My Farewell

So today I just finished my interview with Mr. Tan, who hired me immediately as an assistant manager. I was happy and grateful to him, because I was fresh off the line from University, and was glad for an oppurtunity to work in the firm. I took out my phone to call my parents, when, ironically, the caller ID told me that they were calling me.

"Hey Ma," I answered. "What's up?"

"Alif," My mother's voice sounded weak. "Ain fainted in school. Get over to the hospital now."

I nearly dropped my phone. "I'm on my way," I managed, then I was in the car and off.

My younger sister was prone to these faint spells. From the last visit to the doctor, we were told that should this happen to Ain again, she might not wake up. This was why I was almost killed, driving the speed I was getting to the hospital.

Upon arrival, I noticed my mother talking to the doctor, my father gravely shaking his head next to her. I greeted both of them as is customary, and I asked the doctor for the news.

"Well, it looks as if she'll make it out of here today, Alif. However, we have deemed that it is impossible for her to continue on her regular routine of life, and must stay at home from now on."

This might not seem such a big deal to most people, but my family being as poor as we are, are unable to hire somebody to work full time to take care of my sister. My parents were working overtime just to get Ain her medication. So she would die if nobody took care of her.

I loved my sister, so I volunteered to take care of her, even if it meant giving up my job. I loved Ain more than anything or anyone in the world, and possibly no one could understand how much she meant to me. Eventhough my mum said she would give up her job and stay home, I knew that she wouldn't want to: She loved her job. So I persuaded my parents to let me be Ain's personal nurse.

We were allowed to visit Ain after awhile. She looked exactly the same, except for the colour of her skin. Instead of it's lively warm glow, it was bleach white, with red spots here and there on her hand. She smiled weakly at us, but I just cried. It was horrible to see my sister in that state. I wanted to throw up my lunch.

We took her home that night, along with a big bag of medication. We put her to bed, and we prepared ourselves mentally for what we had to deal with. The medicine was put in a cabinet, which we carried over to her room. We installed a buzzer which was in easy access from her bed, which would alert the house and call our handheld phones if anything were to happen.

The next few days consisted of me waking up early in the morning to coax Ain to take her meds. She slowly swallowed them, as if it pained her, and I held the cup above her lips so she could take a sip of water to wash down the pills. I went into the kitchen to prepare porridge for her to eat, and me as well. I fed her the mess I made while her eyes glazed over the television we had put in her room. That night I did the same: I made porridge and made her eat her medicine.

I did this for the next few weeks. Sometimes I wondered why I was doing this, as I chopped carrots, and washed her clothes. Those doubts would dissapear whenever I entered her room. Ain's smile was the only thing that the sickness couldn't take from her, and even if it hurt her to do so, she never forgot to smile at me whenever I entered the room. I talked to her as I fed her, before I dozed of on the chair next to her bed. I'd do anything for my ten year-old sister.

One morning I got up as usual, and fed her her medicine, and went downstairs to cook some more porridge (I'm so sick of this stuff). As I walked up the stairs, the sound of our creaking floorboards troubled me. There was no one else in the house except me and Ain, and she was in no condition of walking anywhere. But...

She was walking slowly towards me, and as she fell down, I threw the bowl of porridge to one side, and it hit the wall, it's contents spilling out. I caught her, her face a deadly white. In her hands was a piece of paper, where she had scrawled

"Happy Birthday Alif"

In children's handwriting. I had forgotten about my birthday. I thought of naught else save my sister now. And here she was. I felt her pulse.

It was gone.

***

A month after her funeral, Alif went to a cliff nearby his kampong. He looked out at the sea, where the waves were crashing into the cliffs, wearing it out. He did this because it was Ramadan, and he found it easy to fight the hunger off by watching the sea. He would sit there the whole day, silent, and return home to break fast, and the next day he would do the same.

Today, he looked out at sea. For a moment, he thought he saw his sister there in the sea. He shook his head. "Must be the hunger getting to me." Upon glancing a second time, his sister, Ain, was there walking on the waves of the ocean. Alif looked on at her from above. She was glowing a spectral glow, and she beckoned for him to come. Alif looked around him. Then he looked back. There she was, still doing the same gesture again and again, come come come, Alif.

***

The Sunday Times

Man Driven Mad By Hysteria, Jumps To His Death

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