I knew.
Zioh and Zeraiah didn’t need money. They needed their father. Their father’s presence.
Mas Zaeem flew over a few days ago, when Mas Bibu and I returned home. Knowing there were more people around Zioh and Zeraiah should have steadied me.
But… it didn’t ease my heart.
In fact, none of it allowed me to breathe properly.
Zioh never replied to my messages and barely answered my calls. Even Zeraiah, usually glued to his phone, fell silent.
I knew I ought to understand. To be patient. I told myself that again and again. But I couldn’t calm down. Sleep evaded me, as did eating or doing anything at all.
I wanted to contact Mas Zaeem directly, but we had never been close. He was always busy. Especially after he went abroad for uni, he’d come home only for a moment before leaving again.
We only met when he returned, at big family gatherings, or when we played golf together. Even then, Mas Zaeem usually spent more time talking to Dad or was buried in his laptop and phone.
But sometimes, the distance wasn’t only his doing.
Sometimes, it was Zeraiah’s fault.
There were moments when Mas Zaeem tried to blend in with us, but Zeraiah’s antics drove him away. Once, while Mas Zaeem’s phone was unattended, Zeraiah stole a fortune in pocket money from his account to buy toys. Mas Zaeem had been furious.
Another time, he had taken his beloved car keys and disappeared, who knows where. Then he used his debit card to run off to Singapore, skipping classes simply because he was bored.
Even in small ways, like spilling things on his iPad, MacBook, and work papers. Or perhaps the biggest reason was that Mas Zaeem smoked and drank. I once found him tucked behind a big tree, smoking in secret, and hid on the farthest balcony of his house to drink, and I understood he was trying to keep it from us.
I sat on a garden bench outside the hospital, chewing on the straw of my drink. My eyes stayed fixed on my phone, on the unanswered messages to Zioh. My fingers tapped against the screen as if that would summon a notification.
Sighing, I snapped a quick photo of myself. Then, I sent the photo to Zioh.
Tshabina:Dad might be discharged today. I’m bored, Mas Bibu’s at lessons and Mum went out to buy food. Dad’s fine now, he’s watching TV in his room. He told me to go outside and get some fresh air.
Tshabina:How’s Mama Nadine, Zi?
Tshabina:Still cold over there?
Tshabina:Don’t forget your hot chocolate. The one Mas Bibu bought was delicious. Should I ask him where he got it?
Tshabina:Oh, and thank Grandpa Ethan for me. Dad and Mom loved the gifts he gave!
Tshabina:Zioh…
Tshabina:I miss you.
No reply.
My breath turned shallow as my heart kept pounding, not knowing what else to do.
At one point, I even thought of asking Mum to ask Uncle Bakti why he never visited his family in England—or at least to ask him how things were there. But I knew she was still anxious about Dad’s condition.
I clenched my phone in my hand, sadness crawling up from within me, heating my eyes. My chest ached as I searched my contacts for another name.
Tshabina:Zer
Tshabina:Zeraiah, did you know? Uncle Bakti offered to buy iPads for Mas Bibu and me.
A lie. A bait.
