Excerpt #72: The Logistics Of Leaving

Excerpt # 72:  The Logistics Of Leaving

M. Bakri Musa (www.bakrimusa.com)

For the next few weeks Karen and I were consumed with the logistics of leaving, with such practical matters as what to do with our furniture. We also had to be careful to avoid being tripped at the last minute. We had read of would-be emigrants stopped at the airport because of unpaid taxes or library books not returned!

            Our most difficult decision was who to tell and when. We just could not disappear. There were my patients who needed to be apprised of their follow-up care, my colleagues who would have to carry the extra load, and my superior so he could find my successor in good time. Most of all there were my trainees. I did not want the rumor mills to take over as that would be unfair to them.

            My first and easiest task was to give our landlord notice. We did not give any reason and he did not ask for any. Perhaps he assumed we had a government bungalow at last. So far so good; all under wraps.

            A few days later at rounds my medical officer Yahya asked, “Are you leaving us?”

            Point blank! I was astounded but without hesitating replied, “Yes!” and then added that I had not yet given formal notice. Forced by the quick and unexpected unravelling that morning, I called my immediate superior right away to tell him that I would be handing him my letter of resignation to be effective in 30 days. Technically as I was not yet part of the permanent establishment, I would need to give only 24 hours’ notice. As I would also be taking my two-week terminal vacation, my last working day would be in about two weeks.

            Next I had to tell my colleagues. Common courtesy required of me to inform them in person and not for them to hear it through the grapevine. Bhattal was not in the least surprised though he was disappointed considering that we had by now resurrected the old postgraduate teaching program. More as a show of support for my decision, he added that he could see how I had difficulty adjusting to the old country. He related an episode of one afternoon when he saw me alone in the hospital library, relaxed, with my feet on the table. If I had been another person, he would have scolded me for that uncouth behavior. Somehow with me, as I looked so casual and relaxed, I could not possibly be crude, sassy, or arrogant. So instead of being angry, he laughed at me! Nonetheless he was afraid that one day I would, without intending, offend someone more formal and less casual. He added that it would be unlikely for me to meet the fate of our former Ob-Gyn colleague who was banished out of state for allegedly insulting a sultan. I was different, Bhattal added, I just did not care for protocol and formalities. I did not know whether he was commenting more on me or our previous colleague.

            My radiologist colleague, another Dr. Lim, was also disappointed. He said he was surprised when I returned to Malaysia. Now with my ponteng (leaving), it was even more disbelieving, considering that I was a Malay and member of a privileged clan. If someone like me found Malaysia not worth investing his future, imagine someone like him, an immigrant!

            Meanwhile Karen had arranged with her ladies’ group for an “open house” to sell our left-over furniture. I had bought our airline tickets to leave not from KL but Singapore. We would take the train from Seremban. I wanted our leaving to look like we were just going for a weekend shopping trip in Singapore. That would not raise any suspicion. From there we would retrace our earlier journey, flying to Hawaii via Hong Kong, Taipei and Tokyo. Spend a few days in Hawaii and then fly to Edmonton via Los Angeles instead of Vancouver, taking in some holidays. I knew that I would be too busy later to take one, what with building up a new practice.

            The weekend earlier, my brothers’ and sisters’ families came down for their “last chance to visit JB while having a place to stay there!” The other reason was to take our household furniture and other items with them. Whatever left behind would be sold or donated to the children’s home where Karen had volunteered for the past few months.

            When my extended family left, it was for the first time that I felt we were indeed leaving. My hitherto peaceful home had been disrupted. My brother took my stereo set, one sister our washing machine, another the fridge and kitchen utensils. My other sister took most of my furniture. I gave my medical books and journals to the hospital.

            We had our toys taken to Seremban so the cousins would have something to play with when they visited their grandparents. Mindy and Zack were upset when their toys were taken away but we reassured them that the toys were being sent to grandma and grandpa for safekeeping so when we visit them the toys would be there. Years later we were told that the toys were a big hit with the cousins, another enticement for them to visit their grandparents in Seremban.

            Our house was now empty. We had echoes when we talked; that fascinated the kids! We were back to sleeping on the floor and eating out. I did not want to spend the last few days in a hotel as that would trigger the suspicion of us leaving. That weekend when we opened our now barren home to Karen’s women’s group for what little there was left, the planned “garage sale” morphed into a spontaneous good-bye party.

            I was surprised to see a Malay woman in the group. She came not to buy but out of curiosity. Her Australian friend had told her about a Canadian woman married to a Malay surgeon and that they would be leaving the country. She was curious as to who this Malay was and why was he emigrating.

            I was scrambling on how best to answer her. Not satisfied, she started badgering me. “Don’t you love your country?” she taunted me. Was I sulking in not getting my way? Was the government not treating me well enough? Then, her parting shot, “Don’t let a Mat Salleh woman run your life!”

            After just being through an excruciating emotional experience that shook my very core a few weeks earlier with my family, now this woman whom I did not even know was accusing me of not loving my country, of being an ingrate or worse, a traitor. The hell with her!

            Then a suspicious thought flashed through me. She being a Malay, her husband was probably someone high up in the civil service or local social circle. Otherwise she would not be involved with those expatriate ladies. She would now tell her husband, and from there the news would reach the local head of immigration and the income tax agency. Snag this traitorous Bakri Musa with whatever hook you have!

            That thought served only to whip up my already heightened paranoia. Meanwhile back at the hospital, Yahya and the young doctors were planning a farewell party for me. I tried many excuses of why there should not be one (I had been in JB only too briefly; too busy packing). My ulterior motive was that I did not want the word of my leaving to spread out. I wanted to leave without any ripple. In the end, we agreed to a small afternoon tea of our small group.

Next:   Excerpt # 73:  Last Week Of Work

From the author’s memoir, The Son Has Not Returned. A Surgeon In His Native Malaysia (2018).