Tuesday, May 25, 2010

A letter from Fiorella

A few years ago while in Switzerland I received a rather soiled and and crumpled envelope in my mail. The chop indicated it was posted many months before from Italy. It must have gone astray and finally found its destination (I won't comment on the infamous Italian mail!).

The letter was from a young lady named Fiorella de Natale. She was the only child of Antonio, whom I recruited as our office guard in Rome in 1982. Fiorella wrote that she had finished her studies and was understudying to be a lawyer, and that her mother often spoke about me and that I was kind to her family and often visited and had meals with them.

I then remembered that some years earlier I had received a letter from her mother Maria-Antonietta, sadly announcing Antonio's death and enclosing a black and white portrait photo of Antonio and a prayer.

I was touched to be remembered out of the blues by this young lady who I only knew as a child. She left a phone number and I called but only managed to speak to her mother. We had a good, long chat (my rusty Italian came flurrying back and I knew I made a million grammar mistakes!) and it was such a warm feeling to reconnect with Maria-Antonietta.
Antonio married Maria-Antonietta, his childhood sweetheart a few months after I recruited him. I was invited to the very elegant wedding in one of Rome's oldest churches in Nomentana quite close to our office. They were a very handsome couple and despite our stations we became close and I was often invited to Maria-Antonietta's family home in Mentana, outside Rome for long summer lunches and dinners. These occasions in their villa overlooking a beautiful valley of vineyards were always pleasant and wonderful. Her parents were warm and generous, father Signor Neri was very handsome and aristocratic and Signora Neri cheerful and motherly and an excellent cook, (ooo all those home-made egg pastas drooling with mushroom or artichoke sauce...and she would also proudly show me the hand-sewn dresses she was making for the Laura Biagiotti fashion house!).
Later Antonio and Maria-Antonietta built their own house across the road from her father's and they had a child they named Fiorella (little flower). I was invited to meet the new-born and I watched the child grew, a precious gem for the doting grandparents.

I left that wonderful eternal city of Rome in Summer 1985 after a 52 months of incredibly wonderful and dizzy stay (I USED to say it was the best place I ever lived in and the happiest time of my life BUT I am more philosophical about it now). But I would return to it at least once a year for a holiday for several years after that. Antonio left our office after I left and got a job in a government ministry. He somehow did not fit in as a guard and the other guards and Italian staff would refer to him as 'Il signor' (the gentleman) because of his elegant look and demeanour.

During these annual visits of mine Antonio would always ensure I visited their family and have a meal at the family villa. I think it was while I was in Peru that I received Maria-Antonietta's announcement of Antonio's sadly early departure. May he rest in peace.

I wonder when I'll get another surprise letter from the 'Little Flower'.....

Sunday, May 23, 2010

A new door opens

The days have breezed by and all too soon I am almost four months home. The dusts have settled again and I have put most things in order, my house, my finances and other things all in place. It had been a very busy time but as things slowed down I sometimes entertain thoughts if I would become bored or useless. But like I wrote in my "Farewell Switzerland" entry, when one door closed another one always opens. Well, Alhamdullilah another wonderful door is about to open for me very soon!
InshaAllah.
Stay tuned!

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Remembering mother

Beloved mother passed away some three and half years ago while I was still in Switzerland. I came home a day after the funeral and only managed to see her still-fresh grave and partake in the tahlils (recitation of prayers) the next few nights. I don't think a day ever passed without me thinking of mother and saying a prayer for her thereafter....

Mother died at the age of eighty six, in her own home, bedridden for some six years but still very much in command of her home and destiny, with the assistance and care of ever-loyal, patient and efficient Marti. I would go home and visit her once a month for a few days. I would sit by her bed and talk to her, tell her about things happening in the family, gently massage her forehead and the side of her head which she liked, or just sat there reading my books or papers, or texting my messages. She was happy to just have me around for that short period. She did not say much but would sometimes surprise me with remarks or questions about things from like twenty five years ago! I always made sure I bring her a gift, however small and insignificant and this pleased her very much and she showed it. And when it was time for me to leave she would insist that Mar prop her up on her bed so she could sit and watch me driving away from her bedroom window..... Always with a prayer for my well-being and safe delivery.

I miss mother very much but I am content with the belief that I had been a good son to her and had received her love and blessings till her very last day. In my young days I was rebellious and must have been difficult and tiresome as only a youngster could be. I was the last among my siblings to leave home at age 20 when I entered University as I was not allowed to go to boarding school (pampered last child everyone must have concluded!). I remember a rather difficult period when mother would find every fault with me and I would feel miserable, hurt and unloved and found solace only by pouring it all out in my diary! Years later I finally understood that it must have been a menopausal period for her and I was a sort of punching bag for all the anger and frustrations at things she did not understand happening to her then.

Mother was a strong person and was very much in command. It could not have been easy bringing up six children and being conveyor to father for all his siblings and relatives as father was the eldest remaining member of his family and he was not a man of many words. But mother handled it all well, and she was well-respected by father's relatives - they come to her for everything, and she would always make sure father settle whatever issue that was at hand! She was also financially savvy, we were never short of anything and our house was constantly filled with stay-in visiting relatives and there were plentiful food all the time. She was always doing some small businesses which augmented the family income, like making her famous 'halwa maskat' (which took four hours of laborious stirring over slow charcoal fire), and huge earthen pots of 'acar buah' (fruit chutney). I was often sent to deliver the orders to her customers and would get a tip for my errand! She taught me well - at the age of 11 when I was in Standard 5, she gave me a monthly allowance of RM5 and told me to manage it, no more daily pocket money henceforth. And I did, rather well too (to this day I must say), also thanks to the generosity of more independent elder siblings.

My beloved, dear mother was not necessarily easy, she had a strong mind of her own. She was extremely generous, always giving, and considerate and so perceptive, and very loving in ways I could not understand then as a youngster. It was thus such a sad development when at the later stage of her life she stopped being the active, commanding person that she was and became so totally dependent on others. I could write a book about mother, but the memories best remain in my thought.

Some years back, my three brothers and I visited an ustaz to get his advice what we could do to help lessen mother's suffering in her bed-ridden condition. At the end of of the consultation I asked the ustaz about a regular recurring dream I had. I often dreamt that mother hated me and would do things to hurt me and make me cry. The ustaz only smiled rather knowingly without saying anything, while two of my brothers rather in a fondly snickering tone said something to the effect that it was precisely because I was mother's favourite son, and that the meaning of dreams was always in the reverse. Only Allah knows!

May the Almighty Allah always bestows his blessings on my beloved mother and father. Amin.
I love you both always.....

Monday, May 3, 2010

For Mother's Day - IBU

Ibu,
Kasihmu indah berseri bagaikan pelangi
Sayangmu sesuci embun di pagi hari
Dakapan eratmu hangat bak mentari yang menyinari bumi
Sejati pengorbananmu seharum ambar kasturi
Yang menusuk kedalam sanubari

Ibu,
Semangat wajamu kami kagumi
Sehebat halilintar membelah bumi
Penat, letih, bosan dan jemu
Tiada terukir dalam dirimu
Tak pernah mengalah walau seinci
Tujuanmu hanya kesatu destinasi

Ayah pergi meyahut seruan Illahi
Meninggalkan ibu bersendiri....

Tapi ibu,
Kau bertekad menterai janji
Membesarkan anak anak mu yang kecil lagi
Demi masa depan kami
Kau memeras sepenuh kudrat, urat dan sendi
Sehingga kelihatan percikan keringat di dahi
Kau hanya merendam sebak di hati

Ibu,
Walau seribu badai dan taufan melanda
Kau tempuhi gelora dengan hati rela
Kau gigih berusaha
Kau pendam duka nestapa
Dibibirmu mengukir senyum tawa
Kau tak pedulikan sesiapa
Tak menoleh kebelakang
Siang malam kau terus berjuang

Pada saat raut wajahmu dimamah usia
Kau tersenyum merasa lega
Kerana di ketika itu kesemua anak anakmu sudah berkeluarga
Sudah boleh berpijak sendiri di bumi nyata

Ibu,
Perjuanganmu kami sanjungi
Pemergianmu kami ratapi
Doa buat mu sentiasa mengiringi
Semoga roh mu sentiasa di rahmati
Dan di tempatkan bersama sama insan insan suci

Kenangan bersamamu dihati kami kekal abadi
Semoga Allah mengampuni segala dosa ibu bapa kami
Dan sesungguh nya ibu,
Kaulah serikandi kebahagian kami

By,
Ridzwani Abdul Samad
for Allahyarhamah cousin NENG ABDUL RAHMAN