I was born in a small family of four. Unlike others, happiness was always on my side. The biggest part of happiness in my life was my brother. My only brother, Fikri. He was six years old. His presence lighten up my world. I can simply forget all of my burden by being on his side almost all the time and listening to his stories. Stories about toys , friends , school and teachers.
" Is this beautiful?" his little voice hit my eardrums while showing his painting of a house. Beside the house , there stood obviously a couple with two short people in front of them. With my growing comprehension made me understand the couple were vividly our parents and the taller of the two in front of them was me. However , something was peculiar about his painting. "Indeed , Fikri. but why all of the drawing were coloured beautifully except our parents?" I asked as a little question mark appeared above me. "Mom and Dad always busy with their works. I never feel even for a fraction of a second that I was their son. I need love from a mother and a father , not from money , toys , food or even things. I think I was a wax doll , ignored by them except you," Fikri revealed continuously , tears coming out smoothly on his cheeks. I was dumbstrucked . I cannot deny that I felt the same too but at the age of six, a child really need love from his parents.He hugged me so tight that I cannot breathe smoothly.
A few days passed by. That fresh morning , I was preparing to go to school. I really enjoyed the morning , listening to the chirping of birds and the beautiful reflection of the sunshine on my bedroom's mirror shattered into the seven colours of rainbow. Then , I went out of my room , left it locked as usual. I went downstairs and met my cute brother , Fikri. He was on the dining table , eating five pieces of sandwiches and a glass of lukewarm milk , full till its brim for breakfast. My eyes caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. It was still six and a half in the morning but the chairs where mother and father supposedly sit were empty. " Father and mother have gone to their work , as usual. They were earlier today to attend a meeting with an ambassador from Russia. By five o'clock , they already gone as I woke up at that time , I found out they were missing , " Fikri said and answered questions based on my perplexed face. I took a place beside him and eat six sandwiches which I believed prepared by Fikri for me as they were dingy and smudgy with buttercups on top of them. "Thanks , my lovely brother, " I said. Fikri lifted up his head and his Beutiful sea-blue eyes met mine with a curve of his mouth , shaping into a big wide sweet smile and said " Your welcome , my beloved brother". Then, we rushed to the front door after finished our breakfast and cleaned up the dining table. I was about to lock the door when suddenly I heard a big stomp on the ground fro behind. I was hoping that my imagination was only playing on my mind but my eyes deny it. It was Fikri , hit by a car ! His head blocked the moving tyre. I was panicked and ran to him immediately.
Fikri had been bedridden in the hospital for a fortnight. He was in deep unconsciousness along that time , moving no more except for his chest.The memory of that hapless and unlucky day was still fresh in my mind . It was our parents that hit him unintentionally ! Actually, mother and father came back as they left important documents that had to be presented to the ambassador. They were too rush and too speedy till hit Fikri . At that moment , I fetched him up , ignoring the blood came out non-stop from his little head and put him on the seat at the back of the car. Father drove very fast and mother took a glimpse at the back every second , while praying that God will save him. I put Fikri's head on my ribs and by the reaction of his face , I can tell that he was totally unconscious what had happened to him. At that precise moment , tears poured out from my eyes and hoping not to lose my biggest part of happiness. His happiness is my happiness , his sorrow is my sorrow. My heart was almost fell out from its place at that time as I was really worried if he would not be "Fikri" again. However, what disappointed me the most was that our parents left us to the authority of the hospital and gave me fifteen pieces of RM100 and twenty pieces of RM50 for spare to us if we needed. I still felt uncomfortable and ignored by our parents as I need love, not those money even they had paid an amount of RM30,000 to the hospital to heal my brother. How could they leave us like that , only for attending a meeting with an ambassador of Russia? It just happened. Now, our father was overseas and mother was busy with her international boutique across the globe.
Three months later, I was so grateful that Fikri had the strength to get up from the bed . He was too weak so I helped him but the first word came out from his mouth was "Mother?Father?" .I said " They were busy. They will come soon , Fikri". His reply was really unfriendly and shocked me so much like after being pounced by the greatest fierce lightning . " Who are you? You are a stranger! Help! Help! Stranger!" his voice echoed every angle and corner of the room . Nurses and several doctors came inside quickly. A few doctors made me out of the room and tried to calm me down. The doctor's soft words fall like a bombshell. " Your brother , Fikri suffered amnesia or loss of memory. After we had checked him a few days ago , we have concluded that it will be a long-time period effect , which , the cost to his healing is only a miracle. We afraid to tell you earlier , but sooner or later , you will know the truth". " I will accept him , " was all that I could say.
I have called mother and father to inform about that but all they could say was " We are very sorry. We are really busy". Fikri was home with me. Although the doctors and the nurses convinced him that I was his brother , he still look at me as if he looked a very dangerous stranger that could take his life away anytime. I was very patient preparing his 'sahur' along the Ramadan . I served him like the old "Fikri" eventhough the new "Fikri" had changed a lot through many aspects . It was the last day of Ramadan , the eve of "Hari Raya Aidilfitri" . I saw that Fikri made three cards , two decorated beautifully which were obviously for our parents and one was plain , for me. He gave it to me. Then, I saw his little feet bravely and cutely went up the stairs , heading to our parent's room. From bottom , I can hear his voice calling , " Mother and father , sorry for disturbing you. Fikri want to give something to Mom and Dad. Do you hear me?" . "Darling , sorry but we are busy. Mom have to retype four paperworks for her international boutique. Dad got to finish documents for the new ambassador from United States of America." At that , moment , I was upstairs and I could see that Fikri unintentionally hit a cup of coffee beside father and the coffee spill up the document that father just mentioned. It covered with brown and so wet that the words on the paper so much. Father's face turned red . "Out!" father shouted. Fikri went back a step. Father was a hot-tempered guy, he accidentally pushed Fikri so hard out of the room to the stairway. He was unstable and unable to control himself till he was rolled and rolled over like a bolster to the floor.
He could stand up after lied down the floor. Father and mother were behind me. They were shocked with the words came out from his mouth . "Fikri could remember now. Brother was no stranger. Father and mother were evil ! Evil ! Fikri hate father and mother ! " Just after saying that , he fainted and this time was different from the old incident. He lied and his hands thudded to the floor , moving no more. We sent him to the hospital and the doctors confirmed that Fikri had left us . Fikri would not be "Fikri " again forever. The incident of last night was a miracle , he covered from amnesia but also a calamity , costing a loss so much for me , father and mother . That morning of Aidilfitri , father and mother were still sad for all the things they did and what had happened to Fikri . I was in my bed, lying down and thinking about good memories with Fikri. I was really sympathy to him , lack of love from father and mother. I cannot blame him as I felt the same too. At least , before he left this world , he knew that I was his brother after suffering amnesia. I was about to sleep when suddenly something appeared in front of me. I cannot say that it was a ghost , an imagination or a dream. It was Fikri , wearing a very shiny , clean and white "Baju Melayu" with the same colour to his trousers . He had a very cute face and a very wide smile so sweet that I can tell he was really happy. "At least , father and mother love Fikri even Fikri was dead . Fikri was so proud having a brave and best brother like you. Fikri love father and mother even though they just realise it after Fikri had gone. Fikri need love from them and Fikri got it now. Fikri love all especially you , my lovely brother. Fikri will never forget you , brother ". I was about to reply but he put me a stop by showing me his palms. He waved goodbye and was gone in a flash.
Hope we get a moral value from the story. We need to appreciate what we have before it is gone. Love is important of all in family-building. :)
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