Early last month I was among a crowd of family members at KLIA to see Azra off to England for further studies. Azra is my wife's sister's daughter (technically my niece). It's a heady and joyous occasion, and a chance to greet and meet relatives I'd not met since....... the previous Sunday. Azra's all upbeat with no visible signs of distress or despondency normally associated with an impending filial parting. With her iPhone ringing off the hook, there's simply not enough time to be sad.
Her parents were equally relaxed and calm and just happy that their pretty daughter would get the much coveted overseas education. Who wouldn't? I don't have the statistics, but my guess is less than 1% of Malaysians of her age are lucky enough to go to UK instead of, say, UMK (Universiti Malaysia Kelantan). I'm not implying that Universiti Malaysia Kelantan, or Kelantan, is wrong or rogue or anything. It's just that Kelantan is not UK.
When the time came for goodbye, there were no bouts of chokes and tears. Her dad was a hard-driving businessman who deals with tools and turbines and he's not supposed to cry for any reason. At least not while I was around. So I didn't expect him to break new ground this time. Her mom, well, I could never guess or second guess what's inside although she's my wife's sister (technically my sister-in-law). She's less forthcoming than her sister (technically my wife) and it's hard to say here or now whether that's good or bad. Suum cuique (Latin). I supposed she's a tad sad, but she's determined not to let anyone guess. True to form, mom hugged her daughter and said some standard stuff like take care, study hard and so on. Well, what do you expect?
That was it. Azra took the escalator and was out of sight in less than two minutes. She didn't look back. She didn't have to because she's never away. Cellphones, Whats App and other human inventions and interventions have compressed the world. No place is actually too far and too foreign now.
I couldn't help but think of the time when we (me and wife) were leaving for US in August 1982. We'd been married for about four months. It's so many years ago that it could've easily been 1882. Anyway, things were different those days. For a start, it's the old Subang airport. It's more crowded than Old Trafford. You could get depressed in no time and for no apparent reason. People just next to you wailed hysterically and you thought they're part of your family and you just had to cry along as a courtesy. Internet, email and cellphones were a long way off. International calls to US were slow and expensive because they'd to go through six different operators.
My flight itinerary reads like Amazing Race: a stopover in Taipei, an overnight in Narita, a 6-hour lay-over at Chicago, and finally a late night landing somewhere near Niagara Falls in upstate New York, in a record time of under 50 hours. I suspect the Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci took the same route and time when he discovered and named America exactly 400 years before.
Those days, if you're going overseas, you're going overseas. Far and away from everything you'd known. The cheapest way to communicate was by mail and you'd to write properly and in full because nobody understood LOL etc at that time. I've to admit that I was actually more worried about missing or wrong flight connections. I didn't want to go to Ottawa.
When our flight was called, my wife broke down and cried.
Learning and living overseas, even in frigid, far-flung places like St Petersburg, is a worthwhile experience. I've made it a point to be at the airport to see close relatives off for further studies, as if my presence would motivate or encourage them in some way (which I doubt).
But lately seeing-off students overseas has been mostly muted and low-key non-events, lacking the drama and trauma of bygone days. Maybe KLIA is too spacious, clinical and artificial. It lacks character and atmosphere (cliche much). Plus, flying is no more a novelty with AirAsia now giving away free seats every three days. Nobody wants to cry every three days. I've lost count of how many times I was at the airport to see students off to UK or somewhere to do medicine or some strange subjects, but I was left deflated every time. Except for one time in 2001, when my eldest boy was leaving for US.
It's almost 20 years after my historic flight, and the difference couldn't be starker. It's KLIA now, no more Subang kopitiam. In 1982, I was 29, fully grown, and married. In 2001, he's under 18 and, by law, couldn't watch Saving Private Ryan. He's among a small group of students flying off to US that day, very early morning, 2 or 3 am.
When we reached the airport, his hordes of friends, 40 or maybe more, had already stormed and occupied one-half of the airport, turning that part into a Formula 1 podium. What a rousing and rapturous send-off. I've never seen so much joy and jubilation in parting. These young people just knew how to do it, and I was stunned by the spontaneity. They sang, they hugged, they laughed, they waved. Even my tone-deaf brother-in-law sang along when the whole group broke into "Leaving on a Jet Plane".
When my son's flight was called, my wife broke down and cried.
My flight itinerary reads like Amazing Race: a stopover in Taipei, an overnight in Narita, a 6-hour lay-over at Chicago, and finally a late night landing somewhere near Niagara Falls in upstate New York, in a record time of under 50 hours. I suspect the Italian explorer Amerigo Vespucci took the same route and time when he discovered and named America exactly 400 years before.
Those days, if you're going overseas, you're going overseas. Far and away from everything you'd known. The cheapest way to communicate was by mail and you'd to write properly and in full because nobody understood LOL etc at that time. I've to admit that I was actually more worried about missing or wrong flight connections. I didn't want to go to Ottawa.
When our flight was called, my wife broke down and cried.
Learning and living overseas, even in frigid, far-flung places like St Petersburg, is a worthwhile experience. I've made it a point to be at the airport to see close relatives off for further studies, as if my presence would motivate or encourage them in some way (which I doubt).
But lately seeing-off students overseas has been mostly muted and low-key non-events, lacking the drama and trauma of bygone days. Maybe KLIA is too spacious, clinical and artificial. It lacks character and atmosphere (cliche much). Plus, flying is no more a novelty with AirAsia now giving away free seats every three days. Nobody wants to cry every three days. I've lost count of how many times I was at the airport to see students off to UK or somewhere to do medicine or some strange subjects, but I was left deflated every time. Except for one time in 2001, when my eldest boy was leaving for US.
It's almost 20 years after my historic flight, and the difference couldn't be starker. It's KLIA now, no more Subang kopitiam. In 1982, I was 29, fully grown, and married. In 2001, he's under 18 and, by law, couldn't watch Saving Private Ryan. He's among a small group of students flying off to US that day, very early morning, 2 or 3 am.
When we reached the airport, his hordes of friends, 40 or maybe more, had already stormed and occupied one-half of the airport, turning that part into a Formula 1 podium. What a rousing and rapturous send-off. I've never seen so much joy and jubilation in parting. These young people just knew how to do it, and I was stunned by the spontaneity. They sang, they hugged, they laughed, they waved. Even my tone-deaf brother-in-law sang along when the whole group broke into "Leaving on a Jet Plane".
When my son's flight was called, my wife broke down and cried.
