Earlier this week, my neighbour died - and I was right beside him.
We called him Pakcik.
It was about 8:20 in the morning when his step-daughter knocked on our door in panic telling us that Pakcik had collapsed and that she couldn't wake him. I rushed over with my brother following.
All I could see was Pakcik's side profile through his bedroom door left ajar. He was seated on the cold floor with his head down and his back against his bed, but his body was blocking the door. I shook him through that gap and shouted "Pakcik!" with all I had.
His heart wasn't beating.
I couldn't feel it.
He wasn't breathing.
I couldn't feel it.
I didn't know what to feel. I've never expected to feel nothing when my hand was upon a chest. I've never expected the absence of breath when I place my finger below nostrils. I sat beside Pakcik for what seemed like the longest time while we waited for the paramedics and police to come after my brother called for them.
The first paramedic arrived very quickly and forced the door open. We also very quickly found out that Pakcik had died by a chain around his neck that was tied to a corner bedpost when we tried to lift him up to try to administer CPR. The look on the paramedic's face...
"It's too late."
It was a split moment on his face, but it screamed that to me.
What followed was his family members, the police, and more paramedics arriving at the scene. They pronounced Pakcik's passing. We were interviewed. The works.
What I saw was the step-daughter - an unfortunate soul with low IQ - not knowing the gravity of the situation as she repeated the paramedics' words to her, to us "My papa passed away."
I saw my younger brother, the big athletic guy, the ace law student, the gifted son, sob his eyes out.
I saw Pakcik's other family members for the very first time.
I saw people downstairs going about their lives as usual because they don't know someone actually just died just a couple storeys above them.
I saw my mother in utter disbelief and fear and sadness.
I saw my father disappointed with the world. He was Pakcik's only friend in the day when his step-daughter worked from 9 to 11 every day. My father sought social services' help for Pakcik when Pakcik spoke depressively of life, of financial difficulties to support his ailing health, of loneliness especially after his wife died of heart attack only recently. He walked with Pakcik. Pakcik would call my father on his phone when he needed someone to buy him cigarettes or needed to talk.
Pakcik always sat outside his house on his chairs. I don't speak Malay, but I would greet him, and he always smiled back. He would smile and talk to my dog when it was at the door. He would give us food. He had trouble getting around but he spared no effort in treating us with kindness.
I'm sorry you had to leave this way, Pakcik. I only hope you are at peace now and that you are reunited with your dearly beloved.
Goodbye, Pakcik.
Tonight, I finally cried.
