"Abang Suffian, why are they going to give Pakcik Mat a bath? Can't he take a bath himself? I can!"
"Na'eem, I know you can. But Pakcik Mat is dead, so we have to give him a bath instead. Then we'll wrap him in cloth and bury him"
"But that means we're not going to see him again, are we?"
"No, Na'eem, we're not"
Pakcik Mat passed away last week, at the ripe age of 64 and despite being this expressive, creative person that everyone tells me that I am, I can't bring myself to write anything witty or poetic or whatever the fuck the emotion is that you're supposed to feel when you're trying to paint the dead beautifully, because it's still too new and I still feel just too fucking sad about it.
So, nothing.
I'm not going to say anything.
Except that I hope he reaps all the good that he's sown. Bless.
