Kak Wa

It's about to rain and I am hit with a sense of nostalgia. I was 4 or 5 or 6, I don't remember. I barely remember what she looked like, except that she had a cleft lip and short curly hair. I don't remember much else.

I remember before bed, she would recite Al Fatihah with me until I memorized the verse myself. When I could recite it myself, she would tell me to recite it without her.

I remember playing in the rain with her. She would let me play just before Mak came home from work. I remember her quickly bathing me and getting me all prim and proper by the time Mak arrived.

I remember her ready with two sippee cups of Milo when I came back from kindergarten. One was never enough and she knew it.

I remember the way she would taste the food she made for me before she feeds me. She always made sure it wasn't too hot for me.

I remember so much and I remember too little.

When I was seven, she stopped working at our house to get married. I saw her once more after that and I never saw her again.

Sometimes I'd remember her. Like this. Most times I forget.

Once I thought of sending her a letter to tell her how I'm doing. I thought of it but I never did it. By the time I wanted to, they told me she had died.

I never said goodbye.

I never said thank you.

I never saw her growing old.

She never knew how I was doing or what I have become.

And I regret it so much.

I regret so much.

So damn much.

Al fatihah Kak Wa. May Allah bless you always. Thank you for the first seven years of my life. Sorry I never said it to you when you were alive.