The pain

It was still very early in the morning as I cannot see any sign of light coming in through our wooden house but I had woken up. It was a restless sleep. The pain of my right hand lower arm was unbearable. I cannot sense of any reason why should there be any pain. However, the morning chilliness just made me turned myself over in hope to catch another hour of sleep.

But then I heard voices of my parents chatting happily. Then there were delicious fragrances of chicken curry and ketupat pulut coming from downstairs.

My eyes wide opened.

Oh! It is Hari Raya. I need to get up early. But wait, the pain? How could I have my Raya if the pain insisted? I felt gloomy.

I was 14 years old and Hari Raya was a day that I intended to celebrate to the fullest, even now.

Slowly, I pushed myself up. I could see that my two brothers were still deep in sleep when I took a peek into their shared room.

How can one sleep like those two?

Next, I took a steady stepped down the wooden stairs. Each of the steps of the stairs was made from polish black round lumber, so I need to be careful while walking on it. Especially at that time, coming out from the darkness of my room so my eyes still not get used to the bright illuminating fluorescence lamp hanging on the wall.

My mother and father were busily talking. I cannot make up of anything from their words. It was like they were gossiping, but he looked so happy sitting at the dining table and tasting the curry. He must have had his morning prayer because he had the white lebai covering his head, wearing only sarong with no shirt, showing his big stomach. She was standing next to her boiling curry, well known to the villagers for it taste, and because she usually used the ayam kampong which made it special.

Ayah, sakit tangan! Father, my hand is painful! Claimed me out of sudden. Both of them looked up.

I shove my hand towards his direction while taking my place on the stairs, halfway downstairs.

Pasal apa? Why? Both of them respond.

Tak tau. I don’t know.

My father came closer and took my hand into his. He smiles while his fingers strolled down my lower arm. He was a good traditional massager to a circle of friends.

Aduh!

Ooo..pasal buat kuih kelmarin la tu. Tekan kuat sangat kot. Oh! Probably because of helping me to make biscuits yesterday. You pressed to hard.

My mother was teasing me. Then I remembered that yesterday, I had made a few hundreds kuih kacang (biscuits) that needed me to use my thumb to press hard on the surface of the beans powder that was put into a mould, for Hari Raya.

Ya la. Orang tak pernah buat kerja kasar. Yes, you never do any hard work. My father took turned to tease me. Indeed, the only hard work known to me was to study for examinations.

She then handed him an oily medication in a bottle. Right there and then he massaged the pain away with his cold hard fingers.

It is a memory of love that will never fade away.