Oleh : Amalin Farhana (Melalui Program Write Up Story)

 

“Siti… making karipap is easy.

 

Just prepare some filling and dough.”

“Mak, you skipped the most important part! How to make the filling?”

My mak chuckled lightly as she sealed her 15th karipap in a row. Lining it on her tray full of karipap, she reached for her next ball of dough, rolling it flat and putting the filling, making her 16th karipap without a sweat.

 

“Well, Siti,” she began, “The filling can be anything you want. And whatever filling it is, it depends on the consumer whether they like it or not. They’re just like people. From the outside, they look like people, and you can guess what they are based on what you know about them. However Siti,” She looked at me and placed a karipap down. “In reality, you never really do know who they are on the inside. And like karipap, the only way to find out about the taste and how they make you feel is by having a taste of that karipap to know for sure.”

 

I squinted at how she smoothly avoided my question. “I have to EAT my friends?!”

Mak chuckled heartily, grabbing the unfinished karipap from me. “Yes, Siti. You have to eat your friends.” She answered sarcastically. “Because then, you will know their true selves. Either they’re someone with the personality you like, or they’re someone with a personality you despise, the only way to find out, is by getting to know them and in karipap terms; eat it.”

 

I cringed at her words. “Your metaphors are so weird, Mak… But I understand what you mean.” I reached towards one of the balls of dough and rolled it flat. “...but what if I’m afraid to try?”

 

Mak hummed for a while.

 

“...Then, your curiosity will never be satisfied. Just like your stomach.”

 

The memories of my late mother and her odd food metaphor came flowing through my thoughts like a film. I somehow understood what she meant despite using food as a metaphor. Mak was the only parent I had, with our father leaving us when I was 2. I never wondered about who he was, especially when he was the one who left us in the first place. It was only Mak and me. By the time I had graduated, my mother passed away with a smile, and not letting me have the chance to hug her one last time.

 

Mak is sometimes a bit unfair.

 

But that was Mak. My Mak. I forgave her even if she was being unfair.

 

I couldn’t forgive my father for not appearing at her funeral, despite being old or possibly dead. He left us by ourselves and didn’t wish to be fair for at least even a bit. I know people like my father. I know they aren’t the type to come back as soon as they leave because when they come back, all they want is money. Mak never said anything about Ayah, but I know he must be those kinds of people. I know so.

 

So when Ayah appeared before my eyes in my front door, I didn’t even let him explain. I shut the door immediately.

 

“Siti, please. I have so much to tell you and-”

“You left me and Mak. How can I listen to someone who left his own family.” If Mak was here, she’d be forgiving. She forgave the gossiping Mak Cik who talked bad about Mak. She forgave people. Mak was softhearted, but only because her daughter was hard-headed. “Go! I don’t want to see you. Mak died 5 years ago. There’s nothing here for you.”

 

“Siti, I was in debt. I had to leave. If I stayed any longer then your mother and you would be taken away from me.”

I opened the door and rage adorned on my face, “You think I believe that?! If it was true, why couldn’t you have brought us with you?! Mak and I could’ve helped somehow!”

“You wouldn’t understand-”

“Ayah, I’m an adult. What more do I not understand?! I already can’t understand how you could leave Mak and me! Mak worked hard to raise me, and all you did was wait till she was dead JUST so you can come back! You’re a coward!”

 

Ayah was on the ground, sitting on his knees, looking down with his hands having droplets of tears. “Siti… please…”

“No! I had to sit in front of Mak’s unmoving body, unable to hug her live body for one last time and grieve for years without the comfort of the father I should’ve had! And now when I’ve already moved forward, you come back here just to spill these memories of why I hate you?! You’re just making it worse!

 

Just do what you always do; leave!”

 

My eyes were burning, my cheeks felt wet, and my nose was scrunching up in pain. I wiped my tears with my sleeves, looking away from the man below me. Silence passed by the two of us in the dead of night of 10 pm, and all I could do was fall to my knees, breaking down once more. I couldn’t breathe, and all I wanted was my Mak to hug me and tell me it’s alright. But now she’s gone, and all I have is myself and my present ‘absent’ father.

 

“...Siti.” He began. “...I promise you. I won’t do that anymore. I’ve paid off my debt. And now I… I want to become the father you should’ve had.”

“It’s too late. I can take care of myself.”

“...True.

 

...But as your father, I want to see how you’ve grown. If you let me have the chance to become the father I could’ve been… That… would make Melur happy.” Melur. Mak’s name.

 

Ayah sniffled and wiped his tears. “...Please… let me try.”

 

I looked at him, and the word try reminded me of Mak again.

 

But what if I’m afraid to try?

 

…Then, your curiosity will never be satisfied. Just like your stomach.

 

“...Ayah.”

He looked at me, his eyes glistening with tears once more as soon as I called him that.

“Y-yes Siti?”

“...Do you… know how to make karipap?”

 

Ayah winced and scratched the back of his head. “No… I’m not quite as good as your mother…”

I chuckled weakly.

“Ayah…making karipap is easy.

 

Just prepare some filling and dough.” 

 

 

 

Tarikh Input: 15/08/2022 | Kemaskini: 01/11/2022 | anis_akmil