I’ll cradle him in my arms one day…

A new life came into being a day in late September. For 31 years, the family hasn’t celebrated a birth – an addition to its membership. On that day, the parental units experienced an upgrade. In about nine months’ time, delight would fill their faces on hearing the words of the infant as he addressed them clumsily.

A few months into the announcement about his miraculous appearance in the ex-sarong kebaya girl’s womb, I only began to do mental calculations about his probable date of birth. The answer in my head immediately fired off a quick series of thoughts. They were depressive.

When I looked at him on one of our visits, I saw human life in its most vulnerable. Yet he also represented hope at its purest to different people with whom he held blood ties. He would be the proud son of the parents. He would be the grandson who deserved to be doted. He would carry on the family line and surname. One day, he would find his love, get married and have a kid of his own.

The silent words that rambled in my head as I looked at him were all about hopes that his life would never, ever mirror mine at any point. I wished him the ability to embrace happiness wholeheartedly when it presents itself; the strength to persevere when life dictates he had to go against the grain; and the support and validation from the people who love him.

He is my nephew and may the darkness that pervades my life never get to him.