From The Straits Times    |


PHOTO Phanuwat Nandee

“Excuse me, Miss. May I know your name?”

“These were the first words my husband-to-be, Faizal Mohd Ajis, said shyly to me. I was 17, a cheerleader at the National Day Parade 2001. He was 20, a Guard of Honour in the police contingent. He asked for my number and if I would take a picture with him. I never got a copy of that shot then.
That very night, he sent me a text and we started talking.
I later learnt that he had noticed me during our month-long rehearsals at the old National Stadium. Yet, he had only worked up the courage to speak to me on National Day itself.

Slow And Steady
Shortly after we met, Faizal went for a two-week training course. Each day, I received a letter from him asking questions to get to know me.
Things weren’t awkward when we had our first date three months later.
After two years of dating, in 2003, his conservative parents, who thought we had dated long enough, urged Faizal to marry me or call off the relationship. I agreed to get married, but insisted he had to propose to me. He did so shortly after, going on bended knee as we were walking along the beach.

The engagement is off
Faizal and I were both in Nanyang Technological University (NTU) at that time. I was 19. Like any normal couple, we had our fights. But for the most part, we were happy together.

But our worst arguments were over his parents’ expectations of how their future daughter-in-law should act and dress. Things came to a head four months later, and I knew that no matter how much I loved Faizal, I couldn’t live with this. Two weeks later, in Muslim custom, I asked my mother to break off the engagement.

Faizal didn’t try to talk me out of it and I didn’t blame him. We cut off all contact and I changed my phone number. We both avoided the places we frequented in NTU.

On. Off. On. Off…
Six months later, after we bumped into each other, he sent me an MSN message to ask after me. Within three months, we met up for coffee, decided to remain friends, and eventually started dating again.

I can’t remember how many times we broke up and reunited between 2004 and 2007. Our relationship was tumultuous. But we had a powerful connection that couldn’t be broken.

When I was 24, I got engaged to someone else. But things became rocky and I had my parents break off the engagement in December 2009.

About a month after that, I met up with Faizal. While we were out, his mother called him. When he told her he was with me, she asked him to put me on the line. She said: ‘Lenny, do you know Faizal’s engaged?’ She then advised me not to meet him again.

When I got off the phone, Faizal confessed that he didn’t tell me about the wedding because he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go ahead with it; he was doing it because of his parents. He admitted he still loved me but I brushed it off and stopped contacting him.

Together at last
When I later learnt that Faizal had broken off his engagement, I felt that fate was giving us a second shot at a life together, and that Faizal could now handle our relationship differently. 
His mother made an effort to accept me and in April 2010, his parents came to ask for my hand in marriage.

Faizal and I tied the knot in July. We were incredibly happy during the first two months of our marriage. We never argued and were glued at the hip. He would surprise me by picking me up from work with roses, cookies, my favourite egg tarts and bubble tea. I was touched to find that he still had that picture of us taken almost 10 years ago, when we first met. Faizal and I alternated between staying with my parents and his, but started talking about buying our own flat and having children. We decided that I should quit my job to be a stay- at-home mum. But this was not meant to be.

The Tragedy
Two weeks before he passed away, Faizal and I began spending more time alone together. With hindsight, it was as if he knew his time was almost up.

On the day before he died, a Sunday, Faizal woke me up and insisted that I go with him to his soccer match and then to Marina Bay Sands (MBS). It was also odd that later that night, he held me tightly and said: ‘Sayang, please remember that I will always love you, no matter what.’ He usually says: ‘I love you, goodnight!’ I thought he was being extraordinarily sweet. We had been married for five and a half months.

The next day, I made Faizal his usual coffee in the morning, and walked him to the door. Before he left for work, he did his usual routine of kissing me before saying ‘I love you’. I told him to ride safely and to text me when he arrived at the office, where he worked as a marine electrical superintendent. After he left, I felt uneasy and kept sneezing. I thought I was falling sick.

I got to school (I’m a teacher) and waited for Faizal’s text, which would usually come in by 7.15am. But I didn’t receive it, so I texted him. He didn’t reply – a first for him. Because even when we argued, he would still text me to let me know that he had arrived at the office. I was worried, so I texted or called him whenever I had a break. His phone kept ringing, but Faizal didn’t pick up. At 9am, I called his mother and explained my uneasiness, but she didn’t think anything of it, saying he might be in a meeting.

I kept calling Faizal until my phone battery went flat. At 11.30am, I left my phone at my desk to charge and went for a meeting. I came back an hour later to a lot of missed calls.

He can’t be gone
‘Lenny, Faizal is no more,’ said my father when I called him back. I refused to believe him when he explained that Faizal had been involved in a bike accident. I broke down – the shock was too much.
I wanted desperately to disprove that Faizal was dead. I refused to believe my cousin, who was at the hospital, when he said that Faizal’s body had been brought in. When my sister and cousin arrived to pick me up from work, I kept telling them that Faizal’s phone was still ringing, and it didn’t mean that he was gone – it was just that he couldn’t answer.

When I got home, my parents, relatives and friends were there. Everyone was crying. I was numb. I kept telling myself it was a mistake. It was too soon. We had our whole lives ahead of us. People kept telling me to accept reality. But I said I wouldn’t accept it until I saw Faizal’s body.
That night, I went to my in-laws’ to grieve with them and their relatives, and Faizal’s friends. When I cried, it was because Faizal still wasn’t returning my calls and messages, and I was worried. It was not because I had accepted that he was gone.

Goodbye, my love
Faizal’s body arrived at my in-laws’ home the next morning. I kept asking: ‘Why me?’ 
We washed and cleaned Faizal’s body. When we were done, I kissed him goodbye and whispered into his ear: ‘I will always love you. Wait for me.’
I didn’t accompany Faizal on his final journey to the cemetery, as it is a Muslim belief that a bawling wife would make it harder for the departed to leave this earth.

Grief and anger
Some 72 hours after Faizal’s accident, I was crying on my mother’s shoulder when I finally fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. I barely ate and lost almost 14kg within the first week of Faizal’s death.
I returned to work a week after. I needed to do something to take my mind off the pain. The nights were the hardest. I’d wear Faizal’s shirts and cry myself to sleep. It’s been slightly more than a year, and I still can’t bring myself to wash the last shirt he wore – his soccer jersey from his last match.

My family didn’t trust me to go anywhere by myself. They didn’t want me frequenting Faizal’s and my old haunts alone. In the first few months, my sister would pick me up from work and accompany me everywhere. I’d also visit Faizal at the cemetery every Monday and Friday.

My grief soon turned to anger. I dreamt of Faizal and I was angry with him for leaving me to fend for myself. In my dream, Faizal told me that he would always love me and to pray. I think he was trying to tell me to trust in God who knows best.

In some small way, the dream helped me accept that things happen for a reason, and that God had better plans for me. I was mostly angry because, for the first time, my life had gone horribly wrong and I had to deal with such mind-blowing pain.

Four months after the accident, the pain started to let up a little, and I could get through a day without breaking down. Having something to occupy my time constantly kept me going, like dinner dates with my family and friends almost every night.

Riding on
Moving forward is getting slightly easier. On the first anniversary of Faizal’s death, my mother told me it was time to start a new chapter – the living have to live.

These days, I’m mentally and emotionally more prepared to move on. Previously, I’d feel that I would be dishonouring Faizal’s memory if I had moments of happiness. My friends and family have been encouraging me to date, but I always tell people I’m a widow. I don’t think I’m ready to love again. Perhaps it’s because I feel I’ll compare everyone else to Faizal, who’ll always be my No. 1.

In memory of my love
I’ve been saving up to buy a motorbike with a license plate of the years of our births, by putting aside every $1 coin I come across – a habit Faizal used to have. Some people think it’s ironic, but Faizal loved riding and so do I. I used to own a bike until we got married; he wanted me to rely on him for rides to our favourite places together.

Faizal’s memory lives on in everything I do. On some months, I drive to MBS – the last place we went to together. Sometimes, I’ll drive alone to the beach where he proposed for the first time in 2003 and again in 2010. The song Faizal had in the background when he proposed would be playing in my car. I’ll talk to him during these moments and I believe he can hear me.”

This story was first published in Simply Her April 2012.