It’s been almost five years since Amaya Omar has last visited her hometown. Five years since she had last seen her mother. Five years since the death of her younger brother, Aqil Omar.
Amaya had come to visit her mother in George Town for a couple of weeks, before her next semester started at Sunway University. There have been many absent years between Amaya and her mother seeing each other. Plane tickets were too expensive for short visits to happen, and in all of that lost time, Amaya and her mother haven’t really connected as much as they used to and have been distant. This trip was meant for Amaya to bridge that gap and restore the relationship she had with her mother.
Now that’s she back for the first time, since her brother’s passing, Amaya has noticed a drastic shift in the mood of her old household. It was very noticeably much quieter without Aqil’s pitchy cackling, which filled the aura of her childhood. Her mother was as secluded as ever. Amaya could tell that her mother is dragging this weight of brokenness and isolation within her by herself, and yet continues to portray an apathetic facade whenever they spend time together. She decided to make dinner for the both of them, to give her mother a well-deserved break, but first she needed to go out and buy a few groceries.
A brisk wind sent shivers down her spine as Amaya ambled out of the transit bus and on to the vibrant and busy streets of George Town. Buskers livened up the streets playing soulful melodies and passionately singing, enlightening the cheer in the smiles of the crowd forming around them. As she kept walking, she heard street vendors hollering from the other side of the road, reeling in customers to try today’s special: corn dogs and churros. Colorful lights illuminated from the billboards and trees, casting a vivid hue over the avenue she was walking down. All Amaya could bear to do in that moment was soak in the beauty of her city, in a complete state of euphoria.
She remembered the times that her and Aqil would ride their bike to this very spot she was standing at. It was their favourite thing to do together. How they would sneakily snatch candy from the vendors when they were distracted by other customers. How they used to walk into the congested but dazzling gift shops, looking through all of the nic nacs, choosing their favorite ones.
Completely lost in time, she snaps back into reality as a vehicle honked behind her. Amaya looked down at her watch and noticed it was getting late.
“Oh no, it’s already 7:00 p.m! The market is closing in a half hour!”
Amaya starts sprinting towards the end of the road, and turns around the block. As she arrives in to the cramped market, sweat situated upon her forehead, as she breathed heavily in exhaustion.
A short, cheeky employee walks up to her and asks, “ How may I help you?” Amaya, struggling to catch her breath, replies, “ I need one cabbage, three turnips, two radishes and a pack of fresh carrots.”
“No problem. Wait here, and I’ll be back with your items.” “Thank you so much kakak (sister),” she said.
As Amaya walks back the bus station, she decided to take a detour. An alternate route that was much faster, but somewhat unfamiliar. It was worth it she thought, after all that running to the market which caused her legs to become slightly sore. Not to mention, the heavy bags of vegetables that she was carrying on both sides of her arms, weighing down her walking pace.
As Amaya continues strolling, she turns into a back alley where she spots a painter wearing a flat-crowned beret, a traditional patterned bandana tied around his neck, a black and white striped turtleneck, straight edged dark pants and sleek leather tipped dress shoes. He was holding a paintbrush in one hand, and a palette in the other.
The painter seemed to be very concentrated and fixated in the art he painted onto the wall. He would be taking a few steps back, seeing it from another visual perspective. Looking from upward and downward angles, then magnifying the art from close up. I was intrigued and took a few steps forward to take a closer look.
“Hey you!” The old man bawled, looking right in Amaya’s direction. Her muscles instantly tensed up, as she was caught off guard by the man’s loud voice and stern face. Her body as still as a statue. The man’s eyes pierced at Amaya in a non -indulgent demeanor.
She slowly approached the man. “Yes sir.” Amaya’s voice trembling in fright. “What are you doing on this side of town at this late of day, alone.” His voice, eerily calm. “Oh, I was just walking the fastest route back to the bus stop, when I spotted your artistry. You know, I happen to be an artist myself. I’m curious to know what you were creating. So unique. So captivating.” Amaya inquisted, as she observed every detail, element, composition and style of his painting.
“Well I’m a storyteller. Everything I do has a purpose and translates to a deeper meaning. Art is my way of showing my vulnerability through aesthetics and design. It’s therapeutic in a way,” he said.
“So what does this painting mean to you exactly?” Amaya questioned.
“This. This is a very special one to me and very close to my heart. It’s a painting of my two beloved children who are now both adults pursuing their dreams. They are my greatest muse. Riding the bike was something that they did all the time. The bike had brought uncontrolled laughter, affection, and frenzy that they would experience riding to different places in the city. They were unbreakable. As I like to describe, my greatest joy and gratification, just like any child is to their parents. They make them feel complete. But just like a bicycle travels to different destinations, life keeps moving forward, and so have my kids. This art piece reminds me of all the ecstacy that they have brought me and to each other.”
The man’s voice started to fade into background noise as Amaya’s eyes started to well up with tears, as she started to reminisce her childhood with Aqil. It never had occurred to her, how much she had lost in her life, because when she heard about her brother’s death, she was shocked but didn’t completely comprehend what that meant. All she was focused on, was her studies at the university. A better lifestyle for her family. She realized that she had never fully come to terms with the death of her brother. She always ignored it, to avoid the pain. To avoid the chains around her heart tightening. To be strong for her mother, so she could grieve blatantly.
Amaya often would find herself wishing that it wasn’t real, because he was so young and missed out on a lot of things life had to offer. All of the faint memories that they had together start playing in the depths of her mind. Every time she thinks about it, all she can feel is the pain. The guilt. It wasn’t too long after that Amaya was helplessly sobbing. Tears streamed down her face, as she grasps the reality of what she has lost. How she’s been distant with her mother during a time she needed her the most. How selfish can I be, she thought. She abruptly dropped the groceries on to the ground.
The painter stood frozen, confused of what had just evoked so much emotion all of a sudden. All he could do was embrace her and let the torrent of her tears soak up his shirt. He could see her fists clench, and hear her silently screaming, as she suffocated with each breath that she took. The man ran his fingers through her hair, in an attempt to calm the silent war she was battling within her mind.
They stood there together, for a couple of minutes. The man had not asked Amaya any questions. As she started to collect herself, she couldn’t bear to speak. Her voice breaking with each try. She muttered, “thank you, but I have to go.” Just like that she took off, as the man politely nodded, letting her walk free in the dark, cold streets of downtown.
As Amaya arrived to the front door of her mother’s house, she took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. She could hear the hurrying footsteps of her mother scurrying to open the door. “Where have you been Amaya? It’s been hours, and I’ve been worried sick. Don’t ever leave for that long again!” Ms Omar, yelled.
All Amaya had the capacity to do in that moment, was run into her mom’s arms, weeping. “ I’m so sorry I haven’t been there for you. I’m sorry that I never tried to contact you. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there when Aqil died in front of your eyes. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to heal your pain and loneliness. You’ve done so much for me and Aqil our whole lives, but I never returned the support. I’m so sorry mom. I can’t begin to imagine the misery and heartache that you carried by yourself. I’m so sorry that I let you down.” Amaya muffled, breaking in and out of speech.
“You will never let me down Amaya. I will always love you and so does Aqil,” Amaya’s mother whispered. They stood in each other’s embrace and warmth, not wanting to let go, as the night fell into darkness.