What Will Be, Will Be (Final)

IT was a whole new world out there in Kuala Lumpur, running around covering assignments of all manner and kind, and enthusiastically chasing after stories, as rookie reporters are wont to do.

Assigned to the afternoon daily, The Malay Mail (then the only noon paper around), my life revolved around work and nothing much else. The hours, long and arduous, were at the expense of my social life, but being social was the least of all my concerns.

Journalists (then and now) tend to date and eventually marry each other, and I was no exception. Having a fellow scribe as one's spouse in a way eliminates potential misunderstanding and mistrust as he/she understands the nature of one's work, especially the long hours involved.

I dated N, a fellow journalist, whom I eventually married, followed him to London where he was posted as a correspondent, returned home with a baby in tow and moved to Kuantan on yet another posting, where two more tykes came our way.

The close proximity between Kuantan and Dungun saw us driving up to visit Grandma and Grandpa often, mostly to let loose the children on their doting great-grandparents. Occasionally we would take in Kuala Terengganu as well, day trips mostly, to shop and poke around.

It was during one of those trips that I inadvertently ran into my erstwhile suitor Z, the English teacher. My two little boys and I were looking at some batik and brassware in the marketplace of Kedai Payang while their father was somewhere ahead at one of the stalls, when Z came sauntering down the narrow pathway.

We chatted civilly for a while, with him making the appropriate kind comments about the children. But when I asked about his marital status, his face changed: “Hati yang luka masih belum terubat dan sekarang sakit balik bila tengok you dengan anak-anak you.” Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

[My heart has yet to heal and now it is wounded afresh when I see you with your children].

It has been 29 years since that fateful meeting in Kedai Payang. I have not met him since. Wherever he is today, I hope he has found love and happiness. Z was a good man with good intentions. Only time wasn't on his side where I was concerned.

In 1980, my indefatigable grandmother passed away of cancer at the age of 59. Her sudden departure left a void so big that until today my heart aches at the mere thought of her. She was larger than life and when she died, part of me died with her.

A year later N was posted back to the head office. I took the opportunity to return to school, entering Mara Institute of Technology (ITM) as a full-time student, to study tourism management and administration.

I had earlier applied for a place in the School of Mass Communications, but was unsuccessful because I did not possess Higher School Certificate (HSC), and my MCE together with journalistic experience were deemed inadequate. Tourism was offered as an alternative, and I took it as other options were unappealingly business-based.

Be that as it may, at 26, with three children age 6, 4 and 2, I was the oldest student in my class and the only one given the NR (non-residential) privilege because as a wife and mother, I couldn't possibly board at the hostel. I graduated top ten of the class at the age of 30, mighty pleased with my own little academic achievement.

While I rued the fact that Grandma wasn't around to see me earn that scroll, I was happy Grandpa was, to share my joy. He died of old age in the mid-1990s. With the passing of the two beloved, a key chapter of my tumultuous life came to a close.

The year 1985 marked both a low and high point of my life; low because I had to decline offers from a couple of universities in the US due to N's adamant refusal to allow me to further my studies, and high because of the unexpected and unplanned yet welcomed arrival of my youngest child.

She was my muse in my moments of despondency due to N's reluctance to give me an opportunity to achieve my ultimate dream - to become an English lecturer. In more ways than one, that was a contributing factor to the big D.

After failing to to continue my studies, I returned to my old life in the Malay Mail, but the marriage began crumbling from within. I was firm in my belief of "bertolak ansur" (give and take) in a marriage. The will of one party should not be imposed on the other.

Where I had expected support, I found strong resistance and outright denial that left my dream in tatters. The marriage ended in 1987. I am not proud to say I initiated and walked out of it, bt I did.

Not long after the split, I made a major shift in my life's direction. I left journalism for public relations, because working under the same roof with an ex-spouse after a divorce proved both awkward and uncomfortable, especially if you kept bumping into each other at the coffee machine!

The split was, however, an amicable one and we remain friends until today. While N remarried a year after the big D, I chose to stay single, raising my four children alone. I was happy and contented as a single mother. As God wills it, Pak Abu came into the picture in 2001.

Today, the kids are working and living on their own. Two are in the media while the remaining two are in advertising. Pak Abu's three children are also in the workforce and leading their own lives. None of the seven are married. Yet.

By the way, I am not done with school. I started my Masters programme in communication studies in UiTM five years ago, but gave up soon after due to overwhelming workload at the office. I couldn't cope with both work and study.

At 54, I am now semi-retired, doing public relations consultancy work for a select clientele. I have a few loose ends to tie before the curtains are drawn on my life. I would like to pick up where I left off, studywise. And I would like to teach. English, if possible. It's self-actualisation.

Funny how life turns out. I have come full circle. Those days I couldn't wait to pack my bags and quit school. Today I am hankering to go back to the books.

Looking back, my protracted academic journey, with all its unexpected twists and turns, was as meandering as the placid and lazy Dungun River itself. But I have no regrets. Whatever the obstacles, life has alway been beautiful, and by the grace of God, will continue to be.