Adapted from The Stars, Sunday 22 April 2012
As kids growign up, many of us had our comic book or Tv show hero. We would be wide-eyed and in awe watching him(or her) in action. More often than not, we'd look up to our heroes and go, “Wow, that's cool!"
Besides Knight Rider and Airwolf, I was always amazed by how MacGyver was able to solve problem and get out of sticky solutions by fashioning a device, gizmo or gadgets with everyday materials at hand. Another amazing actor is Clint Eastwood in the movie Unforgiven- a seasoned cowboy of the Old West with raspy voice, rough skin and a serious demeanour.
Combine those two characters and you get someone who has always been my real-life hero. Someone I look up to. He goes by the name of Sharif, or more affectionately, Uncle Sarip.
I still vividly remember the two of us boiling a bunch of fresh crabs, which he had caught with his bare hands, and devouring them without the fancy-schmancy of plates and cutlery. And there was once when, as I pulled in frustrastion at the loose threads on the strap of my bag, he struck a matchstick and burnt the ends of strap.
Problem solved in mere seconds! Wow, why didn't I think of that? And he did it with a stoic expression, like Eastwood drawing his gun and shooting an empty tin can off a bench without batting an eyelid. It was he who took me on his motorcycle on my first ever motorcycle ride. I clutched his waist tightly as we rode around the neighbourhood with the wind in my face. I was exhilarated! It was such an adventure! As I alighted from the bike, my legs felt slightly weak and wobbly.
Uncle Sarip built houses and chalets with his bare hands, crafted a seagull mobile from wood, and fixed a classic Peugot 504 on his own. These things that he did made me go, "Whoa!" I was impressed with his abilities.
Like a mysterious, wise hero with a cool head, he doesn't talk much. Often, I'd find him sitting quietly at the back porch of my grandparent's kampung house, smoking his cigarettes while sipping hot black coffee. A man of a few words, but when he speaks, they are laden with care, sincerity and a sense of, "Everything's gonna be alright, kid."
I recently got news that Unlce Sarip, who is in his 60s, has been diagnosed with stage four lung cancer. My first thought was that it was because of his heavy smoking. But the kid in me is devastated. A little panic creeps into the kid. He 's lost without his hero. Where does he go from here?
Slowly, my heart began to feel heavy and my head throbbed. How could my hero be weak and lying in bed? It doesn't make sense. Is this how it's supposed to end?
My mature, adult head tells me to wake up and not be naiive. But the pint-sized kid who looked up to his uncle in wide-eyed amazement is real. The expericiences that he gave me were real. The "Whoa!" that I had for him was real.
Perhaps he is going to another universe? And I'll eventually meet with him one day? In the mean time, may God bless my uncle - my hero :)
