This is meant to be posted yesterday.

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Today, 17th January 2007, marks the eight month since the day that Allah took Ayah’s life. Time really flies. It felt like yesterday that I received the news that he was admitted to the hospital. It felt like yesterday that I was allowed to go home to see my family, full expenses paid by Marjon. It felt like yesterday that relatives are afraid to tell me the bad news as soon as I landed. It felt like yesterday that I visited his grave for the first time and cried. It felt like yesterday that I visited his grave every weekend. It felt like yesterday that I helped Mama to placed the tombstone on his grave. It felt like yesterday that I helped to plant some orchids next to the tombstone. It felt like yesterday that I scattered flowers and pandan leaves on the grave. It felt like yesterday that I cried because he was not there to celebrate my birthday. It felt like yesterday that I held a tahlil for him. Everything felt like they have just happened just the day before. But, all these things happened in the course of eight months. I still have not visit his grave since I came back although this was the first thing that I wanted to do.I really wished that I had done so during the one week I was at home now that I’m missing him very much. It hurts when mama said that she dreamt of him sometimes. It hurts when Jaja said that he came into her dreams. He had never come into mine. If I had just one wish, I wish that he will come into my dream, even for a short while. I wanted to see him very much, for I am missing him dearly.

I think I miss my daddy la. Right now, things are very much clustered in my mind. The job I’m currently doing, the exam next week, the trip to London over the weekend, the dinner to attend next week, the final academic week, the final assignment and the flight ticket that I’ve received this morning. These are the things which I will usually talk to him about. These are the things that make our conversations last hours on the phone. And I miss talking to him.

Whatever happened around me seems to make me think about him even more. When friends ask, would I like to take a ride on London Eye, I said, no, I’ve been on it with my parents. When I went to Harrods, I remembered the time he dropped the lit to a teapot, broke it and didn’t even have to pay for it. Whenever I bought a handbag, no matter how beautiful it is, my favourite would be the one he bought me for my 21st birthday. Whenever friends asked how do I survive with the allowance, I told them may parents taught me to use whatever I have and not to ask for more. And then I remember the fact that he told Mama I was the most independent of all because I would never ask for more money and just use whatever I have or what they have given me. Then there are times when I still buy six mugs and six glasses, each and every time, the fact hit me, there’s only five of us now. Not six. Not anymore. When I was home during the summer, I still think that he has gone for a meeting in KL and will return in the evening. When I continue sleeping after Subuh prayers on the couch in the living room, I could smell him, his presence. When I listen to songs, songs about fathers, it hit me that I don’t have a father anymore. When I buy things for Mama, my sisters and my brother, or when friends are looking for things to buy for their fathers, I realised that I don’t have to buy anything for him. Because he’s gone.

My sister and I are always making jokes that he’s not around and it will always be funny only to both of us. Like this one.

And there are other jokes which I don’t think are appropriate to be shared. It would be better to keep it to ourselves.

It has been more than six months now and I still refuse to refer him as Arwah. I deny myself from using that term. I don’t want to. Because I still feel his presence around me.

Gosh, I miss him so much that writing this creates lumps in my throat.

I miss you, Ayah. Will you please come into my dreams?