Umar Hakimi

Umar Hakimi--his fave colour is red



Nice name, I would say. He’s my brother, 17 this year.

sekadar hiasan

In terms of look he is quite the antithesis. I mean, he is fairer and have more of the Arabic featured, so my aunt used to say. He’s also very thin, weighing only 39kg isn’t normal. He’s not very tall, but still taller than me. During Aidil Adha he was made to shave off his ridiculously long hair which he hid underneath a songkok during schooldays, after a Mohawk, and now he is bald, which made him look thinner, too.

I just realised we have the same fat and short fingers, no matter how long and slender our limbs are. But my limbs aren’t, so its normal. But for Hakimi, I guess it’s on the genes.






Hakimi is supposed to be sitting for his SPM this year, now, to be precise. But he was bitten by these goddamn mosquitoes called Aedes, while away at school in some quiet town from Ipoh. And so he is being hospitalised at the GH. and he is also too weak for SPM.

x dapek la ekau result camni

It saddens me a lot to see him sick. Seriously. Yesterday I made the first visit to the hospital. He looked so frail, even frailer than before. All along he is my annoying brother. The one who reads and condemns my blog, the one who commented on how terrible my photos in Facebook are. The one, when we were younger, I would quarrel with, hair pulling, smack down WWE version, punching, teasing, crying, that one! I was such a boyish girl then teehee and he cried a lot hahaha.






We were always close, maybe because we were the first two children. And we both dislike our third brother Aliff. It wasn’t anything, just that we used to think Ummi loved Aliff more than us and well, he’s really irritating. If you grow up with Anak-anak Sidek’s comic, Aliff would be equivalent to Razif—the one Mom and Dad prefer and the one who tells tales.






When I saw Hakimi sick, snuggling in bed, weak, yesterday the good old memories all came flying back to me. We used to go to school together. Unlike me none of my brothers attend Chinese school. Hakimi then went to St Michael Institution, a school which is situated just next to mine. Time was hard and we took the city bus. It was fun. I remember waiting for the bus with him in front of Fair Park Policlinic every morning. There was once we found coins left on the seat. Young as we were we took it and spent the coins on soya beans in SMI’s canteen while waiting for the bus home.






Then when I was in standard 4 and Hakimi 2, time got harder, so hard that Ummi and Walid sent us to live with our Uwan in Negeri Sembilan. We cried, but we did not rebel. It was tough; Uwan’s house a really creepy place to us then. Now it belongs to me, yeah, me. The two of us would always stay together. We went to a kampong school where there were only 64 students, and during recess we all ate together. The Imam was our grand uncle. The canteen lady was our grand aunt. Everyone knows us, At-tarmizi. I remember that time I found out that Hakimi likes eating onions. Ewww. Haha. That time we hardly had other friends because we were these stuck-up KL-ites who didn’t speak Negeri Sembilan.






Hakimi left home when he was 13 to attend a boarding school. We hardly see each other since then. A few years later I left home to do my matriculation and teacher training programme. I must say over these few years we don’t really get close and hence don’t really get along. We don’t talk much, too, except for music. Hakimi couldn’t be more impressed with the fact that his sister listens to the likes of ACAB, Butterfingers, Nirvana and other loud-enough-to-wake-the-whole-neighbourhood-up kind of music. And of course we talk about how vain Aliff is. We still hate him. Oh this is so mean already hehe






I am dead bored, sitting here in this hospital. Hakimi is asleep, out of sleepiness or boredom, I am not sure. I brought a book along with me, A Mulya Malladi’s Mango Seasons. I read them last year but am re-reading it because I love that book. But I finished it already. I brought along my laptop as well, but of course due to the radiation and all there’s no Internet access here.






The doctors just now surrounded the bed. A more senior doctor said that this don’t look like dengue to her. Then this thin doctor told me to force Hakimi to drink more water, her eyes popping out in a way that made me freak out. The guy doctor named Colin, also an Indian, looks nice. But he’s short. And there’s another doctor whom I swear to God looks like Mr Retnakumar my LDs lecturer.






His blood pressure were acceptable, from 120/80 (the normal one) to 102/69. Using what’s left of my Bio knowledge I deem that as not worrying. But his platelets is really scaring me! From 100 something in the first day, now it shoots down to 35. Zul said it’s normal for a dengue patient; the pleasant looking nurse said the same thing too. There are cases when the platelets go down to 7 and 8. And when it goes below that, the patient will be sent to the Intensive Care Unit. That would be critical.






Pray for him, will ya? And tell me all is well. Because I’m scared. I hate hospitals. I could’ve stayed in matriculation, study like friggin hard, get a 4.0 pointer and get into medical school. That’s what my Walid would like. But then again I couldn’t stand hospitals. I would cry when I look at the other patients, them looking deep into my eyes with a sad look. No way.






Now. I shall cut out the craps. I saw something, you know? Something gross. Talking about being in a ward where most of the patients are male and they wear GOWNS.






I really wish I am the one in bed. I am the one sick.






And Hakimi. Get well soon. Gonna treat the whole family pizza when you are back. Oh I miss someone to annoy. Someone to argue. I miss you.