Letters to God

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 4 (v.1) - Chapter 4

Submitted: July 20, 2019

Reads: 25

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 20, 2019



5th August 1999


Hello again despicable god,

Alcohol didn’t work for me anymore. So I look for other methods to numb this pain that I am constantly feeling. Incidentally, there was an English movie on TV that day. I forgot the title. There’s a scene of a teenage girl slitting her wrist which was very near to her pulse.

“That’s it!” I thought. To block pain, one must inflict another. It’s the same as how a cobra venom works; although it can cause death, it can also become an antidote. The director of the movie is a genius!

Without further ado, I took my kitchen knife and imitated her.


Oh Grandma…



I can still feel the pain in my heart at the first slit. So I did twice, thrice, and more. At last, my wrist was in so much pain that it distracted me from my shattered heart. I also remembered feeling calm as I watched the floor painted red from my blood. Then the darkness embraced me. I suppose I need to thank you for this too. All praises be only to you.


I felt vibration at my right thigh and started. Neko hissed. Oh, it’s just my cell phone. I tap the popup message. It’s from Maslan.

Rahim, I’ll pick u up at 8. Can’t wait to have fun!

I forced myself to remember what he’s talking about. Oh yeah, the girls!

Ok. We r gonna get wild!

I went back to grandma’s letter.

Ummi and abi wanted to visit your house, the Kaabah in Makkah. So it was only natural that they wanted to have a photograph of us together at the airport. Rahim refused. 

 “But Rahim, me and your grandfather will be going for a long time. We are going to miss you and our daughter,” ummi said to him.

It was tactical of ummi to say ‘our daughter’ instead of my name. Rahman’s heart easily melts when it comes to his grandmother.

“Fine…but I’m only doing it for you and grandfather,” Rahman gave in.

I was elated. I thought that finally, you are hearing me out.

Then the call for the flight to Jeddah came; it is from that airport that they will begin the journey to Makkah. I can clearly see my parents’ faces brimming with excitement.

I hugged my parents and wished them a safe flight. My mother held me tightly and told me, “I’ll pray that you and Rahim be together again. Please don’t worry dear. ALLAH definitely listens to the prayers in front of Kaabah.”

I smiled and nodded. Despite all the calamities you put me through, I still was stupid enough to hope that you will listen. I guess I was fooled by Rahman’s willingness to take a photograph together. I was also overjoyed having Rahman in my car, together with my parents in the drive towards this airport.

With a last look at us, my mother and father entered the boarding gate. I looked at Rahman but he was already walking towards my car. I ran a bit and walked beside him. It was bliss.

I texted my mother and father almost every day during their pilgrimage to Makkah. They told me how happy they are although they do miss us. Mother assured me that she prayed for me and Rahman constantly; she’s confident that Rahman and I will be together again!

I was assured, god. ASSURED! But I was dead wrong.

Abi texted that they have safely boarded the flight back home. He asked my help to pick them up at the airport. I said of course; I said that I can’t wait to see them. I called and texted my son to ask whether he wants to follow. Obviously, he didn’t reply. So I went on alone.

So I went on alone the next day. I arrived an hour earlier at the airport. I chose a seat near the TV to pass time. At exactly 4.10pm, I walk to the gate where my parents would soon emerge from. I was so eager to see them! Not only me. Excitement is in the air. Heads are sticking out from the border rope to glimpse right at the arrival gate, kids are jumping up and down to get a view beyond the taller adults, and some even pushing through others to stand exactly at the border rope.

BOOM! Everyone stood still for mere moments before the ground tremored. Everyone was looking at each other then, perplexed. Soon enough, realisation hits. The expressions on their face changed to fear.

I for one, refuse to jump to conclusions. It is not possible for God to put me through another tragedy. I’m at my breaking point. Surely He knows that more than me (I hope you take notice the irony of me using capital alphabets to address you, god). I took a few deep breaths trying to calm myself down. How I wish that Rahman was there to hold my hand.

The calmness I gained however, did not last long. A woman was looking at the message board hanging from the ceiling and she reduced to tears. Few others also took a peek and wailed. Majority others, ran towards the direction showing the information counter.

I braved myself and look up to the message board. It stated that a plane, my parents’ plane, had crashed into the airport’s watchtower. Families need to come to the information counter. My heart stopped.

Still, I refuse to give up. I remembered that giving up is never a Muslim trait. “There must be survivors,” I told myself. “There must be. Ummi and abi could still be alive”.

I followed the others and hurried to the information counter to know of my parents’ fate. It was jam packed with people crying and shouting; it was a full fledge havoc. But I didn’t care. I pushed myself through the crowd.

“I am so sorry. There are no survivors.”

All became black.

© Copyright 2019 Azniza Ambrose. All rights reserved.


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