…and it’s due to Ramadhan, Eid, and a lost home Streamyx connection.
There’ve been a lot going on in this country – foremost (still) is the brutal murder of 8-year old Nurin Jazlin, a case that has spooked and outraged Malaysians. It’s one of the rare times when we Malaysians are rallying to a common cause: to find and punish the killer(s) of this little girl. Nurin’s Uncle has dedicated a blog to his niece, here, detailing her initial disappearance and (now) the hunt for her kidnappers and killers. Suffice to say, the case cast a pall over the country’s festive season. If there is a positive, the government is listening to citizens’ recommendations for a system similar to America’s Amber Alert for abducted children, to be called the Nurin Alert. The earliest active proponent of the system is, I believe, journalist-blogger, Nuraina A. Samad, after a comment left on her blog by US-based Malaysian Farina. It’s good that the government, via our Women and Family Ministry, is paying attention to citizens’ suggestions, and I keep my toes crossed that there will be something good to come out of the proposal. As a parent, it’s distressing to know that the killer is still at large, after all these weeks. And I get shivers still, imagining what Nurin had gone through for that month that she went missing.
It’s not much brighter from a more personal vantage point. A dear friend of my late Mother’s – Uncle H – passed away without warning on September 12th, at the age of 64, leaving behind a wife and two children. He got his wish to see his kids graduate, but I know there was so much more he wanted to do. My last conversation with him was upon his return from London. Uncle H was one of the few friends of my Mother’s who still kept in touch with us, and it goes without saying that his passing means saying goodbye to yet another person who remembers my Mother well as the vibrant, determined woman she was.
The father of Sal, my good friend in secondary school, also passed away in the month of Ramadhan, from liver cancer. He departed at least a year earlier than what his family expected, and Sal was sobbing on the phone when I called. At times like these, there’s nothing much you can say to assuage grief. Time will blunt the pain, though it marches too slowly for some. I am grateful, though, that Sal reached out to us, her school pals. We reminisced, when I visited, of those innocent times when the most important crisis was a manufactured one: exams, and I hope the memory of our good times took the edge of her pain somewhat, if only for the couple of hours we were together.
Filed under: Personal Note
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