The only person in my family that had voiced his pride in my   political and social activism has left this world last week. 

Tok Ayah as my grandfather was affectionately known passed away on Friday night, leaving me in an unresolved grief and unspoken guilt. Throughout my life, I only get to meet him thrice of which two out of the three meetings were during my honeymoon and when he was in
Kuala Lumpur last year for his medical treatment.  Due to a family feud that spawned for more than a decade, I never get to understand and knew this one guy that had influenced my characters in many ways. 

A long time freedom fighter from Sumatera;A persistent politician;A walking arcade of the country’s history;A loving grandfather; My guilt derived from the fact that I promised him something. And it remains a promise until now. When I went through his black and white pictures at his home in 2005, and saw how every single picture creates a beautiful gallery of  a man’s courageous journey, I told him this,  “I would love to write your story one day, from the point of view of a grandchild that just knew who her grandfather is,” Sadly, I never made the trip up north again. I never get to do all the interviews I wish to do. I never did. And because of that, I grieved more.  After I met him, I am more at peace with who I am. I guess when you identify your roots; it affects your present outlook on life greatly. It sort of explains who you are, why you are somehow… the person you are. 

At least I knew all this before he left us. At least I knew that I can still grief for him despite the awkward reunion we had one and a half years ago. At least I know I can still love him and remember him as a great influence to who I am today. At least I know. And I forgive myself and my parents for the terrible past which separated us for almost 21 years. And because of that, letting go feels liberating. Al-fatihah.