The Words from Columbia, Illinois 18 June 2005 - Revised.

                                    Saying farewell to the most beautiful person in my life.
 

The Words from Columbia, Illinois

18 June 2005

The year 2004? A time of trials and tribulations for the Bahari family.

My wife Nancy was diagnosed with Alzheimer's—or possibly some form of rapid-onset dementia—and she was quickly losing her grip on reality. Her mother suggested I send her back to Illinois, where she could get better medical care than in Malaysia. Due to the U.S. travel restrictions following 9/11, I couldn’t accompany her. So our two children, just 11 and 12 years old then, made the journey with her.

By God’s mercy, they arrived safely.

They'd traveled before and knew their way around airports, but it was still no easy decision. I’ll never forget looking into my wife's almost lifeless eyes at KLIA and telling her, “Don’t worry. I will take care of your children no matter what happens.” Then watching them disappear behind the boarding gate… surreal.

A hollow feeling lodged itself in my stomach that day and didn’t leave. I walked out of that airport unable to believe what had just happened to my family. This was the ultimate test—for me, yes, but more so for them.

Eventually, my mother-in-law found herself overwhelmed. Caring for her daughter and managing two young grandchildren was too much. The children would be returning to Malaysia.

Got word today: they’ll arrive on the 24th. Less than a week away. Now I need to head back to Terengganu to collect their transfer letters from their old school to submit here in Penang.

So what if I have to go to Terengganu or Timbuktu?

Still, I’m getting tired of these journal entries—rambling on like a nicotine addict who can’t quit. Who’s even reading these moanings and groanings of a worn-out artist-world-traveler-mystic-man wannabe? What a waste of space in this already crowded cyber realm.

Have you been following my ramblings?
Who are you?
What would you have done if you were in my shoes right now?
Hello?
Is there anybody out there?

Anyway, I’ll book a night bus to Kuala Terengganu tomorrow. I’m used to traveling. I can’t sit still in one place too long—it must be the Gypsy blood in me. Don’t ask from which side. I’ve stared out of enough bus windows, watching streaks of green blur past as we climb into the Central Range of the Malay Peninsula. I’ve had enough night-bus hallucinations and wild dreams to fill a book. Always bring a sweater—it gets cold in those buses.

What did I gain from my ten-day run through Medan, Bukit Tinggi, and Padang?

Like David C once said, maybe it was a bum trip.

What did it change in me? Did it do anything? Am I wiser? Richer in spirit?
Honestly, I don’t know.

Maybe I just didn’t want to admit I had a great time. Maybe I failed to appreciate the small kindnesses of the Indonesians I met along the way—their smiles, their hospitality, their honor. Maybe I’ve grown too weary to be moved. Or maybe, just maybe, if I had the chance, I’d move to a small town in Indonesia. Somewhere like Payakumbuh, where nature and mysticism dance together. A place where people still believe in the ‘Alam Ghaib’, the unseen world.

Carl Jung once said something like:

"Mankind has lost its sense of awe and wonder of nature. He is dreaming of himself dreaming in this land of Maya."

And now I find myself back in my old neighborhood in Sungai Pinang. River Road. Faces I don’t recognize. Young kids who look like they run the place now. Oh well. Might as well get used to it.

I hope my children can adjust to the change. I’m not worried about my daughter—she’s strong. My son might struggle a little more. But that’s okay. Change builds character—so long as it doesn’t stretch your finances, ruin your health, or wreck your relationships.

Not many kids their age could have taken that journey—escorting their sick mother halfway around the world, boarding two planes, barely teenagers. They did it.

I bore the frowns and judgments of friends and relatives who didn’t agree with how I handled things. But I trusted in my Lord. A part of me believed—it will all work out. It was all meant to be.

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