On Christmas Day of 2018, my parents and I were filled with excitement. We were going for a drive, and we were doing it in the UK. What an awesome experience it was gonna be. We were heading to Liverpool, before visiting Lake District and then finally residing in Scotland. We were eager to go on a drive, and we left London with high spirits. That was, however, before the tragedy in Birmingham.
"Haziqah, is there anywhere you'd like to stop by?" I remember my mum asking, turning behind to look at me from her seat. "Before we go Liverpool."
I was surrounded by towels, coats, my backpack, and a plastic bag full of snacks to last us the drive.
"Um," I said as I scrolled around Google Maps on my phone. I saw many small cities, and recognised a few. One particularly stood out to me. "Nak try Birmingham?"
"Oooh Birmingham!" My mum exclaimed. "Okay jom. Boleh makan lunch there too."
I set my destination to Birmingham. Google Maps said it was around a less-than-two-hour drive from Zone 2 of London, so I was glad; enough time to play around on my laptop, and doze off here and there. But then Ibu told me that I was the designated navigator, because my phone had better 4G. So... No sleep, and no laptop.
Along the way, we missed a few turns (my fault, whoops) which led us into long roads and long motorways that took us far from the planned destination. But thankfully, my parents are chill when it comes to screw-ups and mistakes. And those wrong turns actually brought us pretty views, so all was good. No major issues took place during the drive.
Finally, after more than two hours (again, whoops), we finally arrived Birmingham Central Mosque. I took a photo and looked at my phone's clock. It was 12:20pm. Just in time for zuhr prayers.
The mosque was beautiful, as every mosque is in its unique way. Unfortunately, the water didn't seem to function with a heater, so it was literally ice cold, and left my limbs numb. We prayed as per normal, and Ibu took a while to fish for coins and bills from her huge pocket to leave in the mosque.
When we were to exit through the stairs, I saw a poster. "IMPORTANT NOTICE: Ladies gallery will be open for Zuhr, Asr, and Maghrib prayers ONLY! Sisters are requested to refrain coming to the mosque for Fajr and Isha prayers. Thank you for your co-operation."
An ignorant me from years ago would call this injustice. But the me standing there, on Christmas Day, after performing my jamaa' prayers of Zuhr and Asr, felt thankful. Fajr and Isha are timings where it's really, really dark in the UK. And judging from the street outside the mosque, it doesn't seem like it'd be well-lit when people are performing the morning and night prayer. I paused for a while, thinking of safety, before joining Ibu at the bottom of the stairs.
We left the mosque, and then we saw Ayah. When I saw what was behind him, I was confused. The window of the front passenger seat of our car... It looked strange. Why is that so? I got closer. It's... Broken? Oh no, is it the cold? Is this what happens when the temperature goes really low? Oh wait. No. Ayah... His face... It's... Angry. In his hand, what's that? Oh, that's... His phone? – "Yes, yes, my name, I told you my name already" I think that's what he said. Wait. Oh no. My heart sank to the floor...
I brisked my pace to the window–
"NO! GO AWAY FROM THERE!" Ayah boomed. He was angry, he was notably and noticeably pissed. But I was worried. I thought about my laptop, my camera, my charger, my items, all my items, my money–
"HAZIQAH!" He shouted again. "Ayah cakap jangan pegi dekat kan?!"
He was off. But I couldn't care. Ibu tried to soothe him. She knew what was on my mind. She managed to convince him and finally, Ayah calmed down, at least enough. He unlocked the car doors and I wasted no time. When I opened the door to the back of the car, it was like opening the floodgate of relief. All my major items were there. I see my brown bag, the one we just bought weeks ago. I see the Canon camera. I open the bag. Yes. Yes. Good. The sliver of silver of my MacBook. All there. Yes. Phew. But–But wait... Something's missing–
"Your pouch," Ayah said to Ibu. "Pouch yang ada wallet Haziqah, notebook Haziqah, portable charger..." His voice trailed away. In mere seconds, mind registered what happened. I immediately took out my phone. I made the necessary calls.
The rest of the time, strangely, didn't move in a blur. I knew completely and consciously what was happening. I called the police, who was extremely unhelpful. They snapped at me and my dad for thinking that what we were going through was a serious case – merry effing Christmas to you, too, sir – and told me to not dial the police again. Such situations weren't deemed as serious. We tried a different hotline – the non-emergency one – but it took so long before the automated replies reached an actual human being. We wanted to have no time to waste. We needed help. I then called AVIS rental company – 100/10 would recommend for car rental services, and also crisis management. A friendly and thus relieving staff member contacted a tow truck for us to take both ourselves and the broken car to the airport, where we were given a new car to drive with to Liverpool.
As time ticked by while waiting for the tow truck to arrive, more jema'ah members of the mosque came out. Unsurprisingly, they saw us. They went to Ayah and asked what had happened. They were incredibly kind, and even extended their help by offering money, their phone numbers in case we ever wanted to visit Birmingham again – smirks – and more methods to solve the tragic issue of our broken car. My parents and I were grateful because their presence was assuring. It was comforting, and it prevented my panic and anxiety from consuming me. I was, thankfully and surprisingly, calm through it all.
When we left to Birmingham airport in the tow truck, Ibu held my hand tight and read a lot of du'a. I felt it strange, and yet important, that the whole mishap took place outside the mosque. It happened in the premises of an area full of worship and devotion to God, where belief in the contrast between good and evil is at an all-time high, where people are often assumed to have the best intentions. It felt... Ironic, I suppose. Especially after Ayah shared what he saw in the CCTV footage. Someone came into the mosque premises with the sole purpose of breaking into our car. He looked in our windows, saw the purse that was left under the front passenger seat, took a rock from the roadside, threw it at the front passenger window with all his might, grabbed the bag, checked the glove compartment, probably swore under his breath to see it empty, and made a run for it.
I wonder about the thief sometimes. It's been more than a week since it took place, but I've a feeling I will continue to do so even if years have passed. I wonder what he thought when he saw my items? What ran through his mind when he saw my pictures? He knows my name, my Singapore IC, my birthday. He knows I like Vaseline's lip balm in cocoa butter. He knows that I've been in MUJI and have a thing for the colour mustard. He knows how I look like, and how happy I feel when I'm with my close friend, Saiyidah, or when I'm at home with my family. He can tell very clearly from the two Polaroid pictures I brought with me and kept in that mustard MUJI wallet. He also knows that I'm fond of letters, from the letter I brought from another friend, Mu'az, written back in 2014. He knows I keep such precious things in my wallet.
He knows my friends' names – Nuha, Adli, Mu'az – because they were present in the pouch, as they presented me with a parting gift in the form of a notebook. He knows their sense of humour, but he probably won't understand our many inside jokes. I kept it in that pouch because it was more accessible that way. In that notebook they wrote letters for me, and it was supposed to be kept safely with me through the five months I'm here. But I guess it wasn't my rezeki. Realising that was lost was the trigger that let out all my tears. I realised it hours later, when my mum mentioned the notebook in the pouch. It hit me like a steel bar, except the bruise and blood aren't visible. It made me realise how it was truly lost, and something I doubt I'll ever get back. It was arguably my most valuable item in that bag. Aside from the photos and the letter, everything else could be replaced, are already replaced. Letters, Polaroids, and written messages... They can never be replaced. It broke my heart knowing I lost that.
When we finally arrived in our place in Liverpool, the incident still lingered in our minds. Ayah kept talking about it, and he apologised for what he did while he was under stress. We all apologised. For what? I'm not sure. But we felt like we owed it to one another. After the apology, came the gratitude. This time, we knew for what. For the presence, the calm, the action, the help. We hugged one another on the bed, as they comforted me while I cried for my loss. We thought about our mistake, and prayed to see the hikmah behind it as soon as we could, and even if we couldn't see it, we prayed that our minds and hearts will find rest.
Alhamdulillah; we were still together, well, and alive. Alhamdulillah we were all healthy. We were very thankful that most of our valuables were with us, and that most primarily, we were safe. I guess, there are many hidden blessings behind every bad incident. One of such blessings for that moment is that I went through it with my parents around. I can't imagine what it would've been if I were by myself.
Ayah and Ibu prayed that nothing of the sort will ever happen again to me. I repeated that prayer. While it may be a cool story to tell your friends and family later in your life, it was never a cool thing to have experienced. Your entire self filling with the anxiety of losing precious, tangible things, and knowing that your own life is in the risk of facing such danger... Nope. Not cool at all.
