The House

I was walking with sister. The area seemed to be very familiar, at the same time, odd.

"This is our neighbourhood but..where is it?" sister asked. My mind was racing with questions even though the answers were evident.

On the land where our childhood house used to stand, there were two big houses built for commercial use.

We trusted our childhood house to one guardian, giving her exclusive right to decide whatever should be done with it. She was with us.

"WHY DID YOU DO THIS?"

"Patient, Nisa. She held a meeting discussing this matter with brothers and sisters already, but I didn't know it would be this quick," sister revealed that to me to calm me down but I was feeling the other way round; I was even more outrageous.

"WHY YOU DIDN'T ASK ME?? YOU KNEW IT! YOU KNEW I WON'T ALLOW THIS!" I screamed at her. She looked at me indifferently.

The land was sold, the white house standing on it was destroyed to make way to these two, new houses, built within a short period of time.

"Why you didn't just rent it out?" my voice went down when I realized nothing could be done at this stage, no more. The moment I saw these two new houses, I felt helpless. At some point, I felt like I could still knock down these two and find the remaining ruin. But then, still, it would be useless. I couldn't bring it back.

The house was now gone. Together with it, I felt like a big part of myself, the very person I've always been, was also destroyed.

I felt lost looking at these two meaningless houses in front of me. The land was also no longer ours.

I've always gained my sense of belonging when I got back here. I felt the warmth of a family when I was in the house. Father's absence was made up with the memories I could still remember whenever I looked at certain part of the house.

I could still remember when I was a little girl, father held my younger sibling in his arm, smiling, telling me to kick the soccer ball. I never knew soccer was only for boys until my primary school teacher told me. The whole class giggled at me when I told them my hobby.

I called back the memory of running in the house, exploring nature in the backyard, waking up in the middle of so many people around me. I felt safe.

But not anymore.

Many times, I told myself, stuffs are not the person you've lost. Things are not who you are. I must learn to let go and moved on. Mere memory isn't helping him now.

When a person died, everything else is disconnected from him except for three; praiseworthy knowledge taught and practiced, good deeds which continue to serve others, and prayers from a good child.

What I can do now is to enhance myself, be a good daughter and pray for him every now and then.

May Allah place him among the pious people. Amin.

Note: My childhood house, today, is still intact. This is just a dream which startled me this morning.