My name is Azran Fitri bin Abdul Rahim. I am 41 years old. My mother said, the two words of my name was inspired by some special factors.
The name of Azran was taken from the name of a journalist or writer of Mastika magazine, Azran Rahman. My mother was very interested in her writing.
I still remember that there was a lot of old Mastika magazines around the 70s to 80s in the store and room in my house. During that time, Mastika was a kind of scientific magazine which mostly covered with political and social issues. But before the Utusan Melayu Group closed, the magazine’s front page was covered with many ghost stories and even superstition things too. It has lost its own characteristic but this is the number 1 magazine in Malaysia since many years ago.
This is the mentality of our people. Other people keep improving but we are still stuck just like before.
The name of Fitri was taken because the reason I was born on 1 Syawal. Based on my mother’s story, I was born in the house of Mak Wa (mother’s eldest sister) in Kampung Jelutong. About eight kilometers to Sik town in Kedah, surrounded with the hills. The morning will definitely be foggy. Sometimes in the cold of the morning, it made the smokes keep exhaling from my mouth. Until nowadays, it is still happens like before. Only the Chepir River in Shahnon Ahmad’s writing is no longer have a crystal clear view.
When I was born, my aunt’s house was in a bit chaotic situation. During that time, my cousin and everyone in the house were busy breaking their fast. Meanwhile, my mother was struggling to give a birth. Hot water is brought into the room. Tear oil.
My mom also said, I finally saw the world after the Maghrib prayer call in 30 Ramadan. Supposely I am the son of 1 Syawal, the son of Aidilfitri.
I still remember how the struggles my mother gave birth to me without any modern medical treatment. The feeling arose because of I have seen how my wife was under the pain during giving birth to all of our four children. I was with my wife at that crucial time. Only the fifth one need to be pushed in the operating room due to several risks and complications.
During the night, the rush of Hj. Senawi’s family was arises. My aunt, Mak Teh also has a ‘stomach ache’ due to give birth issue. My late grandfather, Hj. Senawi directly ran back to the Bukit Buluh.
Mak Teh’s home was located next to grandfather’s house which we called him as ‘Che’. Our family is originally from Pattani. The story goes down the line, our late “gemulah” predecessor is a serve-person in the palace of king Pattani. There was a dispute in the palace them and finally he came to this district in order to establish Jelutong village.
The late predecessor and Che were the chief of village during that time. In the 60s, Mak Teh already have a car. Gemulah also have an elephant. The elephant still in the mother’s house until now.
The Communists once captured Che and brought him to Bukit Enggang. They want to execute him to death. Luckily, he managed to escape from the punishment. Our late predecessor hid himself in the old Bukit Buluh. Every morning, the late Tok Limah (che’s wife) would sent food to him.
Che is very aware with the importance of education. He and some of his fellow friends founded Sekolah Kebangsaan Chepir. My mother was one of the Alumni and eventually became a teacher at the school.
By the morning, Mak Teh gave a birth to her daughter on August 25 in 1979. Her name is Sharipah. We call her as Kak Pah. She keep remembering my birthday date. Instead, I keep forgetting her birthday date because I am only remember my birthday when the latest Manchester United jersey appeared in front of me as a gift.
My eyes are already sleepy and tired. It is already 1.33 o’clock in the morning. If my mood is quite good tomorrow, I will continue this story soon.
I write because I want to tell a story. Nothing interesting.