I have a story to tell – logic of which defies my thinking at times – or rather an education to share with you, my friends and readers. The narrative revolves around a boy who has now entered manhood. The reason as to why I choose his story to tell is beyond me but I have a hunch; and it is the same hunch that moves the pencil on the moleskin as we speak. On that score, I hope this story I am about to tell will benefit us, the lowly mortals, and more importantly I pray for it to serve as a light of guidance to the younger generation.
His isn’t an overrated rags to riches’ story we hear every so often; his is a story with a cruel twist of fates and unfriendly waves of circumstances; a combination of which shapes the man he is right now. He is still alone via myriad of definitions, but he has found his peace of mind. His isn’t an ordinary love story that triumphs beyond evils. Rather, the evil of his wrecked marriage still haunts the loneliest of his nights. But he has a constant source of strength from his mother and true friends who really care about him. Above all, he can now love again. Hope beacons every time he sights the first ray of morning sun kissing the lush green grass of his garden.
One Sunday morning – when the sky was slightly over casted – he inhaled the last puff of his Dunhill Lights at the foot of his sofa, drained his cup of mild starbucks’ brew for breakfast to the last drop and he began reliving his life to me. Hassan is a close friend to Jefree – the father of my young son. Throughout my courting time with the latter, I took a strange, inexplicable fondness towards Hassan. The fact that we are both Kelantanese helps foster the friendship at an alarming speed. I have also found out that Hassan is a very sincere person. His eyes sparkle with hope and his voice vibrates with ambition instead of bitterness. And we got along like a house on fire. Over the years he confides in me his darkest secrets. On one lonely Wednesday afternoon, he told me he wishes to share his life journey with us. It is his fervent hope that the good deed he intends to sow on the soil of this blog will help us the young parents of the Millennium in raising our children and for our boys to grow up to be as courageous as our dear Hassan.
The fact that he picked me to tell the story on his behalf, will always be a great honour for as long as I remain his loyal, truthful friend. Characters and names in this story have been altered to protect the privacy of the parties involved. While this same story is inspired from true events, some of the details have been changed also to respect the privacy of the same group of individuals.
I hope to put the final nail to the coffin of Hassan’s story within 12 weekly postings. However, please be so kind as to grace yours truly with your flexibility of more postings in the event that I have something to add. If you could emulate good lesson from this story, I am forever indebted to you and Hassan; in the event that you find discrepancies in the storyline, my apology supersedes my obvious lacking both in talent and narrative skills. With that, the story of Hassan begins…