Untitled Journal

What's the story, morning glory?

Category: Photography



My late grandmother used to sit here every afternoon waiting for Maghrib, and everytime I passed her house I would see her small figure on the swing, gazing out. With her cotton kurung Kedah and whatever few white hair left she had tied up, she raised her wrinkley hand to say she saw me. I sat here with my many cousins when we were kids, plotting our next game when we got together. The swing broke once when me and my cousins got so fat we thought we would never weigh as we were growing up. I sat here with the first boy I fell in love with when I was 13, who was my brother’s best friend. My face almost explode from the blush and I almost peed in my pants.My mother sat here with her sisters when they talked about funny things and then laughed so hard loud like that was the last joke on earth they would hear about. I thought they sounded like hyenas.

Too many memories it witnessed. Now it hardly swings.

In Cold Like That

Sometimes it’s obvious why I choose the things I present in my photography works.

When Kak Eda got pragnent with Adam, we all knew instantly what a wonderful mother she would be. Maternal is written all over her face and my God how Adam is so loved. Sometimes I feel silly being slightly jealous of my 18 months old nephew, not because I want Kak Eda to be my mother but how I wished when I was as fragile as he is, my own could have more time to love me like that. My mother is a very career lead woman and oftenly when reminiscing childhood, I will find a hole in the love area. Or maybe it’s just a norm of a second born.

This is what is missing. That momentous gaze comforting and as I look more, I swear I almost hear her whispering shhh.. shhh..shhh. In the cold of a beautiful white morning and in a warmest arms of a loving woman.

My mother sent me a text message few months back that reads “A mum is God’s love in action . .”

I think this photograph says exactly that.

%d bloggers like this: