Yesterday there was a sad news from the north. A friend, H has passed.
H . . .she passed . . . she had TB and it led to septicemia was the message So brief. Quite a shock.
How she could get exposed. Was she not treated before it became so bad. In modern times like this. A disease that is treatable. Was she not aware. Why had it gone into complication. Oh so many questions whirling in my head.
And she was a medical staff all her working life before retirement.
Probably she was exposed to the bacteria earlier and was ok then since she was young and strong and her immune system could contain the disease. And when she grew old and weak the thing overwhelmed her system. I don't know. I really feel sorry for her.
I remember those days. She was quite close to me not only we studied together we also stayed together. We were house mates during the earlier part of our training. We shared things and stories and we gave moral support to each other for times were hard what with the meagre allowances we were paid. We were then young and inexperienced and just out from the our kampungs.
There was one time when we were on the verge of hunger. Not just ordinary hunger if I say famine that might be extreme. There was a flood. For a few days we could not get food and if there ever was they were so expensive. No bread no biscuit nothing. The rice container was empty except for some grains lining the bottom.
H scrapped the bottom and cooked what little rice we had. And without me knowing she had been keeping things for emergency! When she opened the package I was so relieved. At least there was something for us to eat. It was dried mushroom. Oh not the type you get in the supermarket nowadays. The mushroom was from the kampung small flat thin ones and still had rotten wood/bark stuck to them.
And we were to eat that mushrooms with the rice. Wait. She got it cleaned? I don't really remember . How she got it fried? Ah yes we scraped from the bottom of the margarine can.
Lucky our stove still had karosene. Yes we used karosene stove at that time. The landlady provided only that kind of stove. Circa 1971. A long time ago.
We ate hungrily. The meal we had that day was the best. The one to be remembered. Whenever I see the cendawan kukur in the market I remember my friend H.
And now she is no more here.
May Allah bless her soul.
Take care . . .
Bye . . .