Last month, I visited my grandpa’s house the first time since mid-08. I call him Koge. I’ve been going there every Saturday night since the day I was born, but this stopped since my family won’t shut up about asking how’s college EVERY BLEEDING WEEK.

I miss him. Brought him porridge one day but he didn’t fancy the sesame oil on top. He ate a little. This was in January.

Upon arrival, I walked briskly into the house. My uncle stopped me and said “Oh, he found you.” What? Your father said he was missing a daughter. I guess he found you now. At that time, I saw my parents on Sundays only. My father turned to look at me and continued eating.

I couldn’t be bothered, especially since all my aunts were there, and the Singaporeans, and the cousins, ARGH. I rushed in to see my grandpa, and salam-ed. But he was cold. Looked at me with a stern face and watched TV loudly. I felt guilty, of course. Before I left for home, he was also cold. Usually he would smile and ask me, “Nak balik dah (Going back already) ?”

When I left for Singapore in March, he even asked me if I had enough money.

Yesterday, I had a lovely brunch with my family. We were talking about my brother leaving for UK when my mom asked my dad if Koge was going to remember him (Adam). My dad said no. News then broke out – he no longer remembers me.

Koge does not remember me.

Surreal.
My favourite boy who’s always fascinated with my camera.
My favourite boy who prefers beef pepperoni.
My favourite boy who remembers my grandma’s birthday, Ferrero Rocher and jasmine.

Ceasing memory. My poor, poor favourite boy.
It’s so surreal. All my life, to me, Koge was immortal.
And now…
And now he grows old like everyone does.
Grumpy and cold. My favourite boy.

My grandfather is immortal. He does not forget. He does not cough. He does not die. This wise man. How I wish I had known he was human. I really, really, really believed he was the type of person who would never forget, never. Even at this age.

Ah, and this will forever be the thing I regret.
Should have sat with him longer than I would usually.
Should have talked to him more.
Should have fucking seen him more often.
What the fuck was I thinking.

I fear now. I fear now his death.
The day I come to terms with
…
I refrain from saying it.
I’m still in denial. How could you?

HOW COULD HE FORGET ME? What is left of his memory? I want to dive in those folds and find me. Traces of me. If I would even be in there, I know I don’t deserve to. Swim through every single fold, nook and cranny, find me. It would be like the scene from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind when Jim Carrey begs to keep his memory of Clementine.

Only this is not a movie. As I type, I cease to mean anything to him. Everyday goes by, I am more of a stranger than the next person. And in the grand finale, I no longer exist.

Whenever we watched a Tamil or Arab movie, he would be the first to shed a tear (quietly) or laugh. We do that only after reading the subtitles. Favourite swear phrase – BLOODY FOOL. And some Japanese jibberish, which I don’t understand.

My great-grandfather was Arab-Indian, great-grandmother Indonesian. Koge married a Chinese Indian. But we are Malay in our Identification Card. He was Koge to me. Superman. Mighty Immortal Demigod.

I am proud of my grandfather. So proud of him that I wanted to be just as great. He was the drive I had, to do Kurasaraksasa seriously. I wanted to be important. I wanted someone to be proud of me. And now, with my so-called art.

For about a year, I loved taking pictures of him during his physiotherapy at home. For awhile, my first year in college, I think he was proud of me.

I was very young when we were watching an old Malay movie with a massive ribut (storm) scene. He told me they used a huge ass fan for the wind effect, and I asked him how he knew, and he said he was at the set. I didn’t believe him. Koge, arts? Nawwww. When the credits rolled, he told me to keep my eye on the screen for his name, and wow. There was his name. In a movie credit. Yeah, I was impressed.

We didn’t hold hands when walking in Ampang Park. Before I knew it, I was lost in the middle of nowhere, and someone took me into a toy shop where I sat on the counter quietly. They gave me a Marshmallow Man to hug. Koge rushed over later in a worried haste, Adam behind him. Scared, Koge became stern. But that time he was also nice. Asked me if I wanted the Marshmallow Man and I sat quietly. Not saying anything. I went back home that day with a new comforting toy.

He loved my elder brother, Adam. Loved. Sayang sangat. I felt so left out. Back then I had no friends and my family was giving me a hard time. He always took Adam out for lunches. They always came back home happy. So one day, I waited outside the house and my grandfather had no choice but to bring me along. I sat in the gold Mercedes observing the roads so I remember where we were going. Perkim building. Long way to the carpark. It felt like a roller coaster ride. Huge doors opening to the biggest room I’ve ever been to. Long curtains. Posh. Carpets. Long dining table. That was the first time I had pink and white kuih lapis. I sat with my brother eating the kuihs and played hide and seek under the table while he had meetings.

Awak tau Koge dulu kerja apa? (Do you know what I used to work as?)
What?
Spy.
Yeah right.
Ye, Koge dulu spy. (Grandpa used to be a spy)
Spy untuk?
(I’ll keep this to myself.)

I remember feeling weird when he visited us in Scotland. Back then I thought we were neighbours who rarely visited each other. Distance was… nothing. I didn’t understand why he was staying with us. Feeding ducks. Ice cream. Him and his slacks, suspenders, crisp shirts, a formal jacket, hat, sunglasses, shiny, shiny shoes. Always smelt nice. He was always sharply dressed. Everytime he left the house, he had to be sharp. That time I didn’t know why my grandpa was always so formal when he went out. Kenapa tak pakai je selipar? (Why don’t you just put on slippers?) Kenapa kena wangi sangat? (Why do you smell so good?) Malam pun nak pakai topi ke, Koge? (Must you wear a hat at this hour of the night?) And now I know, there are probably no men like him.

Adila, tolong Koge.
Nak apa?
Kat toilet, gigi Koge.
What?
Gigi aku la, (mencarut)
And I saw his fake teeth in a glass, which was when I knew he had dentures.
I’m telling you, to me, he IS immortal. Perfect. Gigi palsu? Human betul la datuk aku ni.

On Saturdays when I used to be over at my grandparentss place, I usually have no one to talk to or hang out with, so I sat next to him in his room, watched TV with him. He’d wave his hand at me and smile a cheeky smile.
Kenapa Koge?
And he’ll point at his thick wool socks and I know. I’ll know what to do.
His feet so skinny and frail. I was extra careful not to break any precious bones.

Ambikkan pyjamas Koge.
Almari mana? Ok.
Lovely cotton, or silk?
Mana mana la.

I’ll help him wear it, one hand… and then the other. He was so skinny. His skin soft and leather-y. Shiny. Freckles sikit. Sagging sikit. Tapi soft. Tolong button baju. Tolong pakaikan gloves. He would smile and watch TV.

Apa hobi kau?
Hobby?
Ah.
Think. Think. Think. Reading? No. Gardening? But I’m 19, of course I wont tell him that. Think. Think.

Kau suka photography kan? (You like photography?)
Uh, ah, yeah. Suka. (I like it)
Apa camera kau guna? (What type of camera do you use?)
Manual. Film.
Yang digital kau takde? (Don’t you have a digital camera?)
No.
Kalau kau nak, cakap kat Koge, Koge belikan. (If you like one, let me know. I’ll get you one)
Er, takpe la Koge. (You don’t have to.)
Tak tak, kau cakap je. Berapa harga camera tu? (Just let me know if you want one. How much are one of those?)
Tak tau, tapi takpe la Koge. Papa belikan. (I don’t know. But don’t worry. Daddy will get it)
Kau cakap je, nanti Koge belikan. (Just let me know if you want one)

Nah, kau bawak camera? (Did you bring your camera along?)
Bawak! (Here it is)
Tangkap gambar Koge. (Take a photo of me)
He smiled
Showed him the picture

Hahahaha, handsome! Koge gigi rongak!!! (Oh look at my missing teeth)
Bagus bagus (Wonderful, wonderful)

Koge, senyum lagi! (Smile again, grandpa!)

This time, he smiled his dashing smile. (Refer to picture above)

~

Dill Malik has always wanted to be an artist since her kindergarten days — until one day her friend asked, “Artis? Macam Ziana Zain?” 16 years after recovering from the traumtising remark, she is now studying and freelancing in various fields related to art.