Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Loss. Show all posts
24 June 2016; the day you left.

From the moment I received the phone call at 4 p.m in my office till the day of your cremation, feelings were bottled up, countless urges to let loose of my emotion were suppressed. In denial of how much I couldn't bear for you to leave, I overwhelmed myself with whispering and whimpering of "She's rid of all pain & suffering", "She's in Heaven" that only I could hear. 

I remembered I've once documented my realisation here of how selfish I am to be fearful of the death of my love ones. I'm selfish because I am afraid of what's to become/left of me when a significant part of me is gone with their departure. 

This time round, I tried my best to be selfless, to think of the best of your departure for you instead of the worst of your departure for me. So I suppressed, so I showered myself with heavenly consoles instead of loud warm tears. 

The act that I put up was all good until I woke up from a nap after 'everything' was settled. Or was it? And will it? 

Staring at the boring blank space with hubs in the background asking what's for dinner, I got myself half dressed before sitting at the edge of the bed and continued with the aimless staring. Hubs got fed up because his presence was ignored, his repeated question of what do I want for dinner was left unanswered, so he yelled instead of asked. Then I broke down. Not because he got mad at me but because reality finally hit me hard.

I cried so hard my tears dried up yet the wallows couldn't stop. I was still selfish. I didn't want you to leave. Even though for years you couldn't remember me, I was happy and contented being able to see you, touch you, feed you, baby cradled you and speak to you in your own language. Now your departure rids me of all these, the precious minimal things that I could still do with the amnesic you. 

Grandma, you left not remembering who am I but I will always remember all my 25 years with you.
They say time heals, I tried to convince myself into believing it too. I was really believing, or so I thought. So I thought facing my fear is the best and bravest way to heal along with time. So I did. I (tried to) faced my fear, the fear of having to relive all the past memories with you knowing new memories will never be created again. 

My pace towards that shop was hesitant, undoubtedly. But I seemed to have believed that time has healed me. My feet you once loved to lie on brought me into the shop, to a similar glass framed container where I first laid my eyes on you. She/he isn't you, but looks exactly like you. That tri-colored soft looking fur, that black patched eye which led to us calling you Lavigne, and that adorable round butt. 

Tears filled with sadness blurred my vision gradually as I tried to hold back. "This is not you, not you, not you." I told myself, in silly hopes of stopping those tears. Then it hit me, this is why I am still not healed. Because I know this is not you, because I know there will never be a guinea pig who is you, or be like you, because I know I'll never have you back in my life again.

I left the shop hastily through the back door, wanting no one to intrude between us, even during my moment of grieving for you.
The howling of his mother and the pounding knocks on his room's door at 7 in the morning jolted me up from his bed immediately. I sprang up from the bed, to be specific. 

It was like an unexpectedly expected news - her departure. Still, nothing could prepare us for the loss of her, despite all the signs over the past month.

Looking at her still and cold body on the bed, I placed my hand over her cupped and wrinkled hands gently, in fear of waking her up. "She's sleeping", that was what we exchanged amongst ourselves, because uttering that word sounded too distant, too harsh. But that is how reality presents itself at times, isn't it? Especially at a time like this. 

No more witnessing of that cheeky slight smile and winking of her eyes directed at me whenever her favorite grandson teases any one in the family or cracks a joke only she appreciates the most. No more hearing her childlike complaints.

For our own comfort, even if it helps just a little, we tell ourselves this is a blessing for a kind angel like her. Being a devotee, she must be in heaven with Jesus and Mary now, where there should be no more pain and suffering. For all these years, her weakening body has undergone tremendous pain, with grandpa shouldering her suffering and taking care of her every need which was also slowly depleting his energy. 

Clock still ticks, but the livings will always mourn and grieve for the dead. The vacant look in grandpa's red eyes as he wanders off alone in his slow pace, it reminds me how all of our sadness pales in comparison with his. We may have lost a mother/grandmother, he has lost his lifetime partner, his confiding best friend, his soul companion.
Fumbling through my own sequel of thoughts at work, I discovered upon an important note-to-self. Why have I always been so fearful of the death of my love ones? So fearful and aching within. 

Genuinely, I thought it's attributed to my selflessness for them, fearing of the unknown that may happen to them/their souls. Unconsciously, we prefer to think the better of our self, that we may be greater than just being occupied with our own well being. But no, my discovery proved me terribly wrong. 

I'm contrary to selfless - I don't fear for what may happen to my love ones when they're gone, I fear for myself. Of what may be left of me, of how am I supposed to move on happily with a significant part of me gone along with their souls. How can I deal with a different me then? 

It still boils down to 'I', 'me'. This outrageously selfish side of me I've came to realize today. To think I actually believed I was selfless.

你的离开，我失去了多少，你不可能知道，我也不可能计算的了。我失去的不仅仅只是你而已，我也失去了一部分的我，两样我都不可能再像以前一样拥有了。


Every night right before falling into slumber is a living nightmare for me. The heart throbbing aches and silent tears that come so naturally when my thoughts are all of you. Our memories together replay themselves so vividly in my mind and no, I can't pull off a smile being thankful for the existence of these memories, instead all I do is to dwell on how you are no longer here with me to create new memories. It has been 2 months and 14 days since you went to Heaven, and here I am with a bleeding heart wishing you were still right here with me.

 I want to feel your fur again. I want to smell my favorite scent again. I want to see you munch on your favorite long beans vigorously again. I want to see your blur face again. I want to hear the sound of you drinking water again. I just want to wake up and go to sleep to the sight and touch of you again. 
Whoever said dreams are the opposite of realities is a liar. I dreamt of you again, Princess. In my dreams, you were sick. So fragile. But, you recovered. In reality? No, you didn't.
 
Exactly one week since you've left and this is the first time you came back to me in my dreams. The dream reflected the reality: in it, you've left too. But you came back to us every single night without fail, running around in the house being your usual active & curious self, occasionally climbing onto my legs like you did in the past. I could touch and feel you in my dreams. That virtual reality... I could almost feel you, almost. 


Ever since you haven't been feeling well, the first thing I'd do when I woke up is to check on you, to check if you were still breathing. Then one day, you stopped. I touched you gently afraid of waking you up, there was no reaction. I felt for the breathing movements but to no traces of them. I looked at your wide opened eyes and slowly reached to touch them, no reaction. I was afraid to pick you up, afraid that you were in fact just in a deep sleep & I'd wake you up. In denial. That's what I'm still going through now. I spent the entire 12May14 having you by my side, secretly wishing miracle would work on you & that you'd wake up all of a sudden. But you didn't, and my heart left with you too. 

If there's to be any day when I speak of you any less, it doesn't mean I'm thinking less of you because I'll never do, it just means I'm scrambling for better ways to deal with your loss. And I'm failing miserably, for now. 

That empty space where your house used to be has left the same vacant space in my heart. Tears well up in my eyes every single day when I find it difficult to suppress & hide those feelings. I lost count of the times I did this.  

Every corner of the house, every object, remind me of you, of us. The fridge where your fav long beans is. The basin where I bathed you. The specific corners you love to lie at when you were out for a walk. Your shampoo in the basket. The sofa and my bed where you spent your last moments on. Your towel which I still fetch for it to draw in a long breath, taking in my fav scent. The sound of mopping of floors which scares you. The sound of thunders which reminds me of how I used to check on you to see if you were intimidated but you were always just chilling in your house.

Even if there's no smell or sound or sight to remind me of you, this one thing will always bring my thoughts back to you: my heartache. 

Then there's your ashes kept in a white princessy urn. Yes, your ashes. Despite seeing it every day, I still wish for you to be back to me. I hope you do one day. Come back to me in any form, just let me know you're happy & healthy. 




What if I was the one? 
What if we were the ones who were stucked in that situation? 
Is 'stucked' the right word or does it sound too negative it seems like a mishap? 
Torn between life changing decisions. A decision that's going to affect us the rest of our lives and his or her life/death. 

In terms of morality issues, we don't have the right to say who's wrong and who's right. 
The momentum of constantly going on food hunting trips has decreased, sadly. But last week, the predators are unleashed, finally. Almost missed our stop if not for Redbull's sharp observation skills as Hungrygowhere's credibility failed us for the first time. I always relied on hgw for addresses & it stated that Saveur is at Purvis St but turns out it is right outside fep. 

Expected the Q especially when a dining place specifically mentions it doesn't take in reservations. 

But technology saved the day: we skipped the boredom of staying in the Q as they rang us up while we were window shopping at fep once our table was ready for our possession. 



Saveur's Pasta
Nothing to rave about as this tastes like ordinary dry maggie mee which is nice but doesn't taste like pasta at all despite looking like one. 

The next 3 mains we ordered were impressive. Delicious & very affordable plate-licking dishes.
Duck's Confit
Not a big fan of mashed potato but this was the exception. The duck was well marinated. 

I couldn't decide which was my favorite. Duck confit or this. The creamy basmati rice made a non-supporter of rice like me went bonkers. I'm definitely going to order an extra side dish of basmati rice the next time we go. 

Pan-seared seabass
The challenge in using any other method aside from steaming to cook any fish is to retain the moisture within. This challenge seemed to be a feat to the chefs at Saveur. 

Wanted to try the Choc & Hazelnut but it was oos (it must be really good) so we opted for Pistachio Panna Cotta which was uniquely delighting. The pistachio flavored dessert reminded me of the pistachio cupcake my siz baked which was equally satisfying for me. 

We caught About Time at Shaw and it left the sentimental us tearing. I was still crying when I left the theater & this bully just loves to make it worse by narrating the sad scene to me knowing that I'd cry yet asking me to hush then repeated the scene again. 

It left me thinking, if I was the one born with the ability to travel back to the past, what would I choose? To hold on to the everlasting chances to relive all the moments spent with my dad or bid goodbye to him for the last time in exchange for the creation of my own child? A real dilemma I'll never find an answer to.
Once upon a time, we were young, we were free though not the wildest ones you've seen. But we were the happiest then. With my closest kins always around, we'd spend endless hours running around, playing masak masak with dried leaves & real fire, walking a long distance to our favorite playground. 

Even helping the indian boy who lived beside us to set the caterpillars on fire that were munching on his plant was a pleasure. Of course come to think of it now, we were really ruthless & disgusting for kiddos? 

My siz agreed too, that period will forever remain as the happiest days of our lives. We'll create future happy moments for sure, like having a house we call our own, building our own family, having our first babies, etc. But nothing will replace those days as the happiest days because no matter how happy we're and gonna be, we'll never be as burdenless & carefree as we used to be. Not that we don't want to be, but we can't. We're all like prisoners trapped in the same cell otherwise known as Life.

Adults and children were always gathered  around for laughters and food. We still do that now, but only on a yearly basis for CNY. But things don't feel the same anymore. Perhaps because the only factor that held all of us together isn't the same anymore: my grandmother who has lost her memories of herself, of us & of life. Perhaps we are all lost in the past happiest memory, with her. 
When I heard that Redbull met with an accident at work, terrors swept through my heart & left nothing but debris. Yes, his middle finger was all that was involved but the vivid words, 'hospital' and 'operation', made calming down seem like a total stranger to me. 

I may have my negative thoughts clouding up my mind at times, but I've never been one who wallows in negativities for long. They bid me goodbye as soon as they said Hi. But when I picture my love ones in pain or in harm, I picture the worst scenario my mind could possibly conjure up. What if I lose him? What if the trivial stitchings of his wound were messed up by the surgeon? Hospital itself is a mournful place. To me that is. I know there are births of new life, recovering from illnesses and what nots. But the tragedies that have occurred and will occur in there outweigh those happy moments. So this mournful place wasn't exactly the best place to be if my mind is in need of breeding positive thoughts at that point. 

Heaves of relief till my mouth literally went dry when I knew he's fine, that we're still gonna be fine together. 

Us; it's never so much of our great minds think alike but more of our love think alike. 

ps: All I want is to feel appreciated. To know that you don't take even the simplest thing I do for you for granted. 
When our love ones passed, their souls will forever linger within ours, to remind us of the pain of not being able to create any more new memories together. 

This pain, we suppress
till it becomes a part of us. 
At least this pain that we create now forms the only new memory we share, together. 

Time is a ticking bomb, the enemy of everyone. It's daunting to see how fast age is catching up on my parents. They've always been my motivation to strive better in life so that I'm able to let them enjoy the next halves of their lives. But sometimes, all these pound on my heart like a predator pounding on its prey, leaving me breathless. No, I don't view them as burdens, just responsibilities that I ponder about too much, especially when I know time is catching up. Anxious. Fearful. Knowing that I can't do things for them for as long as I wish to just makes me want to be able to provide for them as soon as possible. 

But life requires me to take one step at a time. I don't mind, as long as every step that I take, I've the both of them right by my side. But, who can guarantee the term 'forever'? No one. That explains my fear & distress. 
I don't think I'm afraid of death, I'm just afraid of 

Iosing the people I love,
losing the things I have,
not getting the chance to experience everything I haven't had the chance to,
not able to go through what my future has for me,
not able to say 'I love you' anymore. 

No, I'm not fearful of death, it's the idea of losing people, things & chances that make me cringe & ache. 

Afraid of not living is a completely different universe from afraid of dying. 

credit: Google

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