Memories: Remembering, Finding and Ultimately Losing

In my last post I mentioned how I recently got in touch with old friends from 18 years ago on Facebook. Today I uploaded a photo of myself and a boy. His name was Azwanisham. It is one of only 3 photos I still have in my possession from those times. A few hours later one of those who knew him posted a comment; Azwanisham passed away last year, apparently due to high fever.

I don't particularly remember any memories with him. I don't remember if we were close; I don't think so, but I'm quite sure we were at least on civil terms. I vaguely remember him as being active in football, his mannerisms and he gives me the impression of being one of the more... 'adventurous' type.

However, I do remember the day we took that photo. I believe it was one of the final days of school. Evening session was for Sekolah Agama. I wasn't even wearing my proper baju melayu and kain samping in the photo; perhaps because nobody cared since school was almost over, or perhaps I was already 'King' of the school and rules didn't apply (darjah 6 kira King la :) ). He wasn't even wearing baju melayu; perhaps he never enrolled, or perhaps he skipped school, who knows.

I remember him carrying a camera when he approached me outside class. Of course I don't remember the conversation, but he insisted that I take off my songkok and put on the red cap. I don't remember who took the photo or if the camera was on auto; but he picked the nearest mural on that wall as the background, put one arm around me, and then snap.

I don't know why the news of his passing affected me the way it did. Perhaps because the news is a black mark against my recent joy of re-discovering the links to my childhood life; perhaps because every time I found the photo stashed in my old box of collections over the years it always felt like I will somehow somewhere be seeing him again some time; or perhaps because his passing is another entry in my list after arwahs Orneck, Ayah Ngah, Atuk, Pak Mat, and Masdar; all those I personally knew who left the world during my adulthood. There's a sense of dread and helplessness towards the inevitable and for Azwanisham, somewhere deep inside me a child grieves.

All year this year among ourselves we discussed childhood memories; of games we played, of places we used to hang out at, of teachers, friends and people we remembered and forgotten. I remember Azwanisham in some of the conversations. Perhaps that's why it felt like we actually knew him more than we gave ourselves credit for.

Memories. You don't what you are missing until it is lost to you. Al-Fatihah.