A Letter to Along

Dear Along,

It’s strange, isn’t it, the things we remember?

Not the big birthday parties or the family trips to Port Dickson (where someone always got sunburnt and someone else always got scolded). No—it’s the little rebellions that stay with you. Like that time you taught me how to smoke outside Mak’s house, like we were starring in our own dodgy coming-of-age film. You, four years older and full of swagger, lighting up with that “Don’t tell Mak ah” look in your eye. I thought you were the coolest person on the planet. You were the big sister I never had.

Which is why it never made sense—the words they threw at you.

Lazy. Fat. Bodoh.
Like your only crime was being a kid who didn’t fit the mould. They packed you off to a madrasah with nine subjects and no clue what made your heart beat faster. All you wanted to do was draw cartoons and watch TV3 dramas. But instead, you got put into a system designed to eat you alive.

But you had Mak.

Mak, who loved you fiercely and unconditionally. Who didn’t see failure—she saw you. Her favourite grandchild. Her sayang. And in return, you and I gave her something no one else did—we called her “Mak.” Not “Nenek.” Not “Oma.” Just Mak. Like a secret handshake only the three of us understood. When she passed in 2015, something broke in me. But I know something shattered in you.

Even when you moved to KL, and our lives drifted into grown-up chaos, you never forgot me. Birthday calls, Raya morning greetings—always you, always first. “You’re the brother I never had,” you told me once.

The last thing you ever sent me was that parcel from KL.
Three little t-shirts.
“Daddy.” “Mummy.” “Daughter.”
A perfect little family set for me, Hana, and her mum. It was your way of saying, “You made it, dik. I see you.”

Then COVID happened. You told me you were scared. I told you to go to the hospital.
I didn’t know that would be the last time I ever heard your voice.

Your story stays with me. Not because you ticked the boxes or lived by the rules—but because you didn’t. Because you were someone's safe harbour, just like Mak was yours. Just like I’m trying to be now, for my kids.

You’ll always be my first partner-in-crime.
And now, your scar is part of my map.

Thank you for everything, Along.

Love always,
Ath