Mak - One mysterious Woman

No no, I'm not talking about the woman who gave birth to me. I'm talking here about Mak, the woman who took care of me. How did I end up with her?

My natural mom delivered me at home, (I went back home recently, and took a picture of the block!) which was pretty unusual for late 70's when everybody else gave birth at the hospital. At this time, her marriage to my dad has come to an end, and soon afterwards, they were divorced officially. Mak is actually my father's stepmother. My (now, arwah) grandfather divorced my paternal grandmother long ago and remarried to Mak, an arab-descedent from Yemen by her father's blood and a javanese mother who came from Bandung. My father resented their marriage and most naturally, as most stepson would, resented Mak. After I was born, I was practically left there, as my parents sorted out their issues. My father, who comes and goes a lot in my childhood life, and my teenage mother went on their separate ways. From what I was told, my mother lived with Mak & Arwah Atok for awhile and then one day, just dissappeared, and never returned. Hence, there begin my life, as a free-loader, a name that I will be touted with if I ever misbehaves (like any child would have).

Arwah Atok, is not much of a talker. Even as I was growing up, I never really had strong recollection or memories about any conversation with him because he just is sooo quiet. Mak on the other hand was a strong, aggresive woman. She was then (and still is!) working as a masseus to help maintain the household. I knew from my father that she disliked him and was mean to him, or perhaps, like any stepson would have felt, left out. Therefore, my fate was sealed. But subhanallah, according to Abah, as much as she hated him, she does literally the opposite for me. She loves me, and according to her children, even more than them as I begin to grow up in front of her blue-grey eyes.

Why do I keep calling this woman Mak when she is actually, my step-grandmother? I grew up amongst her children, and since they call her "Mak", I started calling her Mak too. Actually, I have no recollection of how that happened. But all my life, I never remembered myself calling her anything else but.

But growing up with Mak is no bed of roses. Because of the age gap between me and Mak Ros (her last child and only daughter), I never knew how she brought up her other kids. But to me, she was a mean disciplinarian. Yes, on me, she had used the 'rotan', the 'tali pinggang', and almost anything she could get her hands on when she was really mad with me. I remembered she locked the room of our tiny 3 bedroom flat, and caned me so much that I was wailing and screaming for help. No one came. I don't remember anymore the pain that came from her whipping, but what is left now is the psychological scar which will never heal. Also there were few times that she took a handful of cili and forced (rub) it into my mouth because I sad something bad. Because I'm the only one who suffers from this physical and mental torture, I'm pretty sure (then, at least) that I deserve this only because I'm an outsider. Life would have been beautiful if I have my own family...my heart whispers every now and then, and it continues to whisper, well into adulthood.

Fast Forward >>
Last year (or early this year) I went to watch a movie called 'Big Fish' and I was so mersmerized with the character of the father. That character to me, was the closest representation of what Mak was to me, in some ways. Amazing!

Oh No. Before you start imagining the worst, no, Mak is not like that all the time. There are times when she relish me with presents and bring me out with her when she goes to work. Love, even if it was there, I couldn't feel it because of the fear that she has installed in me.

(Oh god, I'm tearing now)
Because of this fear too, I never never had the chance in my life to tell her, I love her, because now, after 27 years of my life I think it's high time I do it. But no, not in that family. I'm not sure if its a malay mentality or its just us. But we don't exchange nice kind words to each other even in a joking manner. Borrowing a phrase from a fellow blogger, No news means good news for this family. I'm dying to tell somebody I love her/him but never have that chance, and I grew up looking for love in all the wrong places.

Alhamdulillah, Mak lived to see the day that my life is back on track, or shall I say, "normal". Mak embraced me on the day I got married and cried with so much happiness. I will never forget this moment ever in my life. She cried because I finally succeeded in finding the love I was thirsty for. Eventho I was going to leave her and move away with my husband, this fact wasn't as emotional as what was in both our minds (again, words not said, but feelings, understood).

Occasionally I would call home and talk to her. Conversations lasts for like 5 minutes, no exchanges of 'I miss you's' or 'I love you's'... in short, typical conversations goes like this...

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Me : Assalamualaikum, Mak?

Mak : Waalaikumsalam, Ah Ruby..

Me : Mak Lagi apa?

Mak : Takde, lagi baring, tadi orang datang berurut.

Me : Ooh. Mak dah makan?

Mak : Dah.

Me : Semua baik?

Mak : Baik...

Me : Mak Ros ada?

Mak : Takde. Dia kerja.

Me : Oklah Mak, kirim salam kat semua

Mak : Ah ye lah. Kirim salam Walid.

Me : Ok mak, bye!

Mak : Ok, bye.

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It goes a little bit longer if I need a recipe from her. At times, I just ask anyway so that I can have a little longer conversation than the above.