As raya draws nearer, my memory of her serves me better.

In a strange way, I love her. In an unexplainable way, I am capable of loving someone without revealing the very emotion itself. I see respect as a way of showing love, I guess. And I've always respected her till today. She who had everything in her mortal life. My grandmother whom I loved and envied at the same time.

I called her like all Melanau grandchildren call their grandmother - Mak Yeng. When I was a mere child, I feared her. She could scold like anything, and being an easily intimidated child, I dreaded seeing her. She taught me to read Quran, and I learned hard and fervently so she would not scold me. She taught me to wash my own dishes. She scolded as she taught. And I learned well.

As I grew up and she grew frail, she became a more easy-going grandmother who likes to sit down with any of us and tell us of her younger days. It was entertaining to know how she met with grandfather (through arranged marriage), what was the fashion of the day, how did she go through Japanese occupancy, and all other stories she was fond of telling.

Then as time became troubled, and as I spent my teenage years trying to be strong and I then learned to keep my emotion to myself, she incessantly told me to be patient. That all will go well, and I should not concern myself with what is not to be concerned.

'Everything is fated. Let it be.' She explained.

But when she was suddenly taken away from me, I couldn't help but cry. Be it fate, be it anything, I have lost her.

2 years had passed. I still love her. I still pray that I will see her in my dreams. I missed her so. Miss the grandma who chatted about old nostalgia with me, who gave advices when everything around me is falling apart, miss every single thing about her. I love you. I love you, Mak Yeng. I do, I'm telling you now.


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