Lessons from my boy…

Stumped at how to cough up enough cash to pay her son's university fees, Fa gets a gentle reminder that we make our own happiness and success.

COMMENT

Driving home after registering my boy in a university, I found myself obsessing over his Foundation Level fees due before he sits for his first examination in about two months.

“If you look at the lump-sum, yes it may sound unaffordable to many. But do not forget, we are one of the best private universities in the country!” My head kept replaying the speech the admissions officer delivered to me.

I know paying for my boy’s education means stretching my already tight budget, but as a parent, you do what’s best for your child – even if it means enslaving yourself to any opportunity to make more money.

“Think of it this way. If you could put aside about RM50 a day for the entire year, your children would get the best education in the best environment. Now, what else can a parent ask for?” I heard the officer’s voice in my head yet again, playing like a stuck tape recorder.

RM50 a day may sound affordable to many. For a writer, it means writing an extra article a day. For a tutor, it means teaching two extra hours in a day. For a tailor, it means sacrificing two hours of sleep to sew an extra order. For others it means cutting down unnecessary expenses. But it is always easier said than done.

For the past couple of years, I have given up many things I enjoy in order to save a little here and there. I have even avoided many necessary expenses and managed my household on a tight budget – all done to cut costs. But no matter how much I save, it never seems to be enough – not when the cost of everything keeps climbing.

Of course, sending my boy to a public institute of higher learning would have saved me a lot of money. Then again, I was never the kind of mother who made choices for my children based on what was easy for me.

Even when they were babies, I chose to use napkins instead of disposable diapers to ensure my babies’ comfort. I surely am not going to change now – especially upon knowing this private university offers the best education for the course my boy is passionate about.

Feeling mentally exhausted all of a sudden, I stopped by a crowded Tapah rest area to gather my thoughts.

Over a cup of coffee, I took out my phone and checked the status of my son’s PTPTN application.

“Permohonan anda sedang diproses” – it read.

Instantly, I dialled PTPTN’s Careline number at 03-21933000 – I needed to find out how much of a loan my son was entitled to (if any) and come up with a plan on how to make up for the remaining.

The PTPTN officer on the other side of the line told me that if I was a BR1M recipient, my son was eligible for a 100% PTPTN loan. However if my income was less than RM8,000, my son was only entitled to 75% or 50% of the loan amount.

“How about single mothers with two children?” I enquired.

“Ma’am, the 100% PTPTN assistance is only for BR1M recipients. Even if you earn less than RM3,000, as long as you are not a registered recipient of BR1M, your children are only entitled to a 75% loan.”

I cut the line, took a deep breath and shut my eyes tight. Quietly, I prayed, asking God for some inspiration for a solution.

“Sorry, is this seat taken?” a woman asked.

She had a nasi lemak packet in her hand.

“No,” I answered.

The woman unfolded her packet of food and began enjoying the coconut milk-flavoured rice, prawn chilli sambal, fried anchovies and hard boil egg. She was so much into her nasi lemak that she did not even notice me staring into her banana leaf.

“Which shop did you get this from?” I asked, suddenly feeling hungry.

“Not from here. I bought this from my hometown,” she said while still chewing.

As I watched her eat, a crazy idea popped into my head – if Siti Hajjar Ahmad’s Nasi Lemak Anak Dara and Jojie Kamarudin’s Nasi Lemak Pondan can generate these businesspeople a couple of thousand a day, perhaps Fa Abdul’s Nasi Lemak Janda could be the solution to my dilemma!

I was suddenly snapped out of my reverie by a call from my boy.

“My room feels like an oven. The food is tasteless. The toilet has no hook. I miss home. And I miss you,” I heard him sigh heavily after he was done ranting. “But I will be okay. I know no one can help me but myself. So don’t worry, I will be okay. You take care of yourself, Ma. I love you so much.”

And just like that, I felt all my money troubles slip away.

If my boy could put up a brave front and soldier on, so could I. Like him, I would be okay too. Like him, I believed no one could help me but myself. I’ve done a pretty good job of it for most of my life, and I wasn’t about to give up anytime soon over worries about university fees, of all things.

After years of holding his hand and brushing his worries away, he now, although he didn’t know it, had returned the favour by reminding me that the human spirit can be amazingly invincible.

Fa Abdul is an FMT columnist.