Aliyawanders

I wasn’t allowed to cry.

When I first saw my mom —

Lifeless, lying in the emergency room —

I cried softly and whispered,

“Liya tak sempat jumpa mak.”

But he said I shouldn’t cry.

I couldn’t cry.

If I did, it meant I was against God’s will.

If I did, it meant I didn’t believe in His will.

If I did, it meant I wanted to fight His will.

He said this out loud.

The whole emergency room heard him.

So I bit my lips.

I swallowed my sobs.

I cried in silence.

Because tears weren’t allowed, remember?

Until the doctor gently led him away

— to give me a few precious minutes alone.

Just me and my mom.

Her body was cold.

But at least she was no longer in pain.

I told myself:

Be happy, Aliya.

She was in so much pain before.

Now she’s free.

I dried my eyes

as best as I could,

hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Then I stepped out,

hiding behind my husband.

I don’t think I could’ve taken

another scolding.

But the days after that —

there was no privacy.

No moment alone.

So I woke up in the middle of the night,

sneaking to a quiet corner,

creating a safe space

for my tears to finally flow.

But I wanted to scream.

I had just lost my mom.

My chest ached.

My heart wanted to burst.

I was slowly going crazy.

I was going crazy.

And it was only the first 4 days