Ayah Dalam Pelukan

Seingatku
suatu ketika dahulu
bila bibir dan tangan bercium kaku
rangkulan perut dada tak bertemu
degupan cemas bila dihadapanmu
berpergian aku menuntut ilmu
kukenang jua di kala sayu
bila pulang masih jua kaku
bila merajuk aku bersendirian syahdu

Kini merantau berlainan tuan
hatiku tak lagi hiruk berantakan
mengapa harus gerun dalam kenangan
walhal di jiwa kesayangan
sesekali berjumpa
degupan makin perlahan
malah hangat rindu-rinduan
makin kasih dalam pelukan
malah perkataan makin ringan
membutirkan sayang penuh perasaan
aku punya seorang saja ayah bukan?

I do not know from which planet the men in my family came but they were not big on hugs at one time. In fact, the men and the women rarely spoke to each other, conversations between the young and their brothers or fathers are countable with the fingers on one hand. These alphamale archetypes were so dignified and glorified that they only needed to open their eyes and the food is on the table, get up when they are done, wash their hands and read the papers. Hot tea and crackers will follow suit. The UN Ambassador would be the maternal womenfolk. God save your soul if you mother refuses to speak on your behalf.

Given that the men were descendants of Bugis seafaring princes,or so they say, I still think they are more lanun blood in them than blue ones, I maintain that such aloofness and restrained public display of affection such a waste of time, when being Malay, one cannot help but be jiwang karat to a degree. How can one expect to be all sappy and mushy with you when you are no longer pedang-yielding(okay,make that rotan) if you insist on being the constipated Mat Control Poyo in your younger days. I am reckless to generalize the common trait of the Astro-polynesian male but this is so apparent where my dad came from.

I attribute to this I'm-too-sexy -to-be-affectionate vein to senibina rumah melaka, Melaka architecture, it's form and function philosophize the lifestyle of the Melaka people. Oh, maybe not, because I don't know where I chugged my Senibina Rumah-Rumah Melayu book, I fear misrepresentations. Simplistically though, the men had their own quarters in the serambi or balcony (where it is breeziest, the girls are doomed to the ceruk of the kitchen) and almost always did not enter the rumah ibu or main house unless absolutely necessary. The girls could have a peek at them at play through a skodeng hole up in the attic. The men and women almost always did not mingle unless with their own spouses, albeit very silently of course, nobody knew how procreation was possible when people slept like sardines on kekabu mattresses if not on rickety wooden planks. The patriarch may choose to sit wherever he wishes.The house is usually quiet in his presence. A mere dehem or clearing of his throat would send the young ones scampering and the older ones hiding in their own corners.

This habit is passed on from one generation to the next that it is quite difficult to connect with the fathers and brothers in our family. Until baby girls with tocang feminis were born as a result of intermarriages with the Minangs and little could be done to stop their liberation movement. The lanuns remained quiet and detached yet the invisible rule that they are to be served like kings according to the Hukum Kanun, lives on till this very day. Maybe that's because the ladies let them get away with it, I am sure.

As time went by, kids were sent to boarding schools and a lot of the pepatah-petitih were only rekindled in language and history classes. Mingling with different sets of people from myriads of backgrounds, we were introduced to how other people lived. I for one, learned a lot from my Utara friends who were seriously chummies with their fathers and were so much in touch with what is going on at their respective homes. I craved for that bond with my own yet I could not get over the gerun and segan. I did not have their passion for home as all I remembered back then was an empty house and a very garang no-nonsense nanny.

I slowly encouraged my siblings to start kissing our parents hands when we salam. We never knew how it was supposed to be done. That progressed to light pecks on the cheeks. These days we hug the breath out of each other. We are still too sexy to say "I love you" to our parents up front, we say it in writing and over the phone. Mak does a kakteh with a simple "ditto". Hell will go subzero degrees the day ayah tells us he loves us. But we do know he really does. Really.

Happy Birthday Ayah. I love you.

Very much.

Honest.

What kind of dad have you?