Today marks a month.

There is a before and there is an after. There is a day, a moment when, abruptly, one life ends and another begins as a matter of fact and nature and everybody knows it. But, what we do not comprehend, when, without one even realising what is going on, life has became 'other' and you make yourself alienated. A watershed.

"Ya Allah. He was only twenty-five."

Until today, the words repeat themselves in my head like a mantra. But sure enough age is not included in neither death specification or dictum nor recorded in any of Allah's speech in Quran and Hadith of the Prophet. But little did I know death acceptance can make one lives catastrophically. It's hard and people might have judged me for putting the best smile-make-up.

Bizarrely, the echoes of our last conversation that night filter through my head, everyday. "Remember not to delete all my texts. You'll be missing me a lot when I'm gone". Yea, nothing but the truth.

When we first met, he just sat in front of my face there staring at me, smiling the broad smile and squinting into the sun. I don't remember the first word we said to each other but it must be something like "Hi. Call me Hasbi" and "I'm Sher". But I do remember some of his lame jokes that we both started laughing after the first few words and that I got up and went over to him, both of us giggling with the sheer craziness of it.

"Would you be hesitated if I go to the remotest corner of the world?"

"I nak ikut!"

"Say it's Africa and it's hot and you cannot bring your cats along."

"I'll adopt a lion then."

There he laughed.

There is something in him that I recognised the day we met, from the first moment even, and that burned in his eyes with an almost incandescent steadiness. Fundamental to his nature was truthful that left me speechless (and mad sometimes).

These and thousand of other half-remembered, incomplete and fleeting pictures of him come and go, resisting my attempts to hold them down. He was there for me for a short time in all the folds and crevices of my life. The bitter-sweet taste of all he was to me. Words can't describe him. He was different, special.

I want him back but that's just impossible. I cursed and agonised over my inadequacy in facing it. The moment I received the news, it was a slow and dreadful closing off of things. Now, in the brief moment between the before and the after, my light was going out, losing itself in the whispered silence of a final breath and I wasn't there.

But I am sure he has reached a destination where I'll be there as well. Because we are not immortal.

كُلُّ نَفْسٍۢ ذَآئِقَةُ ٱلْمَوْ تِ ۗ وَإِنَّمَا تُوَفَّوْنَ أُجُورَكُمْ يَوْمَ ٱلْقِيَٰمَةِ ۖ فَمَن زُحْزِحَ عَنِ ٱلنَّارِ وَأُدْخِلَ ٱلْجَنَّةَ فَقَدْ فَازَ ۗ وَمَا ٱلْحَيَوٰةُ ٱلدُّنْيَآ إِلَّا مَتَٰعُ ٱلْغُرُورِ

"Every human being is bound to taste death: but only on the Day of Resurrection will you be requited in full (for whatever you have done) - whereupon he that shall be drawn away from the fire and brought into paradise will indeed have gained a triumph: for the life of this world is nothing an enjoyment of self-delusion." Ali-Imran:185

Today marks a month. Al-Fatihah to Ahmad Hasbi Bin Jalil (1989-2014).


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