Mandul Shmandul: A Nightmare To Think About

Bad dreams are normal; you get one every now and then. But sometimes you get one which scares the shit outta you. The kind where you wake up in the middle of the night--or the next morning--with cold sweat, heart beating like a drum, muscles tensed, gripped with fear. You may get over it pretty soon, and just brush it off as just a dream. Or some of us freak out at how surreal some dreams may feel; like they were more of an epiphany or prophecy--an eerily possible view of how you'll end up--than they are just random images in your mind.

I've had one that's been bugging me for weeks now.

I enter my home in KL and am greeted by my 2-year old cousin Shahmi. He tries to talk to me in gibberish, probably trying to explain something he did earlier, and I try my best to play along but my attempts were all in vain. So I carry him and throw him in the air, lift him up and swing him around--the usual things you do to a baby; and he laughs, showing his crooked set of teeth. A while later I sit down and read a freshly received e-mail containing my full medical report. Doctor says apparently I'm perfectly healthy except for the itty-bitty fact that I'm sterile. Mandul. Peluru kapur. Shoot blanks.

I am scared. I panic. What does this mean? How did this happen? Why is it even happening to me? Where did I go wrong? What are the implications? How immasculating in this? How will this change the way people see me? Will every girl I fancy consider me a 'dead end' if they knew? Will I warm up to the idea of adopting? Would the lack of blood relation hold me back? So many questions flood me. So many.

I admit I do get emotional. I do overreact. But I don't question the unfairness of it. I am simply overwhelmed by thoughts of "so what now?" as I try to get some perspective on the matter at hand. And I get scared. Scared of being an outcast. Scared of being a dead end in my bloodline. Scared of the sociological impact it would have on me. But wait, it's not that big a deal. It's not that bad. After all, it only means that I can't--

And suddenly that little boy walks into the room and calls me chirpily. He points toward the porch and says "car... car". He has enthusiasm etched on his face. He has shoes on both feet. I stand there and just look at him squarely in the eyes. All he wants is to go out for a drive; to see the dogs out on a walk; to spend five or so minutes on playground rides. I am rendered motionless, still staring at him. I could feel the heat behind my eyes; slowly it builds up. I do not blink, not even wince. The image of him standing there, wondering what the hell is wrong with me, gets blurry. My throat tightens and when I swallow, a tear escapes my eye, leaving a trail of warmth as it drifts down my cheek. His smile is gone as he wonders what is wrong. I carry him and tell him "Not today, Shahmi. Not today". And as I walk away with him firmly in my arms, my fingers twirling his ridiculously curly hair, I can't help but think 'so close, yet so far'.

I am now sad. Sad that a huge portion of the future has been rendered impossible for me. That even if I wanted to, it would never be my 'flesh and blood'. I called a friend and shared the news. I had nothing more to say other than that, and I doubt anyone I knew knew what to say in response to something like that. They can try, but they would never understand. Just like how I wouldn't understand the feeling of someone whose parents got divorced or someone who suffered the death of a close one. I know that, and they know that, and we know that the other knows too. Sometimes we feel it is unfair for people to expect so much from us when they tell us things we could never understand. But it is unfair for them to have friends--close friends--yet feel so alone. We may not even be able to comprehend what they are going through, but when someone tells you something private, something personal, something intimate, it is pretty evident they trust you would be a good listening ear. For many people, just getting it off their chests is all they want, despite it not being nearly enough help. The friend and I meet up with two others and nobody says a word. They know I just need the company. I know they have a joint on them and duly ask for it: breaking tradition as well as breaking the silence. I finally start talking. As to why I dream of this, I can't quite say. I admit I've wanted to try it before, but somehow I've never really gotten to it. I probably would some time soon, but maybe I'll save it for days like this.

Later on I try to calm myself (as well as do the right thing) by calling my mother. I tell her the news. She laughs thinking I'm joking, that I have nothing better to do. I tell her again. She tells me to stop it, she wasn't born yesterday. I get tired just at the thought that from now on I have to convince people that I am one in a million; that this has indeed happened to me. "I will never provide a single cucu for you". The silence on the other end of the line tells me she has finally digested it. Maybe it was the choice of words, maybe the tone; I don't know. She is apologetic and sympathetic at first, but being a mother it is only natural for her to be protective of her child. "Listen..." she begins, obviously lost for words. "It's not the end of the world. Yes, it does mean something la obviously, but...I dunno lah. Don't think about it too much for now". I told her I'm fine but babysitting a baby is really kind of rubbing it in. She said adoption may seem weird because of the lack of a pregnancy. But in time, nobody notices.

What else was she gonna say, anyway? What else could she say that wasn't condescending? I am not that worried yet of issues I should deal with in the future. It's just that I've just been dealt a bitter blow and would very much like the time to lie down and sulk. I look at the little twerp and I am reminded of my blood relationship (or lack thereof) with him. But I love him just the same. With one arm I grab him as he walks by and I make him sit on my lap. He doesn't like it so he takes my phone and talks to my mom, looking so serious like a man on a mission. Pada hal melalut je lebih. I am amused by this.

Hmm, I guess if I could learn to love a not-so-cousin, adoption should be okay then. But the lines are blurred somewhat. He wasn't adopted, he is his parents' child. I'm just not blood related to his father or mother. Adoption... taking someone else's child. They won't have your features. None of your genes. And you know that somewhere out there is a man with the kid's eyes and a woman with the kid's nose.

Mama is fed up of listening to Shahmi's gibberish. Suddenly it hits me. The answer to my problem(s). The meaning of life (mine, at least). The solution. It may or may not be genius but it's enough for something to look forward to; especially when that something could come from nothing. I uncurl his puny little fingers from the phone.

"Single mother".