"after Bak died", Al Hafiz Sanusi
Weeks after Bak died
nobody dared to touch his things
his one black songkok tucked in
the corner of the brown gerobok
his sarongs remain folded
crisp from corner to corner
his white checkered shirt
another checkered shirt
another checkered shirt
a plain white shirt
a singlet
a checkered shirt
another checkered shirt
(You do wear a lot of checkered shirts!)
remain stacked
fearing that his vein-popping brown skeletal hands
would claw out from the crevices
of the gerobok
and rob us of our grief.
Months after Bak died
checkered shirts
have been Benjamin Buttoned
back to bibs and baby jumpers
gone are his sarongs
replaced by a more urgent use of nappies
only the songkok remains tucked
deeper into the corner
gathering dust over shiny sequin baby dresses.
Decades before Bak died
he sits with a six-year-old me
before Eid prayers begin
I plead with him,
Don’t let me wear the songkok, I hate
this hot, leather bowl above my head
this stifling, patriarchal piece of sh–
He stops my tantrum.
Hate is a strong word, he says.
Hate is forgetting your mother brushed the songkok this morning for you
Hate is disliking the brooches your grandpa pinned for you
Hate is severing the trunk of your family tree
Hate is cancelling out a century of Syairs and songs about your songkok
of cutting bilateral ties with your Ottoman ancestors, your Byzantine brothers
of uprisings and revolutions against men with bulletproof helmets
Of prayer and pilgrimage
Of love for God.
Bak replaces my songkok with his
Fused with minyak attar as he fixes my posture for prayer
Feet shuffling together over the furry carpet, we begin to bow.
Years after Bak died
I catch myself staring sometimes
as I open drawers
at that dust-covered songkok tucked into the corner
I take a closer look
and smell a silhouette of someone familiar.
Author’s Notes:
Bak - an affectionate term to address Father in some Malay households
Songkok - a cap in the shape of a truncated cone, commonly black, and worn by males during formal occasions such as weddings and funerals or festive occasions.
Gerobok - small cupboard
Eid - Muslim religious holiday starting on the 1st of Syawal
Minyak Attar - perfumed oil, often put on clothes for prayers
/ Al Hafiz Sanusi still attempts to rewrite the stars. He has a million dreams unfulfilled. Yet, he remains optimistic as he tiptoes on the tightrope and onto the other side. This is him, coming alive.
/ COMMENTARY
“I really liked this piece because it was a very moving take on the prompt (which was about clothing/fashion). I love the subtlety and the excavation of meaning and significance in everyday objects (in this case, clothes) and how the poet was able to weave a story from the clothing items and draw the reader into his world. I also really love how tender it is and the occasional humour in its repetition. I am also a fan of the way it engages with grief, longing and family legacy.”
/ Q&A
What inspired you to write this poem?
It was my mind going to dark places and those what-if scenarios. This, in particular, was during the last few days of Ramadan and entering Syawal, which would be Eid. There were news of friends of mine losing their parents during this holy period and I began to contemplate what if it was my parent. Would I be ready now? How would I remember them by? So, spoiler alert, it is a fictional experience but a real situation I keep pondering alot on especially now in my thirties. How would you remember your parents when you start to become a parent yourself?
How has writing for SingPoWriMo impacted you as a poet?
It has given me a platform to remain creative and still contribute to the literary community here. Not all are blessed to be full-time writers or have the financial means to attend residencies or classes. What SingPoWriMo, provides is that first base for New/Mid-experience/Senior writers to just write, get some valuable feedback, and that validation. For myself, it enables me to still be in touch with my creative persona eventhough I may be in drudgy full-time work. It is that candy I look forward to at the end of a day’s hardship.
What would you say to someone thinking about taking part in the next SingPoWriMo?
Go jer. Don’t scared. #gojerdontscared