Ode to ...?
2010: means it has been 10 years since the death of Atok, 10 years since I met my primary school friends (which I finally did on the 2nd of January this year), 10 years since the day I met him and discovered how wonderful it is to love and be loved in return.
Just a few hours ago, I was reminiscing memories of my grandfather, the earliest one being the early mornings being carried in his arms, eyes still really heavy in my pink uniform and my hair all tied up with ribbons my grandmother bought for us, waiting for the school bus to appear and bring me to school. Then those holidays to Malaysia: strawberry farms and butterfly parks in the Cameron Highlands, the long long drive to Penang, simple trips to Melacca and Batu Pahat, and hanging out at the land my dad owns in Kota Tinggi. I miss it. I miss the after-school weekdays and weekends at my grandparents at level 9, block 23 whereby my sisters and my cousins and I would spend hours playing. My parents would send us over there and from the end of the corridor, we can see Atok sitting on the sofa in front of the door, waiting for us, or watching the television. That familiar face, that familiar leg up, that familiar man in his sarong, just waiting for us, not complaining once about taking care of us while my parents were at work. Many times we would play the game where he would hold on to our wrists really hard and we would try to break free, and when we are unable to, cry for help from my grandmother who would then tell him to stop it and he release us and we would ask him to start all over again. Then there are many times we would sit with him in the evenings and we would ask him to sing the Japanese national anthem as he remembered it and watch tears swell up in his eyes, obviously thinking about the war and how he survived. There are times when he would pamper us, always fixing us snacks like hotdogs and fries and he made the bestest Milo in the world (I don't drink Milo ever since he stopped making it for us, by the way). When it was too late to still be playing at my cousin's house which was a few doors down, he would let us watch funny VTRs of which he wrote our names on with permanent markers so that other relatives won't take them home and not return them because they would think that they belonged to us. I remember there were a few afternoons when it was just my grandfather, my grandmother and me sitting on the dining table eating gongong (or sea-snails if you may) dipped with dark soy sauce and my grandfather would watch me struggling trying to get the insides out and then he would eventually get them out for me. Many times when I woke up way before I was supposed to, I remember watching my grandmother and my grandfather sitting together at the dining table making curry and sardine puffs so that they can sell them and earn some money for their own.
And then on the night that he died, my cousins and I were all trying to fall asleep on armchairs we moved to make our own little cribs but none of us could sleep a wink. And so we went back to the waiting room at the ICU and what we found was commotion, and that my grandfather had let out his last breath. It was like God didn't want any of us to fall asleep and want us to get back up there to the ICU and realise that we lost him. Standing in that room, cramped with all my relatives, I couldn't believe my eyes. We all couldn't believe he was gone so fast. Just days before I was at his place, sitting there and watching him as he lay on his bed. Just days before my mom took our blanket to bring over to the hospital, and I hoped and prayed that he would be better so we can all be merry again. At the funeral, the last time I kissed him on the forehead and did the traditional sprinkling of a certain powder around his head, I finally sunk to me that he is gone, after this buried and we can no longer touch him and hug him and play that wrist game with him. All I could think of are the things that I cannot show to him anymore, like my exam certificates like I always did, or my ring when I get married. And my grandmother missed him so much she always asked why didn't she die along with him and most of the time I sat there hugging her and cried along with her. In my head I was thinking what was I to do without her too?
Then I prayed to God that my grandmother lives long enough to see me get married, or I find someone whom I can trust and love quick enough for my grandmother to see that I get married because she means so much to me. But then again, with death the living continues living, the cow dies for us to survive, and heartache is there for us to learn joy and love. It would be a shame to celebrate life, but not embrace death when it comes.
2010: my brother and my cousins are getting married, I am on my journey to lose weight and still discover myself still and maybe fall in love. But what are the chances things might change, for the better or for the worst? Man can only plan as far as he can, but destiny controls us all. Maybe tomorrow I will die, or tomorrow I will live. Who knows? I don't, you don't. I'm going to live my life, try not to be so suicidal anymore, because my grandfather and my grandmother endured so much, my parents endured so much, I am their descendant. I cannot be a wuss.
Just a few hours ago, I was reminiscing memories of my grandfather, the earliest one being the early mornings being carried in his arms, eyes still really heavy in my pink uniform and my hair all tied up with ribbons my grandmother bought for us, waiting for the school bus to appear and bring me to school. Then those holidays to Malaysia: strawberry farms and butterfly parks in the Cameron Highlands, the long long drive to Penang, simple trips to Melacca and Batu Pahat, and hanging out at the land my dad owns in Kota Tinggi. I miss it. I miss the after-school weekdays and weekends at my grandparents at level 9, block 23 whereby my sisters and my cousins and I would spend hours playing. My parents would send us over there and from the end of the corridor, we can see Atok sitting on the sofa in front of the door, waiting for us, or watching the television. That familiar face, that familiar leg up, that familiar man in his sarong, just waiting for us, not complaining once about taking care of us while my parents were at work. Many times we would play the game where he would hold on to our wrists really hard and we would try to break free, and when we are unable to, cry for help from my grandmother who would then tell him to stop it and he release us and we would ask him to start all over again. Then there are many times we would sit with him in the evenings and we would ask him to sing the Japanese national anthem as he remembered it and watch tears swell up in his eyes, obviously thinking about the war and how he survived. There are times when he would pamper us, always fixing us snacks like hotdogs and fries and he made the bestest Milo in the world (I don't drink Milo ever since he stopped making it for us, by the way). When it was too late to still be playing at my cousin's house which was a few doors down, he would let us watch funny VTRs of which he wrote our names on with permanent markers so that other relatives won't take them home and not return them because they would think that they belonged to us. I remember there were a few afternoons when it was just my grandfather, my grandmother and me sitting on the dining table eating gongong (or sea-snails if you may) dipped with dark soy sauce and my grandfather would watch me struggling trying to get the insides out and then he would eventually get them out for me. Many times when I woke up way before I was supposed to, I remember watching my grandmother and my grandfather sitting together at the dining table making curry and sardine puffs so that they can sell them and earn some money for their own.
And then on the night that he died, my cousins and I were all trying to fall asleep on armchairs we moved to make our own little cribs but none of us could sleep a wink. And so we went back to the waiting room at the ICU and what we found was commotion, and that my grandfather had let out his last breath. It was like God didn't want any of us to fall asleep and want us to get back up there to the ICU and realise that we lost him. Standing in that room, cramped with all my relatives, I couldn't believe my eyes. We all couldn't believe he was gone so fast. Just days before I was at his place, sitting there and watching him as he lay on his bed. Just days before my mom took our blanket to bring over to the hospital, and I hoped and prayed that he would be better so we can all be merry again. At the funeral, the last time I kissed him on the forehead and did the traditional sprinkling of a certain powder around his head, I finally sunk to me that he is gone, after this buried and we can no longer touch him and hug him and play that wrist game with him. All I could think of are the things that I cannot show to him anymore, like my exam certificates like I always did, or my ring when I get married. And my grandmother missed him so much she always asked why didn't she die along with him and most of the time I sat there hugging her and cried along with her. In my head I was thinking what was I to do without her too?
Then I prayed to God that my grandmother lives long enough to see me get married, or I find someone whom I can trust and love quick enough for my grandmother to see that I get married because she means so much to me. But then again, with death the living continues living, the cow dies for us to survive, and heartache is there for us to learn joy and love. It would be a shame to celebrate life, but not embrace death when it comes.
2010: my brother and my cousins are getting married, I am on my journey to lose weight and still discover myself still and maybe fall in love. But what are the chances things might change, for the better or for the worst? Man can only plan as far as he can, but destiny controls us all. Maybe tomorrow I will die, or tomorrow I will live. Who knows? I don't, you don't. I'm going to live my life, try not to be so suicidal anymore, because my grandfather and my grandmother endured so much, my parents endured so much, I am their descendant. I cannot be a wuss.