The 'Father' Behind My Poems, Keep Your Millions And This Anecdote
I've been keeping this in my heart for far too long and hard. The so-called 'union' with the 'unknown man' last 2 years ago at my former workplace left me too flattered for a long while, then turned to hate that person to the deepest core of my life recently. All the poems written in tears, anger and even love suddenly washed away as I realised how poorly I was treated after he looked for me.
I was too sedated by the way his eyes teared up when he looked at me, and how deep and calm his voice was when he replied hi to my hello that I overlooked his disgusting arrogance towards the end.
I had always dreamed of him (wishing) coming to surprise me at some time at that moment, especially after having dreams of him in my sleep. And one day, as I was working, there he was, in the sharp suit, full of charisma. He entered the establishment with such a class. He stared at me for quite some time, then, he left.
The friend came in to tell me who he was, I said I knew who he was. They ordered coffee but were too impatient to line up as the rest, so he gave me RM100 for it and asked me to keep the change. I refused as I was still unfamiliar with receiving tips. They watched me work, they watched me clean after customers. At the end of my half shift, he gave me the remaining balance of RM72, and before I knew it, he left. I never got to receive the tip as the manager took it away.
That was on the 16th of Feb, and then, the following week, I injured my ankle whilst walking to work early in the morning when it was raining. But I was only given 1 day of MC by the doctor at the clinic despite dragging blood on the floors. On the 22nd, I returned to work and once again was greeted by his friend. He asked for a double shot of espresso to dine. He sat in front of the counter, monitoring me for over 2 hours, and finally left when another person came by for 2 lattes to go. The order was placed under the man's name. A 4-letter word headed by 'D'.
He tried to start a conversation with me by asking whether it was flooding as the floor was all wet. I told him that I was doing the grease trap. He was unable to hear me and asked me "what" repeatedly until I had to get up and tell him "No, I'm doing the grease trap." He saw my face and his smile faded off. Why? I have no idea. I looked at him and figured he was too rich to be the driver as he wore a Rolex watch. Then, came a younger man around my age wearing a Petronas polo. He looked like 'D', but I'm unsure they're related.
I was still too lost to understand why and what had just happened. Months went by, and it was Eid. I told Ayah (my stepfather) about him, and ever since then, he has been acting weird every time a topic with his name or race arises. I may not have been in school for quite some time then, and I was uneducated to some people to have basic instincts. But I knew from the start that they both knew something I wasn't supposed to know.
Ever since that day we met, I had been having horrifying nightmares in my sleep. At first, I thought it was just something normal until I got to know that It's actually abnormal and quite serious, called shr.
Fast-forward to 2024 after I was kicked out of my house by my stepsiblings (I'll write a separate note on this), I was living in the middle of the 'jungle' where Ayah had built a low-cost house for his 2 kids. His adopted daughter, Ain and his supposed 'son', me. I wonder what he was thinking by trying to make me believe that I was his biological son when he put me next to her adopted daughter like that, while his biological daughter was given 2 houses with fully paid tuition fees. But I was never the one who dwells on 'insufficient' funds, rather, I dwell on injustice and humiliation. Which was why I decided to leave him and that place. I hated the idea of a person owning someone in ransom for providing aid.
I stayed at a hotel for a couple of days before moving into a new place. Not a house, but a smaller room (than the one in my old house) I made into a home. The place is located in Petaling Jaya. Here, I wrote many Malay poems, as well as English, one of which had been made into a song titled 'Haruskah Hati Merindu'. Indeed, it's the question I still have deep within. Must I still miss him? When I moved to this place, I was lost and had no idea where to go as it was all so new to me. I was going by the GPS only to walk in the opposite direction to a restaurant that was only 5 minutes away.
I had a dream where I was eating rice at a restaurant when a group of people furiously came towards me to nag about what I was doing in their neighbourhood. I woke up to find my phone was broken and I had to either get it fixed or get a cheap second-hand phone. Before I went any further, I went to that same restaurant to have brunch. While I was having my usual plate of rice, chicken, veggies, and curry, in came this one tall, fit, dark-skinned bald man with a questionable look on his face as he stared at me all along. I quickly ate and left the premises to save myself from any potential trouble.
At that time I had a pending recording session to attend as Ramadan was around the corner, and I didn't want through the hassle of getting it done while fasting. And at the same time, I decided to text him on social media a few days after to compliment his work. But instead of replying to me, he stalked me.
That was a recording of an orchestral version of my first single, Pada Malam. Unfortunately, the recording was below the producer's satisfaction, and I had to redo the recording once again. But then, I wasn't satisfied with the overall product. So, I had to record it at a different place on Ramadan. The final verse translates to "The night I asked upon gave me no answers, I bow down in deafening silence." I cried at that part as I remembered his response to my text. SILENCE.
Then one day as I was walking to a nearby Train Station, I came across a Kancil who was almost hit by a black Hilux as she turned shocked to see me walking around the neighbourhood. Then, I happened again days later, this time it was that man who came to the coffee shop wearing Rolex. He was in a red car, looking confused as to why and what I was doing there. I still remember the house number and I try not to walk in front of it when coming back home.
And then, again... (I think). I was followed by a silver Mercedes-Benz from my new place to the restaurant AND a dark blue BMW that waited for me at the back of the restaurant where they loaded and unloaded the transportation. I knew for a fact that it was not the restaurant's owner because he drives a glossy black Proton Saga. That car followed me back home and the dogs were barking at it as it stayed there for a few minutes.
After Raya (Eid), on the 17th of May, the same guy from Starbucks and the red car appeared in front of my place under the pretence of talking to me about the unleashed dogs in this private neighbourhood surrounded by dozens more dogs and puppies. He said his name was 'Narveen' or something similar. Maybe Darveen. It took me months. MONTHS to realise that it was him. The same person from the last year.
I was advised to grow my facial hair in solidarity to spread awareness of Men's health in November. I was feeling witty and wondered what my father would've looked like with a beard. Whilst searching, I was thinking that maybe he was not my father, and maybe I was just daydreaming and fantasising to hopefully get out of this phase and get into a better life. And that's when I saw his face and his name. Why was he at my workplace and my house years apart if he had nothing to do with me?
I was quite close to my aunt at that time and told her about my research. I wasn't able to appreciate her statements about him as it was far too cruel to be said to me about my (potential) father. You don't call me to tell how big time of a womaniser my father was and maybe still is. Don't make me feel like a convict's child.
It started off with her telling me that it was my poems that caused them to stalk me. I told her that there wouldn't have been any poems for no reason and that I only started writing about him that year in 2024, while it all happened in 2023. The phone ended 4 times, and that's how many times she called me back and she didn't bother to stop even when I repeatedly asked her to, and told me that she could hire a private investigator to help trace him. She finally ended the conversation with a joke about me not having anything to eat because I had been waiting for her to send me food since 1pm, and it was already close to 4pm. If you hadn't been busy telling me about my father's philandering activities, maybe I would've had food on my table as scheduled.
I don't appreciate people who gossip about my life as an excuse for trying to help me out. She tried to tell me that all she told me was based on what people told her. But I know better. There's no reaction without a prior action. Why would anyone open up about a random stranger's past from the 70s and 80s without anyone asking? He's not in his prime days, rather, he's much closer to his end days without him realising it. She also tried to convince me that she felt bad after talking to me on the phone. When? the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, 4th, or 5th phone call?
She said that I should go to his office and talk to him to get closure. Once again, there's no need to be so nosy, and THAT to me was the closure... realising that I was stalked by them. There must've been a solid reason to be stalking me for more than a year. If they knew me for being my mother's son, why not say hello and move on? Why stalk me like a coward? No one needs a closure of a fixed particular term. A closure should be a feeling of relief to close that chapter, not a tone of voice or a note saying "I'm sorry". Not without a FULL explanation of what had happened to have resulted in the situation. As the song goes... "Sorry doesn't always make it right." My closure of this is that I now know who he is, and I know who I am.
And I am in no interest in dealing with a hypocritical liar. If he can lie to the world for all these years (or rather decades), then, he can lie to me to no end, considering the little amount of time we've had to even shake hands.
I have read too many notes and writings online on forums and portals about his affairs that I think my heart has frozen to death like his. There's nothing about him that I am enticed with. Not his looks, not his work, not his clothes, not his wealth, and certainly not his disturbing lifestyle habits. There's nothing about him that I found worthy of my trust or interest.
To his family, I hope you know that I am in no interest in snatching your old man away, as I am an old man of my own... I have an illness that is sometimes too hard to be explained. I have a weak heart that doesn't need any more of anybody's ambushes. And you have my promise that I won't be knocking on your door when the time comes for the will and testament to be read aloud. Therefore, keep him, and leave me alone.
I could only hold my tears, then when I attended functions and people asked me about my age and parents. "20 going 21 in December, my mother died on my 18th birthday" "What about your father?" Should I say he died while knowing that he is still very much alive despite his dead heart?
Take care of that 'heart' until that real time comes. And don't worry, you won't be seeing me there.
My father... keep your money for I am not one of your mistresses, nor am I one of the guests of your harem. And you know that it is too late for child support even if you were ever fond of paying it. Don't show the world your luxury timepieces, rather, show it to yourself and see how much time you have left. And you didn't need to speak so softly to me, for I am not my mother who you could've easily manipulated with your sweet notes.
I am her son. The young man who aspires to be the opposite of what I know you to be, so the women can be much safer from the venomous tongues as yours.
Keep your fortune framed in your proud portraits, for my dignity, is not one to be traded with.
Eid Mubarak, Selamat Hari Raya, Assalamualaikum...
Qadeem Shaher
