The Popularity Contest

If there was a popularity poll, my name would not even make it on the list.

My personality is such that people either love or hate it. More people tend to flock the latter.

I remember when at my late Nyai (maternal grandmother)'s tahlil, our house was full of arwah's families and friends. People travelled as far as Singapore, and friends called to get the address of the house on the haunted hill in the secret Bangi jungle. Women and men were in constant prayer; grieving and praying for arwah's soul. Our close friends also came to support my family at this difficult stage.

As I prayed and offered verses to arwah, I felt very happy that so many people cared and loved her very much. So many people wanted to help her in the afterlife. By offering prayer and verses.

It was truly a miracle that I was home that weekend. Looking back, we were all there when she breathed her last breath. I remember coming home in time to see her conscious but in pain. She saw me, and I smiled at her. As usual, I started cracking jokes to make her laugh. There was a glistening stream of tears on her face. I put my brave face on and continued with my silly banter.
After the night I arrived, my grandmother immediately slipped into a coma. I remember reading Yasin for Nyai day and night on that short trip. I cancelled all plans with my friends so I could be by her side. I remember whispering verses in her ear. I also whispered how much I loved her. According to my sister Ilham, after I read the Yasin to Nyai on Sunday morning, Nyai's eyes opened. Her breathing was haggard. Her eyes shot up, frozen. Something was wrong.
Ilham called everyone to come into the room. My mother started reciting the kalimah shahadah and asked me to call all family members. My hands trembled as I struggled to tell people what was going on. As I dialled numbers, I watched from the door as Nyai struggled with the Angel of Death. The chants grew louder.

Nyai drew her last breath. The whole ''process'' took a few minutes. I heard crying. I watched as everyone grieved, and I walked away. Emotions always came very slowly to me. Slowly but surely, I felt tears trickling on my cheeks. My hands were shaking and still dialing numbers.

I had to be strong for my mother.

It was my first glimpse of the soul leaving the body. Different from my late grandfathers, by the time I arrived, their souls had already departed. With Tok We, I was in Padang, Indonesia when he passed. I was miserable on that day, too.

My sisters and I also learned to bathe the deceased following Islamic traditions and principles. I performed my first jenazah prayer (Not sure what the English word is). The experience was truly humbling.

I have since had thoughts about death, my deeds, and how I want to live my life.

Just a few days before Nyai's passing, Shafiq's younger sister passed away from dengue shock syndrome. We were very supportive of one another. I can relate to how painful dengue can be.

Returning to my post, I realized that in death, you truly know who your real friends are. The people that come far and wide to pray for your soul, or who even far away and continue to pray for your soul in their own homes. The people who speak fondly/badly of you in your presence as they do in your absence. People who run to help when you are in trouble instead of walking away. People who stay even when the world abandons you.

I listened to people sharing stories about my late grandmother, my late grandfather, and about Shafiq's late sister. Their shining contribution. How they lead their life.

The things that can help the soul of the deceased are:

• Constant prayer and verses offered to the deceased
• The deceased's good knowledge/behavior/deeds are taught and simulated/practiced by others

Since then, I suggested to my parents that every time we have our monthly family gatherings, we should also have tahlil for all of the deceased. We hope this tradition is passed on to our children and their offspring.

Hmm...if I pass, I'll be fortunate if there were 10 people at my tahlil.