The details are rather hazy to me now (as it often is with memories that bring shame to our minds), but I think I was seven years old, and I was then in Standard One. It was not our first year of fasting, but that year was my first year of fasting while in “big school” (as I thought of it then), and I was very careful to make sure that I would make it through the first day of fasting that year.
We had just come back from school – both Abang Ijan and I were at St John’s Primary in Bukit Nanas, and I think at that time we were in the morning session, because I am pretty sure it was still some time away from Maghrib when this incident happened.
First, an explainer: Abang Ijan and I are cousins, and we were just a year apart in age, he being just a year ahead of me. I was my mother’s only child, living in my grandparents’ home with another 11 or so cousins in the same house. Naturally, we spent a lot of time together, playing catch almost every afternoon and watching cartoons on TV, but Abang Ijan and I were especially close. He was the eldest of his three siblings, and I looked up to him naturally as a big brother. Despite my rather frail stature and my oh-so-geeky glasses, my primary school years went by largely without much incident or bullying – most likely because most of the kids in school knew that Abang Ijan was my “elder brother”.
Anyways, as I said earlier, it was probably that time of year when we had morning classes, because this most certainly happened at home, around maybe five or six in the afternoon. Abang Ijan thought it would be a good idea – the day being so hot, and it was our first day of fasting, to boot – to take a shower. And not just any shower, but in Atok’s bathroom!
Atok’s room was the inner sanctorum of the sprawling bungalow complex that we called home. Air conditioned, wood-panelled walls, carpeting – the room was always cosy and comfortable, and I am pretty sure now that it was only the audacity of well-loved grandchildren that made it conceivable for us to steal into Atok’s bathroom for a shower. Steal in, we did, and – as I am writing this, I can imagine eight-year old Abang Ijan winking at me, with an impish twinkle in his eye – as we were taking turns underneath the shower, Abang Ijan turned his face upwards and proceeded to glug a few gulps of the spraying water into his mouth. Naturally, I followed suit.
There was a certain naughtiness to it – drinking from the shower in the middle of the day on the first day of Ramadan. I am quite sure that I didn’t tell Umi about it, not that day itself, certainly. We pretended to be fasting as usual for the rest of the evening, and when Maghrib came, we ate as ravenously as our cousins who, presumably, did not quite descend to our level of mischief that day.
Now that I am older, I think of this incident almost every time Ramadan comes along. We are older now, and I don’t talk to Abang Ijan as much as I should, or would like to. I’m not quite sure what happened – although a lot certainly have, over those difficult years. But we’ll always have Ramadan, Abang Ijan.