ironi permulaan tahun

bismillah,

alhamdulillah, hari ini 14 Muharram 1434h.


dalam arkib entri tahun lepas, aku temukan tulisan awal tahun 1433h.
masa tu, aku cuma di bilik sambil menonton filem Maryam bersama tafsir dan cikedis.


***

tahun ni, lain sikit ceritanya.



kata kunci:

santai bersama teman-teman mendaki Tabur West,
masak nutella guna coklat kompound baki raya haji,
rekod pakai GoPro,
ahli team pancit bernafas tercungap-cungap,
sipi-sipi work-out,
mencermati 12 puncak, gaung gaung dan gaung,
rahsia ahli team hilang rupanya pergi menyahtinja sembunyi-sembunyi,
membaham nasi lemak di puncak sambil berkongsi kisah hijrah Rasulullah.


***


perasaan tu, bila tengok kampus dari jauh.

pernah tahu, Felix Baumgartner, manusia yang melangkaui kelajuan bunyi pernah kata

Sometimes we have to get really high to see how small we are.

eceyh, padahal baru Bukit Tabur. belum tinggi mana.

***




tahun depan, kalau masih ada, agaknya di mana?

“My name starts with K, but calls me Seven.”

This happened a few years back. It was my first semester. The subject; fardhu ‘ayn.

His introduction begins with 

My name starts with K, but calls me Seven.

We were laughing. It’s kind of like a lame joke of introducing a nickname, but his facial expression really kills. The weekly class continues and fills with a lot of fun and laughter, until a day Mr. Seven reveals his background.

You know, I’ve been in prison for 40 days in my hometown, Palestine.

I was taken aback. If only I had known that he was from Palestine I would have treated him for a cup of coffee and learns the first-hand stories about it earlier. But I still glad that he did the sharing; even it was almost the end of semester which is also means the end of his postgraduate study.

The story continues.

So, we had to do  tayammum to perform prayers. For forty days. The water provided is only sufficient for drinking. And after forty days some of us were released.

There was one man, my neighbor, he wasn’t released that day. His father was very old at the time I brought the bad news to him. But we couldn’t do anything. We were almost powerless. This continues about 10 years, until I finished my undergraduate study. He was still imprisoned.

One day, his father gets very sick and he wished to see his son by visiting the prison. Coincidentally, his son was released on the same day without us knowing it. So, both of the father and the son were on their way back to each other, after 10 years of separation, 10 years.

Then, when we were almost close to reach the prison, the father gets very sick. He was shivering as if he was seeing ghost, he breathes heavily with cough and phlegm-like sound, and his muscles are tense. I was holding on to his hands as he was struggling to whisper some words in my ears. But I hear nothing understandable.

In a few moments, he died.

Meanwhile, his son arrived home and learned the hard truth.

When we meet, I was breaking as much as he is. He was in tears. I was in tears too, but in my eyes, he was supposed to cry with the tears of joy. But it’s not.

 

***

and I never seen Seven again the following semester until now.

 

#PrayForGaza

*livestream - link