then I paused and looked back at the tree. Something clicked at the back of my head and I eyed it tentatively.

Are you… are you trying to teach me a lesson on perseverance?

I waited for an answer which did not come. I turned to the pile of unearthed soil and back into the hole in the bed. The way I see it, I only have three choices. I could just leave the whole thing be and probably let the tree die now that I’ve upset it so much. I could push all the Earth back in but that would only get me back to where I started.

Or of course, I could keep going. I know that somehow, in the end, I would get to tip of the roots. Even if I have to use a stone as a makeshift shovel, I could theoretically get it done eventually. The tricky circumstances, the need for time and my own doubts are obstacles I need to overcome all my life, whatever the struggle. Whether the problem is restarting a garden, finishing a book draft or just pulling out a tree, I still have to face problems from within and without, and I have to learn to wait.

Okay. Well, I guess I’ll take it then.

With that I went back in, this time quietly, as I reflected on the things that I already know deep inside and even discussed about in my head but which are now being repeated to me. I thought of the many tiny knolls I succeeded to climb because I went on despite the obstacles. Silat routines, NaNoWriMo challenges, artworks, school achievements and public presentations. Even little things that I am proud to have done but never shared because they seem so insignificantly small. But I did them.

And so with the hole nearly two feet deep, I hugged the trunk of the tree, took a deep breath and gave it a sharp tug. Finally it gave way and I had in my hand another medal to add to my cabinet. I grinned at it and thought I could feel it grinning back.

Was my tree really teaching me a lesson on perseverance? You tell me.

 

Covid-19: Our Fear and What Can We Do About It?


On the morning of the 17th of March, I went to a nearby supermarket to buy a few things we’re running low on. The night before, the prime minister had announced that starting on the 18th, Malaysia would be placed under movement control, and although we already have been stocking up on some essential items, we thought it would be a good idea to get some fresh food, just in case they would be hard to come by in the future.

The roads leading to the supermarket were eerily silent. They weren’t completely empty but for a Tuesday morning, there usually would be a lot more traffic especially on the main road. As I approached the supermarket however, I began to see some of cars slowly building up a mini traffic jam but it was nothing compared to what greeted me next.

The moment I walked through the glass door, I found the supermarket to be absolutely crowded. Trying to make your way from one end of the supermarket to the other was a complete obstacle course. People of all ages were clearing out already bare shelves. Elderly couples and families with young kids are standing shoulder to shoulder, snaking their way into the cashier queue which have stretched all the way to the entrance. And although I’ve decided that the grocery is not worth spending any more time than I need to in the mini mass gathering, I still had to worm my way between the crowd just to make an exit, trying in vain not to touch anyone.

Back at home, we hear about similar events taking place all over Malaysia. People are rushing into stores in a manic frenzy and families are frantically packing to escape the city. Instructions on precautionary measures like staying at home, standing a metre away from each other or just frequent hand washing are nothing but hazy recollections at the back of one’s head, blocked by a more urgent sense of impending doom. The people’s underappreciated freedom to do whatever they please have now been revoked and that have placed everyone into a state of uncertainty, confusion and fear. And as varied as the colours of people who walk this Earth, so are their reactions to their fears.

The Need to Act

For most of us, fear drives us into immediate action. We are plagued by a sense of restlessness and helplessness, propelling us into doing simply anything to ease our discomfort. It doesn’t matter if we know which mask to get, how a mask even works against infection or how to use it best; we simply buy them by the dozens. It doesn’t matter that proper hand cleaning with soap and water is the best way to prevent the virus from spreading through contact, we’ll just get bottles of hand sanitizer because it seems much more medical.

This is partly why people are buying seemingly irrational things too. After news of the toilet paper robberies in Hong Kong and Australia spread through the social media, people all over the world are buying rolls and rolls of toilet paper. Fueled by FOMO (or the Fear Of Missing Out) and the shock at such desperate an act, even those who usually don’t use toilet paper are now asking themselves “Should I get one too? Or perhaps a few, just in case?”

Similarly, it is the reason why people are leaving their homes in droves in a search for a ‘safer’ place. The availability of good facility in major hospitals has given the appearance that these cities have high number of cases and those seeking assurance assume that it would be safer for them to stay away.

For others, the thought of living far apart at a time of crisis is too much to bear even in the age of instant communication. Their sleeps are disturbed by the thoughts of loved ones dying far away from them and they want to be together for each other. The unseen risk of them being the catalyst for spreading the disease seems negligible in compared to these more imminent fears.

State of Denial

Another common reaction to fear is to rebel against it as the thought of being weak is too uncomfortable for us to deal with. Instead of admitting to ourselves that there is a problem which they have to face, we would rather tell ourselves that everything is okay. And the harder the world tries to force us into believing that something is definitely wrong, the more inclined we are to not face it. Suddenly, the thought of staying at home is giving us the heebie-jeebies even though we could spend hours on the game console without a word of complain.

To others, this denial may be more subtle. They are consciously aware and admit that it is a time of crisis, but to actually live in a way which reflects that is so unbearably uncomfortable. It is similar to the actions of a heavy smoker who, deep inside, do feel the need to cut down a few packs, but would rather just not think about it and keep smoking.

Is It All Fear Though?

Of course, humans are much more complex and no matter how much we try to dissect each other, we would never be able to even begin comprehend the whole truth. There are lots of different factors that affect our actions in all situations. However, humans are social beings and in a society, emotions can be just as contagious, or even more so, than the virus that threatens our lives.

And fear itself is a very powerful emotion that had been hardwired in the brains of all creatures to ensure their survival. We often hear amazing things one could do in the midst of an adrenaline rush. At the same time, fear can cause you to do something that you would regret as it often only cares about your short term survival. And at a time of crisis, even those who generally have a good hold on their fears are now being affected by the accumulated anxiety of the whole population that surrounds them.

So What Do We Do?

Fear often cause the steadiest of people to act on their impulse. It comes with a sense of urgency that demands immediate action. Especially at a time like this, it is wise to practice a bit of mindfulness and self awareness as a tool to help us make wiser actions. Keep checking in with yourself and ask yourselves questions like “What is the reason behind my action? How am I feeling and how is it affecting me? Do I really need to do this or would it harm other people? Based on my beliefs, what is best thing that I could do right now?”

By being more in tune with your values, your actions would bring a more permanent sense of satisfaction rather than the quick bites of temporary relief that would simply lead to another round of panic. And by constantly checking in with your emotions, you would be more sensitive to the irrational urges that may cause you to do something that you will later regret. The more control we have over ourselves, the less burden we will put on all of the healthcare workers and members of the public service who are racing against the clock to save lives.

On top of that, keep yourself informed with current updates from reputable sources that would help you prepare yourself for what is to come. Pay attention to and carry out the precautionary measures given by the authorities so you could tell yourself honestly that you have tried what you could to protect yourself, your family, your friends and your community.

Be patient and be calm. Insya Allah, if we all work together, by His help and guidance, we will get through this.

Finding The Spark


There is a gas stove that is about my age sitting in our kitchen and it had been faithfully serving us for well over twenty years. As is expected with its age, the stove is hardly perfect. The flame on one of the hobs would simply die out if you try to lower the heat while I haven’t seen the spark of another kicking the gas alight for more than ten years.

The biggest hob is the most troublesome of the functioning three as there are days when the gas simply refuses the light and you need a match to get it started. And if you’re pressed for time or simply lacking on motivation, it’s just too much trouble to hunt for a matchbox or a candle to catch the fire from another hob just to get it started.

And like its peer, I have days when I wake up with a roaring spirit brimming on exuberance and I work on the chores or projects of the day with a singing heart. Ideas after ideas are lighting the bulbs in my head as I pick a few to be my passion projects and label the others as ‘to-be-considered’. Every step is rewarded with a sense of purpose and quiet satisfaction. Every thought is treated as a possibility and I turn the house upside-down with my “let’s do this NOW!”

But sometimes I wake up to a dark, bluish tint as the world is enshrouded in cumulonimbus clouds. Without the sun to light up the flowers in my garden, my eyes catch only the weeds that pop out of nooks and crevices. All around me, I can only see shadows of quenched dreams, failed expeditions and love lost. The knolls I skipped over everyday become imposing mountains that laugh in my face. And the fire, the fire that used to burn so brightly, now fizzles away in the rain.

But just because the knob on the gas stove wouldn’t work, it doesn’t mean that my only choice is to buy my meal. There is always the lighter or the matchstick. There are two more smaller hobs that I could use with a little tweak of the recipe. There’s also the oven and the rice cooker if I’m feeling more adventurous. All I need is a bit of determination.

And although it is harder when the raincloud filter is in my own eyes, it doesn’t mean that I couldn’t do anything simply because it is too dark for me to see. Just because I am blinded to the light, it doesn’t mean that it isn’t there. Even in the bleakest of nights, we are reminded of the bright sun by the gentle glow it lends to the moon. And with eyes so dark that I forget the images of my own sight, I can still find that spark to relight my fire as long as I have my faith to fuel my heart.

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Nota Tingkatan 4 Bab 10 Dasar British dan Kesannya Terhadap Ekonomi Negara SPM

Nota Tingkatan 4 Bab 10 Dasar British dan Kesannya Terhadap Ekonomi Negara SPM


For my SPM preparations (2019), I drew up a mind map with the complete notes for Sejarah, Form 4, Chapter 10. I actually took these pictures for my own keepsakes but I have decided to share them in hopes that it could help or inspire others. I arranged these notes in such a way where I could see how they relate to each other which helps me better digest the information. All of the information are taken strictly from the textbook. I apologise for the lack of quality but I hope that other candidates could find something to take away from them.

Sebagai persiapan untuk SPM (2019), saya telah membuat satu peta minda nota lengkap bagi mata pelajaran Sejarah, Tingkatan 4, Bab 10. Sebenarnya saya mengambil gambar peta ini untuk dijadikan kenangan tetapi saya mengambil keputusan untuk kongsikannya bersama anda semua. Manalah tahu, mungkin ada yang dapat mengambil manfaat. Saya menyusun nota-nota tersebut agar saya boleh melihat bagaimana sesuatu perkara berkait dengan perkara yang lain supaya mudah untuk dihadami. Semua nota-nota diambil hanya dari buku teks sahaja. Saya minta maaf di atas kualiti yang kurang memuaskan tetapi saya berharap gambar-gambar ini cukup untuk memberi idea kepada calon-calon SPM 2020.

 

The Best Candidate For Our Next Prime Minister

The Best Candidate For Our Next Prime Minister


The 23rd of February, 2020 was one of the longest Sunday Malaysia had seen. Two days had gone by since the Pakatan Harapan Presidential Council had taken place and rumours of discord from behind the closed doors spread like wildfire. While the official statement declared that the members of the council had agreed to place their trust into Mahathir’s hands regarding the date of his resignation, speculations of dissatisfactions and demands unmet during the meeting were running rampant.

Sunday came, and with it rolled in a thousand and one explosions as the news dropped us bombshells after bombshells. Ministers are said to be cleaning up their desks, political parties are hosting impromptu meetings across the nation and before the dust could settle from the late, late night excitements, a short press statement dropped onto our laps on the very next day, announcing the prime minister’s resignation, effectively dissolving the Cabinet in one swoop. And as the crème de la crème, PPBM announced that they have decided to leave the Pakatan Harapan coalition, shattering the fledgling government as they lose their majority in the Parliament.

We were told that the Yang di-Pertuan Agong had appointed Mahathir as the interim prime minister while awaiting the appointment of the next one and naturally, the question that is now in everyone’s mind is: “Who will be the next prime minister?”.

From the snippets of news that I’ve gathered on the many ongoing interparty meetings, it seems highly likely that our new leader would hail from the new coalition, Perikatan Nasional (I am still not over the fact of how beautifully this name echoes another moment in our history when people from different groups set aside their differences for the future of our nation). And the three names which are gaining traction among the people are Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah, Tan Sri Muhyidin Yassin and Dato’ Seri Hishammuddin Hussein.

In the days leading towards the 14th General Election, there were many voices proclaiming that they seek a veteran leader who have collected wisdom throughout the years with a wealth of experience under their belt. People are searching for someone who could help improve and expand Malaysia’s then booming economy to its best potential. Freelancers and the new wave of online entrepreneurs, who themselves are stepping into uncharted territory, and executives alike are looking for a capable financing expert who could lead the country into the much awaited year of 2020.

At the same time, the people are also setting their hearts on a leader who would place the people as their main priority. Among the speculations and accusations of corruption and a sense of worldwide social awakening, voters were careful in their search for someone who would not abandon nor exploit the everyday man but instead give them the opportunity, guidance and assistance so they too could serve the country in their respective fields. They want a prime minister who would make every Malaysian proud to say “This man is our leader and he cares for us”.

Judging from these concerns, my eyes are set on UMNO’s Gua Musang MP, Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah, affectionately known as Ku Li.

As the Father of Malaysia’s Economy, he was the mastermind behind the establishment and implementation of a number of key foundations and policies in our economy, many of which we are still relying heavily on to this day. Even before he served the country as a full minister, Ku Li had lead a number of economical initiatives including the building of Bank Bumiputra Malaysia Berhad, PERNAS and PETRONAS.

After receiving the post as the Minister of Finance and later Minister of Trade and Industry, he continued his focus on expanding the economy and improving the financial status of the people through the formation of PNB, which had brought many small local entrepreneurs and professionals to participate directly in the country’s economical growth, and many others. His efforts in the Malaysian and ASEAN Chamber of Commerce did not simply earn him the respect and affection of the people, but he also garnered international acknowledgement and recognition which earned him the title “Father of Malaysian Economic Development”.

Behind the limelight of national and international acclamation, Ku Li is a simple statesman who is well loved by the people of his constituency, where he had served for more than three decades. His popularity among the people had kept him as the longest serving member of our parliament. Despite his royal background, being the great-uncle of the current Sultan of Kelantan, he is known to be seen with the people who calls him “Ku Kita”, or The People’s Prince, titles well-earned.

It is true that the cloud of dust is still hanging in the air after the fall of the still green Pakatan Harapan government and there is no sure way of telling what would happen next. Nevertheless, it is my opinion that based on the character prerequisite given by the people, Ku Li is the man best fit for the role of our next prime minister based on his capability and experiences. It is also my hope to see someone as sure footed, strong of mind and with as good a presence of self as Tengku Razaleigh Hamzah leading our country back into the Tiger Economy.

My Grandfather, My Confidant


His ‘kain pelikat’ was soaked with my tears as I clung to his knees and wept. The hour had passed with me sharing with him all my woes. I told him about the silliest, insignificant word someone had called me that felt unjust. I talked about the people I love with all of my heart, yet couldn’t connect with. I cried for all that I yearn for, all just within my grasp but which were denied. I expressed my fear at the unknown, donning the mask of an examiner, eyes never leaving, ready to pounce at every mistake.

As I finally threw out all coherency and lost all sense of language but for the sobs that burst out of my chest, he placed his hand on my shoulder and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Don’t worry, you’ll find your cat again. She isn’t lost.”

And in spite of all of my anguish and anxiety, I laughed. I looked up and saw him smiling at me, pleased to see that he made me feel better.

He was my grandfather. A nonagenarian who didn’t remember that he had ever married or had children, most of the time. A man who woke up at a different time period each day, with a slightly different view on life. A man who would delightfully share with you tales of his youth, which he remembered in great detail, if you ask the right questions. A man who would listen to you empathically whenever you have a weight you need to lift off your chest; and even though he didn’t always understand all that you shared, he would try to cheer you up and give you words of advice and encouragement.

For a few years, my father had encouraged me to write about my experience caring for my grandfather, in hopes that it would help others who also have someone dear to care for. He wanted me to share how I felt and the struggles I had to face so others won’t feel like they were alone in this. And no matter how much I tried to convince him that this wasn’t a chore for me, he would insist on thanking me for my ‘sacrifice’.

I initially didn’t want to write about this, which is why it has taken me years to finally put this together. The days I spent with my grandfather and what I shared with him was something very close and personal to me, something I feel irrationally possessive about.

Because it had never been a sacrifice — it was one of the most fulfilling years of the latter half of my life. I felt loved, cherished and richer than I had been for so many years.

I cannot honestly say that every day was a walk in the park. There were days when he insisted that he wasn’t hungry and I had to wreck my brain in trying to find something which would coax his appetite. There were nights when I found him with the wardrobe door wide opened and all of his clothes piled high on his bed. He was fit for his age but he had accidents — he once fell asleep while having tea and fell to the floor — so I always had to keep a sharp eye. We even had days when he woke up and was only able to converse in Arabic (which my very rusty elementary Arabic couldn’t keep up with) and another in German. And I remember a day when he insisted that he had to leave the house because he needed to see a friend even though it was past midnight.

But at the same time, I enjoyed whipping up crazy ideas to make his food appealing to his eye. I was entertained when he suddenly went to my brother late at night and spent an hour teaching him the correct way to march. When we left the house, I liked to show him odd and fascinating things I could see that others may find silly. I shared the funny videos I found on the internet that I thought he would enjoy and we watched them together. I even spoke Trengganuspeak with him, something that I had been too anxious to try out with anyone else.

But the thing I never told my father was that, beyond all that, my grandfather was the one person I could share all of what I hid from the rest of the world without the fear of disappointment or prejudice. He was my source of comfort when the nights felt so dark and cold. He was my confidant and my friend; never expecting more of me than what I feel I could shoulder and always offering me his strength when I feel too tired to stand. Caring for someone like him had given me such a sense of purpose, acceptance, appreciation and validation that I hadn’t found elsewhere.

At no time had the days I spent with him felt like a sacrifice more than it was a gift.

I don’t know who I was to him, he only referred to me as ‘ganda-ganda kita’ (one of us), but to me, he had a life worthy to be painted in a series of books. He was a man who had walked on the Earth before me and tried his hands at something grand and amazing and was somewhat disappointed with the response he received. He was someone who had so much love in him that it had broke him several times over. He was one of the people I had to thank for the life I have and for being the person that I am.

He was the one person I spilled all of my heart to ever since my brother was old enough to understand the weight of the words I say. He was my sanctuary from scrutinising eyes and the solace that soothes my turbulence. He was the best of my friends and he was my dear, old grandfather.