Of Ayah, Bapak and A Father

I grew up without a father - he abandoned a pregnant wife for a girlfriend - and that coloured my perception of men ever since. I know it's unfair, tarring all men with the same brush, but the pain never healed for Mak. Neither does it, for me.

I have no wish to speak ill of the dead. Suffice to say, that one single act of betrayal has lasting consequences.

The man I called 'Ayah' (father) all my life until he died some 15 years ago was my step-grandfather. He was the kindly man my grandmother married upon the untimely death of her first husband, of high fever, during the Japanese Occupation.

My grandfather's death at 24 left grandma a widow in her early 20s, with four young children; the youngest, a baby. She took to sewing, renting a stall in the Kota Baru market, to feed those kids. That was where Ayah met her.

I was foisted upon the couple at the age of nine days. My grandmother, not one to conceal things, never spared the details of how I ended up in their care.

But I never worked up enough courage to ask my mother about it. She knew that I knew, and that was that. There was nothing left to be said between us.

I loved my mother dearly and couldn't even begin to imagine how much she was hurting, how emotionally tormented she must have been, when she did what she did.

In the 1950s, there still wasn't a name to post-natal depression. Women were supposed to give birth and get on with life. Depression was considered part and parcel of the whole birthing process. So what's a little mood swing?

But consider this. She was hardly 20, with two children aged two and one, and the third on the way. Three months into her pregnancy, her husband upped and left for an old flame. He never returned.

And when she finally gave birth, abandoned, unloved and alone, who could have faulted her if she snapped? And snapped she did. Many women have lost it for less.

Grandma said she went to the market one morning and left me, then nine days old, in the care of Mak. I must have fretted or cried, like all babies are wont to do, when she calmly submerged me in a tubful of water and held me down.

Grandma said she arrived home just in time. "Kalau awak tak mau dia, bagilah kat Cek, biar Cek bela." (If you don't want her, let me have her). Those were Grandma's words. And that was how I ended up being a spoilt brat for the next 15 years of my life.

The 'surat cerai' (divorce papers) came via mail three months after she delivered, by which time my mother, a stunning beauty in her heyday, had a suitor.

The young bachelor married her in due course, taking her second son and raising him as his own from the onset of their married life together. They were blessed with five beautiful daughters, my dearest sisters.

The couple did live happily ever after. The marriage lasted more than 40 years, until Bapak died peacefully in his sleep 10 years ago. Mak passed away in May this year.

As for my biological dad, he did marry the erstwhile girlfriend and they were blessed with five sons.

Sadly, much as I tried, I could never muster any feeling of affection for him. I was numb emotionally. He broke my heart before I even saw the light of day. I forgave, but forgetting was well nigh impossible.

He remained distant in my life, even when he was close, physically. I respected him as a father, however miniscule his contribution to my upbringing (well, it was nil). I didn't respect him as a man. On both scores, I never wavered.

I visited him and his wife occasionally, so that the children could get acquainted with their grandpa and step-grandma. But that was just about it. I was dead inside. I shed the customary tears at his funeral, but I didn't and couldn't (and perhaps, with total honesty, wouldn't) grieve.

May Allah (swt) forgive me for my heart of stone.

The Chatter Box, Literally

A lot have been said about the Internet chatroom. Many of the comments, unfortunately, were prejudiced, malicious and unkind. Some were downright venomous and hostile.

Strangely enough, a great majority of those who penned their two-cent worth about the perils of Internet chatting had never even stepped foot inside a chatroom, let alone indulge in chatting.

Their comments were based on hearsay, the kind that began with “I read somewhere that.....” or “I heard ....” or “My friend’s cousin sister’s brother-in-law said.....” You know what I mean; third- or fourth-hand news.

I am not out to defend chatrooms. There truly were some scandalous incidents involving chatrooms, mostly date rapes and love affairs that led to marital breakdowns, and women conned out of their savings by sweet-talkers and smooth operators masquerading as knights in shining armour.

I have seen them all in the chatroom that I frequented, the one where I met the man who would eventually be my husband. These broad shoulders of mine had, over the years, borne the tears of many a broken heart.

I am of the opinion that it is not the chatroom's fault but one's own because the onus is on oneself to decide how to behave and to respond in a chatroom.

Even dear old me wasn't spared the sexual innuendos, come-ons and invitations to online sex - filthy minds are everywhere - but it's up to oneself to determine what one wants from a chatroom.

The Ash-Cage nuptial was the first for the chatroom that we frequented. There were a couple more marriages after ours, the ones that we were personally involved in.

I heard there were a few more besides, but I wasn’t able to confirm them because they (the intended) retired from the room, presumably to get on with married life!

A defining moment for us was when a dear chat friend approached us to learn more about converting to Islam. A single dad, he had met a young Malay lady teacher in the room, had fallen in love and had wanted to marry her.

We put him in touch with Perkim which facilitated his conversion. We were there to lend him emotional support during the ceremony. I cried buckets – tears of joy they truly were. We also played parents to his wedding, from meminang to aqad to bersanding.

A few lady chatters got together at our house to craft his hantaran (wedding gifts) and to get the wedding trousseau organised. In fact, the entire wedding rombongan (party) from the groom’s side consisted of fellow chatters.

Yet another was a single mother who sought our help in marrying her Malay Muslim single dad beau. We were only too happy to get her in touch with Perkim. They have been happily married for three years now, God bless them.

For Ash and I, the chatroom was nothing but a blessing, not so much because we met and married, but because we had acquired so many new friends throughout the country (and abroad too) through it.

We used to chat with ‘Golfie’, a Malaysian lady dentist undergoing her specialisation in orthodontics in Scotland some years ago. She has since returned home, living and working in KL. Our friendship has endured and we meet occasionally for coffee.

And then there was this American grandmother, ‘G8Nana’, who loved all things Malaysian and was a frequent visitor to the room. She and her husband had wanted to visit Malaysia and had ended up with a roomful of people offering to take care of her and her husband should they come.

Unfortunately, she passed away before it happened. One of our fellow chatters called up her number when she mysteriously went missing for weeks, only to be told by her son of his mother’s demise.

Yet another was a gregarious Penang lady, ‘OrangKampung’ (OK), married to a German and living in Germany. OK was the life and soul of the room, with her witty comments and comic one-liners. We made it a point to meet this petite cili padi each time she returned to Malaysia.

Personally, I was pleasantly surprised to meet two ‘orang kampong’ of my own in the room. Bergen and Snowy both hailed from Dungun and we ended up good friends although we rarely meet due to personal commitments. Imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon Bergen in blogsphere as well!

Shrimp was another chatter that ‘caught’ me line, hook and sinker. Shrimp is a London-based Malaysian Chinese lady (and a sparkling beauty, I must add) whom I met for the first time, hurriedly too, in front of Kinokuniya Bookstore in KLCC just hours before she left for London.

I love that woman to bits despite the distance. We share a love for books and she would buy them in UK and bring them along each time she returned to Malaysia for a visit. We have met twice since and I look forward to meeting her again, hopefully soon.

Because of our age, we ended up being affectionately addressed to as ‘Ma’ and ‘Pa’ by some of the younger ones and we truly love them like we do our own. A sweet young lady with the simple nickname of MalayGirl (MG) addressed me with the deferential Bonda.

And then there’s Talqin, that impossibly cheeky girl who has yet to make good her promise to salam my hand in forgiveness this Raya (he he he).

Another is Fie, a young magistrate from Sarawak whom we dragged to karaoke each time she came to Semenanjung. Naturally, she always humoured her Ma and Pa.

These days, whenever we plan a trip out of town, almost always it would include notifying fellow chatters in places where we are heading because it’s already a set tradition that we meet for makan or teh tarik wherever we are.

Heading north, our R&R would most likely be the house of Cheaky the teacher in Teluk Intan, where we would also meet up with Nila, yet another teacher in that quaint little town.

In Penang, almost always it would be makan sessions with that irrepressible Erica Nut, a lecturer of English who introduced me to sup gearbox and serabai.

In Johore it would be that loveable Chinese lady Daisy who, in tandem with Strongbow and Headhunter, would insist on a spot of karaoke in some chinky JB outlet. We would then have an uproarious time, before the next trip.

Likewise, when they descend upon Kuala Lumpur, they would be our guests (if they remember to inform us, that is). As usual, it would be dinner, some karaoke thrown in at KLGCC and perhaps a round of supper afterwards.

Somehow, the friendships that we made in the chatroom endure the test of time. So there must be something special about chatrooms after all .......

Abu & Sangkar
Ipoh, August 2001

When Love Comes A-Calling (Final)

THE solemnisation of marriage was a low-key affair held in June 2001, barely a month after he proposed. It was quiet and fuss-free, with only a few people in attendance, just the way they had wanted it.

But if they thought they could get away with it, they were grossly mistaken. Her brother informed he wanted to hold a grand wedding feast back in their ancestral home in Ipoh in her honour, to announce her marriage to the entire clan.

No way could she refuse the request, even if she wanted to. Of her father’s eight children from two separate marriages, she was his only daughter and her seven brothers wanted to do things ‘the proper way’ for their only sister.

In the end the newlyweds meekly acquiesced and held their collective breath, hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

One of their biggest fears was the threat of ‘bersanding’. They flatly refused to do it for fear of looking like a couple of ageing fools. Well, they were arm-twisted into doing it anyway!

Whilst Ashburn was none too pleased at the turn of events, he was gracious enough to realise he had not just married a woman but into an established, tightly-knit clan. She, on the other hand, fully understood the clan ethos, thus asked no questions.

When queried about his sudden marriage proposal, he sheepishly admitted that he was afraid someone else might come along and swept her off her feet. “I just knew she was the one and I didn’t want to lose her,” was his simple reply.

Whilst her children were elated at this new chapter in their mother’s life, his were a little more guarded. Whatever the case, the newlyweds had to tread carefully to ensure feelings weren’t bruised.

It has been seven years since. They are doing fine thus far. Alhamdulillah.




Note: She was thinking of putting her 'bersanding' picture to accompany this article, for its mirth value if nothing else, but thought the better of it. She didn't want to be held liable should anyone fell off his/her chair. Perhaps, if she could muster enough courage, she might.... :)

When Love Comes A-Calling ( V )

May 2001

MAY proved a busy month on both professional and personal fronts. Workwise, she hardly had time to breathe. While it was bad enough that her client was very demanding, she also had to contend with additional workload.

She learned from an equally harassed senior colleague that financial institutions had that irksome reputation. More often than not, they were both merciless and disdainful in dealing with agencies that served and serviced them.

While she had the patience of Solomon, there were times when she felt like lashing back, especially when given the third degree by those still wet behind the ears.

These were the lightweights who knew not what they were doing, whose PR knowledge and expertise did not exceed their paper qualifications from some foreign universities.

Frankly, they were no match for practitioners with decades of on-the-ground experience, who knew the local industry like the back of their hands.

What really got to her most times was the fact that they balked at accepting professional advice from the very people they hired to do just that - advise them professionally.

She was so mentally exhausted that sometimes she just didn't feel like getting out of bed at all. Not wanting to go to work and earn one's daily bread was a dangerous state to be in, and she knew it.

Thankfully in Ashburn she found a sympathetic ear. It didn't really matter if he was doing his own bit of PR (who knows?) by gamely commiserating with her, either in the chatroom or over their endless teh tarik sessions. At least, outwardly, he showed that he cared.

The developing friendship naturally did not escape the eagle eyes of their chatroom buddies. There were good-natured ribbings all around whenever the two of them were in the chatroom together.

Whatever her innermost feelings insofar as Ashburn was concerned, her thoughts had yet to breach the normal boundary of relationship.

True, there was a hint of romance in the air, but there it remained - suspended and afloat in space.

Little did she realise this was where Ashburn and herself differed vastly. While she was in no rush to know where they were heading, he proved to be one man in a mighty big hurry.

It was late May and the evening air was cool to the touch when she settled herself comfortably, as always, in front of her desktop next to the open window.

The housework was done, the pile of office work that she brought home was finally taken care of, the cats were fed and the kids were watching TV. All was well with the world - or so she thought.

As usual, the chatroom was jam packed with chatters. It was one of the most popular local chatrooms at that point in time that entry had to be modulated to prevent system breakdown.

At its height, some 250 chatters crowded the room at any one time. One could hardly "hear' oneself, let alone focus one's attention to whatever that was being discussed.

One also needed nimble fingers and the ability to type very fast, or else one would be left far behind in chatdom, for there were multiple topics discussed at the same time, by different clusters.

She was thankful for her years of journalistic training, from the typewriter to the computer, for it had enabled her to pound the keyboards at a pretty decent speed.

Above the din, Ashburn beckoned. Distractedly, she joined in his chat with a few regulars. She had not gotten into her 'chat mode' yet. Usually it would take a few minutes for her to adjust to the surroundings and join the flow.

She did notice, however, that he wasn't quite his usual perky, gregarious self. His tone seemed somewhat subdued.

Suddenly the din and clamour mysteriously ceased. All chat stopped in their track and the room grew unusually quiet. She wondered why... until her eyes latched on Ashburn's last entry:

CAGE, WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Oh, for the love of God! She could feel the flush creeping up her face. All of a sudden, alone in front of a solitary computer, with a few cats for company, she felt exposed and stripped to the bone.

She, GildedCage, a loner in life who preferred feline to human company, who liked nothing better than anonymity and inconspicuousness, had been proposed to in a roomful of faceless entities; some friends and many strangers.

With the room suspended in motion, she felt lost beyond words. Jumbled thoughts raced through her mind: "Is this for real? He can't be serious, can he? What if he is? Hell, what am I to do?"

The words of her mother, uttered hardly a fortnight before, suddenly came flooding back. "Tak percaya tengoklah, jodoh awak dah sampai." Oh, Mak. Oh Mak. Is this it?

She was jolted out of her reverie when Ashburn repeated the question.

Scanning the list of chatters, she spied PalmGrower, a chatroom old timer in his 40s from Batu Pahat and one of their closest chat friends. "Help me out here Palmie, please," she pleaded, not knowing what else to say.

The good-natured Chinese man responded, "Hehehe, Cage. Only you can answer that question and you better think fast. He's waiting and so are we!"

Slowly, feeling both defeated yet exhilarated at the same time, she typed with trembling fingers, spelling out each alphabet as she did: YES ASH, I WILL.

When Love Comes A-Calling ( IV )

May 2001

SHE felt terribly guilty. It had been three days since her mother returned from performing the umrah (small haj) and she had yet to drop by her sister's house in Shah Alam to visit the old lady.

At the back of her mind she knew, if she kept deferring the visit, she might just miss Mak altogether, for the old lady was itching to return home to Dungun as soon as she could, to her flowerbeds and potted plants and the odd cat or two that always strayed into her compound.

At the office, work was piling up. The client was being particularly difficult - pickier and pettier than before - and as senior consultant, she had to bear the brunt of their frequent outbursts.

The pressure to deliver was also mounting that she sometimes felt like leaving consultancy work altogether. Perhaps she should return to the less challenging, definitely more manageable corporate PR.

As far as affair of the heart was concerned, she had not really given it much thought. The idea of taking the friendship with Ashburn to the next level wasn't in the works. At least not on her part.

Ashburn seemed a decent enough guy and she felt comfortable with him. They had known each other all of two months, so she wasn't going to lose sleep over anything. That just about summed it up.

She found him down-to-earth and likeable. She appreciated his humility despite the high perch he occupied in the corporate world prior to his early retirement to devote his time to golf.

She was also privy to some personal heartaches that he carried within him. Further, she knew he loved his three children (then in their late teens and early twenties) to bits (he spoke gushingly of them), although he had not spent time with them often enough.

It was during one of their frequent 'teh tarik' sessions that they discovered their paths had crossed once before, in London in the early months of 1976.

He was then 23, in his final semester at the University of Westminster, and due to graduate in mathematics and computer science in June.

She had recently turned 21, had been married for two years and had just given birth to a baby boy three months before at the University College Hospital in Euston Square.

Her studies had been put on hold due to her 'brought-forward' marriage and she had intended to continue it when they returned to Malaysia in due time.

[She married on the 100th day of her late father-in-law's death, to fulfil his final wish made the night before he was assassinated, that he wanted so much to see his eldest son wed and to receive his first daughter-in-law. Suffice to say her simple 'aqad' was a tearful occasion.]

They both had frequented Malaysia Hall in Bryanston Square for different reasons; he, to play table tennis with friends and she, to have her meals at the cafeteria while on weekend outings with her baby boy.

It was a marvel that they both remembered each other. He recalled a tall and fair, fresh-faced woman who looked too young to be a mother, yet she was. He told her that he often wondered the identity of the woman.

She recalled an unkempt student with owl glasses and torn jeans, always spending time at the pingpong table. She told him that he stuck to her mind because of his messy, nerdy appearance.

It was a Saturday when she finally made it to her sister's house in Shah Alam. Her mother wasn't in the best of health before going to Mecca - her knees were giving her trouble - but while in Holy Land she was able to walk and climb unaided. And she certainly looked fit after her return.

Her mother had always been firmly anchored, a woman of few words. But this time she just couldn't wait to relate her Mecca experiences to her eldest daughter.

"Mak ada benda penting nak cakap kat awak ni," she started in a rush. "Masa Mak panjat Jabal Rahmah* tu, Mak asyik terbayang muka awak aja. Mak rasa awak ni nak bertemu jodoh." The words came tumbling out, breathlessly.

["I have something important to tell you. While climbing the Jabal Rahmah, your image kept flashing in my mind. I think you are about to meet someone you will marry."]

She almost choked on her tea. Jodoh? Kawin? Who with? Who's talking matrimony?

"You've got to be kidding, Mak," she responded incredulously. "I have been single for so long I don't think I want to kawin anymore. Whatever for? I am 47! I don't have the urge to kawin. On top of that, I don't even have a calon (candidate) and I certainly don't know of anyone crazy enough to marry a decrepit old woman like me!"

But her mother was not to be denied. "Tak percaya tengoklah. Jodoh awak dah sampai," (wait and see if you don't believe me, for your time has arrived) said she adamantly, with such conviction that it sounded almost believeable.

That, well and truly had her feeling somewhat unsettled.

[Note: According to Tradition, Jabal Rahmah, also known as Mount of Mercy, situated in Arafat just outside Mecca, was the place where Adam and Eve were reunited after being thrown out of Paradise. Unmarried pilgrims usually say a prayer here asking for Divine intervention and blessing to find their life partner].

When Love Comes A-Calling ( III )

March 2001

SHE replaced the phone in dismay. The invitation to lunch had put her in a quandary. While she still had reservations about meeting fellow chatters in person, declining it proved tiresome because they flatly refused to take no for an answer.

Alcan, TigerWoods, Maxine, MarineSWS, Trixi, Bruno, PrivateEye, Natasha, Beatrice, Jolene, MadFarmer, JustMe, Hansolo, HotSucculentLips, ImprovedFiddle, Babelicious, Chinapek, Snowy, Miki, RetiredGigolo, KenSlowhand, Tee-Moon, Drakkar Dynamic, Ghost, WolfgangAmadeusMozart a.k.a.WAM - to name but a few - their fanciful nicks rolled off her tongue with ease.

The sense of camaraderie was palpable and she felt it. What they had in that room was exceptional; sparkling wit and innuendos, witty repartees and lively bantering, delicious one-liners and droll put-downs. She was amongst strangers, yet felt so belonged.

In the end, she decided to throw caution to the winds. What the heck, she could cope with losing the GildedCage mystique. If they had no qualms about revealing their true identity, then she would have no reason to worry about making known hers.

The lunch at Madam Kwan's in KLCC was a real eye opener for her. She suddenly realised she had been trading off-colour jokes and friendly insults with a motley band of men and women who, in their everyday skin, were as different from their chatroom persona as chalk and cheese.

Dour-looking managing directors and straight-faced CEOs, voluble lawyers and teachers, doctors, engineers, architects, business owners, a landscape designer, a Ministry's departmental head, a florist, a freight forwarder, a couple of titled personalities, an assortment of personnel in differing industries - these were the people she had been having so much fun with in the room.

Some of them were at the lunch. They chatted, in person this time, amiably over noodles and coffee. The atmosphere was relaxing. But where was Ashburn?

The lawyer nicknamed Natasha (Nat) suddenly sidled up to her, mobile phone in hand. "Here, Cage. Someone's on the line for you and he's pretty pissed too, ha ha ha ...."

It was Ashburn and he was enroute to Johore Bahru. "These people are too much, " he whined. "They purposely didn't tell me they had organised a luncheon to meet up with you, or else I would have rescheduled my meeting."

They exchanged pleasantries and he extracted a promise from her to meet some time in the coming weeks. She was surprised at the relative ease of their conversation; it was as though they were old friends who had known each other for years and had met a hundred times since.

April 2001

It was the chatroom's first ever dinner and dance, a black tie affair that had her stomach in knots for days prior to the event.

She had never been one for socialising and didn't like going out at night. In fact, she always tried to wriggle herself free from having to attend functions and events unless they were client-related.

But this was different. She was finally going to meet Ashburn face to face and she didn't have a clue of what to expect. One thing for sure; she would not recognise him from Adam. All of a sudden she felt very apprehensive.

She did the usual pre-'special evening' routine (not that there were many) - shopping for a new dress and a new pair of shoes. She even got herself a new hairdo. At times she felt like a blathering idiot. The kids weren't helping, of course. They were full of mirth at their mother's unusual predicament.

She tried to calm herself down by imagining him having his own litany of woes. He must be worried about the odd uban (grey hair) or two, she thought (surely he must have some, at 49!) The guy was no spring chicken himself, after all.

She got to the hotel ballroom on time and settled herself in, making light conversation with fellow chatters she already knew from the luncheon the month before. Chatter Nat came around to inform Ashburn had yet to arrive.

"Cage, that guy is perpetually late. He is never punctual for any of our gatherings. He takes his own sweet time. I'll let you know when he saunters in." Oh, So he was one tardy fellow. This didn't look good. She was a stickler for punctuality.

Soon enough, the big man arrived and was warmly greeted by fellow chatters. Nat came around once again and whispered: "There, that's your muse, Ashburn."

She stole a quick look from her corner at the new arrival. Hmm, he didn't look too bad. He stood there, right at the back of the hall with his back against the wall, scanning the ballroom for an unfamiliar face - hers.

She knew he didn't have a clue of what he was looking for. They had never met and he didn't know her from the proverbial Eve. He spent a good 10 minutes observing before finally taking his seat.

Nat once again sidled up to her side. "Oi Cage, take that fellow out of his misery lah. He was trying to figure out which one is you. He won't be able to, for sure. So be a darling and go introduce yourself."

Sighing, she stood up and took measured steps to the far end of the hall for her moment of truth. Upon reaching the back of his chair, she held out her hand and said: "Hi, I am GildedCage and you must be Ashburn. Nice to meet you."

He turned around, startled, and immediately stood up. They were of the same height and she was staring into his face. He gave her a once-over, his smile breaking into a wide grin. Then he cheekily drawled: "Hello there! Hmmmmm.... I like what I see!" They both burst out laughing.....

Pak Abu's Karaoke Raya

This is what happens when karaoke kakis get together.

Syed (left) and bachelor boy Affendi (right)

slugging it out in a competition.

Pak Abu is referee..

The Kids' Raya

Awwa - Guardian of Raya Cakes & Cookies

Tucking in Raya breakfast

Ma's Quartet minus Pa's Trio

Naj, Joe, Ann, Awwa

Never Say Never - An Interlude

YOU know what they say about saying 'never'. While all's fair in love, never ever say 'never', for it tempts Fate. Stick to a non-committal 'maybe' or 'perhaps' or even "que sera sera".

If you want to add an element of drama to it, you can always mutter under your breath, with the appropriate facial expression, of course: "I don't know if I can ever love again".

Not only it sounds dramatic enough, it may also spare you the embarrassment should a knight in shining armour arrive sooner than expected and sweep you off your feet.

At least you can blame Fate. "Dah takdir" (it's fated) or "Dah jodoh" (we're meant for each other), or "Bukan aku cari!" (I didn't go looking for him!"), also with the appropriate facial expression, of course. A hang-dog look wouldn't go amiss here.

I've had girlfriends who, in the aftermath of a broken love affair, tearfully proclaimed to all and sundry that they would never ever trust another man for as long as they live, only to see them hanging on the arms of a new beau before the tears run dry.

What's the deal here? I asked. "So that I can dump him before he dumps me like the last one did," said one. "Oh, it's just lust!" proclaimed another. Whoa!

And then there are those who lament: "I'll never fall in love again. All men are good-for-nothing SOBs. Beasts!" I'm afraid this is where Fate is tempted the most.

More often than not, Fate would wickedly manoeuvre these hapless women into falling in love, again and again, with nothing but beastly SOBs.

Don't say you have not been warned...

Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Fitri

Selamat Hari Raya Aidil Fitri, Maaf Zahir dan Batin
kepada semua umat Islam di mana saja berada

terutama kenalan di blogsphere
semoga Allah swt memberkati segala amalan kita

Puteri Kamaliah At-Tarawis sekeluarga

When Love Comes A-Calling ( II )

What are the odds of meeting your soulmate in an Internet chatroom, only to discover he is a silent voice from your distant past? You do the maths. For chatter GildedCage, it's already a done deal.

Seven years have passed since that fateful evening when GildedCage ('Cage' to her chat buddies) and fellow chatter Ashburn virtually met. It was a chance meeting that would ultimately take them down the road to matrimony. Yet the wonder of it all has never really sunk in for her and she doesn't even know if it ever will.

February 2001

She was such a klutz in dealing with all things electrical and mechanical and now she had just added the Internet to a long list of gizmos she kept a wary distance from.

She could never fully comprehend the functionalities of her DVD player, camera, handphone, convection and microwave ovens, remote control panels, or anything with multiple buttons on them. She got confused easily.

The Internet was a recent addition to her life. Of course she had known of its existence for a while. In fact, part of her had wanted to explore this new avenue everyone was excited about, but she was afraid of getting lost in the maze.

But since her appointment as editor of her NGO's weekly newsletter, she had no choice but to chalk up the miles on the new information highway. The said NGO was foreign-based and in more ways than one Net-dependent, so she had to go with the flow.

Soon her children realised a new word had crept into their mother's vocabulary - chatting. Mum had apparently discovered a chatroom while riding the Net waves, and went into it with the fervour of a religious fanatic.

While they were happy she had found a new hobby, they weren't so thrilled about her hogging the computer to chat with her newfound friends.

But seeing the changes in her - it was as though she had just awoken from a long, deep slumber - they decided perhaps chatting was her scene, after all.

It was on one of those quiet nights while chatting with her regular 'kakis' in the chatroom that she saw an unfamiliar nickname entering and being greeted with a raucous welcome by her new friends.

Obviously a room old-timer and a he, judging by the nick 'Ashburn' (then again you could never tell in this virtual world), he was warmly introduced to her by a fellow chatter.

She was riveted by the nick 'Ashburn', translated into Abu Bakar (although she learned much later that he was neither Abu nor Bakar), because Abu Bakar was the name of her father who had passed away just three months before.

In the presence of an obvious chatroom supremo, the newbie chatter in her felt somewhat intimidated, so she quietly retreated to her corner to observe the good-natured banterings amongst them.

Soon enough, he graciously manoeuvred her back into the room's chatflow, for which she was thankful. It wasn't fun feeling like a wallflower in a roomful of party revellers.

And so it was; they met virtually most nights to chat and share views about everything under the sun. They found a common interest in reading and singing and spent hours discussing books and songs.

She learned he was into golf, Herman Hesse, Dean Koontz, Stephen King and swing bands - in that order. He learned she couldn't have enough of true-crime whodunits, was a diehard fan of crime writer Ann Rule, devoured autobiographies like there was no tomorrow, and that she loved the ballads of Anne Murray and Karen Carpenter.

She found the friendship comfortable. It was akin to slipping into a pair of worn loafers, a perfect fit. She had some unsolicited details of his life, courtesy of those chatters who knew him personally and had met him. By the same token, she told him a bit about herself; not much, just enough to keep the friendship on an even keel.

While she found him smart, well-schooled and intriguing, she had no desire to meet him, nor anyone else from the chatroom for that matter. She drew a line at knowing them in the flesh because she wanted to keep the illusion intact....