THIS morning, three days after the wedding of my youngest son, came two text messages and a call from frustrated would-have-been guests. They had either got the dates mixed up or had totally forgotten about the event. Senior moments compounded by lingering fear of the killer virus, Covid-19, meant that the original number of invitees to our big day had dwindled down a bit.
This was quite frustrating as after more than two years of absence from the homeland thanks to the closing of borders, a homecoming to celebrate the marriage of our youngest offered the perfect opportunity for a reunion of sorts with relatives and friends. And I was really looking forward to this.
When drawing up a guest list, I realised that it must be one of the most difficult tasks ever. I wanted to make priority elderly relatives and friends and former colleagues, former classmates from schools and different institutions. With limited seating, priorities were, of course, given to senior members of the clan or rather clans — from both my husband's side and mine.
I remember aunties, uncles and cousins, who never failed to turn up days before any family event, pulled up their sleeves and helped with the preparations of the wedding. They would be the last to leave, packing up the chairs and tables, and pulling down the tents.
"Didn't you realise this uncle is now bedridden, and Ngah Nab cannot travel any more? Even her children are already too frail to make the journey to Kuala Lumpur," reminded my sister about the ageing and health conditions of my favourite members of the family, who would otherwise have booked the bus express months in advance for the event.
It was indeed a sad realisation. In my mind's eyes, they were still strong and were the ones who would be the essence of any family gathering; the banters and the jokes flying about from kitchen to hall.
I had to resign to the fact that with time being the limiting factor, I could invite only the younger cousins.
"I can attend but it is difficult to drive at night to the venue. My eyesight is not as what it used to be," said a cousin, who would have to rely on a grandson.
"I would love to go, but I don't understand and don't know how to use the Waze app to get there," said another.
"I might have to come earlier and leave earlier as I don't usually stay up too late these days," said an ex-colleague.
Have I been in denial all this while?
My cousins, ex-colleagues, ex-classmates are all from the same generation, thus we are around the same age. Thus I should have been more sensitive to their needs and conditions. I had expected them to turn up still with the spring in their steps and head full of hair and able to bite into the ayam masak merah with their own set of original teeth!
Well, as the day was approaching, I began receiving apologetic notes of having to miss the event.
Some are in their various stages of Covid-19 or the annoying influenza. Dato Lat the cartoonist had just been discharged from hospital and Datuk Samad Said, who had written a reminder on his white board "Kenduri anak Zaharah 11 Ogos", had at the last minute cancelled his plans, said his wife, Datin Shidah, my childhood friend. The 88-year-old novelist and writer can no longer walk very far without panting.
"Bring him in a wheelchair," I pleaded, but the author of Salina, who had much inspired me, wasn't the same person who could walk miles in and around Kuala Lumpur, browsing around book shops and malls.
Yes, reality is hitting me hard.
The big day started with a trickling of cancellations due to newly caught Covid-19 or flu. Those who are still fit and determined to make the journey, turned up early to familiarise themselves with the location.
My husband and I and other members of the family had placed ourselves strategically to welcome the guests and to indicate to ushers where to place them.
All guests came masked! Hands extended, we welcomed them but for the life of me, I could not place the parts of the face that was exposed. Even when face masks were removed, it was still difficult to recognise some — once thick black hair had totally gone replaced by shiny bald head or had gone totally white.
But familiar voices, jokes and banter saved the day.
Those who had been reserved seatings at domed table, pleaded to be given seats near the door or if possible nearest to the toilets. The walk to the front for those with zimmer frames and crutches would be too much.
But all in all, once we had recognised each other behind the masks and sorted out seating arrangements, replacing chairs with wheelchairs, it was truly a reunion for those who could make it.
It was a perfect evening. My husband, who couldn't remember what colour of clothes to wear for what day, was truly happy that the music wasn't quite loud and not too funky. In fact, he was happy with the Gambus group who played evergreen favourites of the generation that we belong to. We know they enjoyed themselves by the chorus of approval when the guest singer sang Besame Mucho and Wajah Kesayangan Hamba.
If any complaint at all — it was the walk up the stage to salam with the bride and groom. The knees were creaking a bit.
