Losing You

I thought
I was the master
of pain and hurt
but actually
I have never known pain
‘til I lost you
I have never been hurt
‘til you are taken
and now
each breath I take
is an agony
a thousand time worse
than a knife in my gut
slowly twisting
each waking day
is a slow bleed
from a small shard of glass
in my aching heart.


rya
29/12/10
1.49 p.m.

I miss you Mummy 6

After having almost a very good run at writing, I faced a block again, as I told my sister, now it is even worse, I no longer stare at a blank Words page, I stare at the pc wallpaper, meaning I can’t even go past the block of intending to write, but after going through a really bad few days emotion wise, I think I need to unload. I have decided my emotional roller-coaster these few days can be put down oestrogen overload because some other familiar symptoms came along with the non-stop crying and being very testy and grumpy. Well being hormonal is never very pleasant but getting it while you have reason to be sad is more unpleasant, and I found the emotion overload very difficult to face.

Today I have a hospital appointment, so as I waited for my number to be called for registration, I was reading the electronic board announcement, as I read “The numbers 1000 to 1200 is reserved for the elderly 65 years old and above.” I cried thinking Mom couldn’t even reached that age and she is already gone. See it is not the first time I went to the hospital and reading that statement after Mom died, but today it affected me and it started the tone of the day for me. I can start thinking any random thoughts and it’ll trigger the tears and by 2 p.m. it is getting really old.

Another thing I noticed missing Mom makes missing Phil worse, so I think every day I go about life I am doubling the agony to the point that I can’t be alone because being alone reinforce that feeling of missing something in my life.

I don’t know I am starting to ramble which should be all right actually because I am posting it in my Ramblings, but the teacher and writer in me can’t take that. I wish I could be inspired to write poetry again, but even getting to write this is an accomplishment, one day at a time I guess, I miss you Mummy.

Why I read?

A few days ago as Phil and I was chatting on Skype, all of a sudden Phil asked me if I have read a book he left me on his visit last June – The Confession of an Economic Hit Man - and I was like startled at the sudden change of topic and honestly said no, and asked if he left it with me. Enough said that he wasn’t very happy with me.

But what can I say, I have serious shortcoming in my reading materials, anyone who knows me knows I read voraciously, I am never without a book in my hand, I even read as I push my shopping cart from aisle to aisle. And sadly enough it is a source of wonder to Malaysian at large that I read, illustrated by a nurse fascination that I am always reading when it is my turn to sit with mom, as she was peeping at my book title she was curiously asking why I read so much, and trying to be polite and cut the explanation short, I just said I am an English teacher, lol, what a mistake, because she spend the next 15 minutes expressing her shock and asking me whether I am old enough to teach others, I think she thought I have just finished my SPM or something. Hmm imagine that to be 18 again, lol. I guess it was lucky I did not tell her, I am old enough to teach others how to teach, lol, I think that would have given her a heart attack. Ooh I am getting sidetracked, you guys don’t need to hear, how often I am thought to be younger than I am, flattering as that may be, hehehe, what I wanted to write today is why I am kind of limited in my reading material and how those I love, namely Phil and Dad, are trying to change that, and of course why I read at all.

Compared to kids today who are enrolled in a Smart Reader program as young 3-4 years old, I was 6 years old when I started reading when I was enrolled officially in the kindergarten. I have always wanted to go to school, I don’t know exactly how old my obsession with schooling started, but Mom told me as soon as I can talk, I can identify a school building and excitedly call out “Toyah”, my childish version of the pronunciation of sekolah (malay for school). It wasn’t long before I was harassing my parents for school uniform and of course to be enrolled in school. Back then it was quite hard, there were no pre-school programs available for three years old, kids start kindergarten at age 6 and that was it, especially in the rural areas. But I can be very ruthless when I want something, so my parents somehow would find sympathetic Tadika KEMAS teachers who would let me sit in for a day or two, which would satisfy me for a while. So the year I can officially go to kindergarten and wear the uniform and be there for the whole day at school, five days a week, you can imagine, how excited I was and explain the speed of how I went from learning ABC to spelling words out and by the end of the month mouthing aloud a full sentence.

Of course I couldn’t put the speed down just to my enthusiasm, I was always surrounded by books, my parents were always reading and they look like they were having fun when they read, they don’t exactly read aloud to me, I don’t remember that, but both mom and dad would tell me fascinating stuffs and stories and it was obvious they get that from the countless of books and reading materials they read from. I was frustrated I could not access all of these whenever I want to, Mom is almost always busy with housework and Dad often travelled for work, so this is also a factor that made me want to read. Funnily enough the first time I read aloud a whole sentence (hmm, not a whole sentence if I recall correctly, actually a long title of a novel) it was a non-event, Mom was ironing, and ironing was not her favourite thing to do, I excitedly took a novel and read aloud the long title without spelling out or stumbling on it, hoping for a standing ovation from Mom, no less, and all Mom said “Okay, Along that’s enough go and have your bath.” (Or something to that effect, lol, I can’t recall her exact words, but I remember her waving it aside, like it was something that happened all the time.)

Despite the fact that my ability to read did not impress Mom, I wasn’t put off from reading, the words on the pages, the stories it could tell, the places it could bring me, fascinated me. From that moment my love affair with the written words begun and I haven’t fell out of love with it yet or ever will I think. We moved around a lot and I changed school a lot and I was a shy girl, but as long as the school have a library decent or not I was never lonely, the books were my friends. When I was young I read everything, anything I can lay my hands on I read, of course Mom introduced me to children’s classics – abridged versions and originals, Enid Blyton, Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys. I remember one year near the end of the school year, I was kind of upset because I have borrowed almost every single book in the school library and thinking what can I read next year? So when we moved yet again all I could think was a brand new school library to explore.

Of course Dad made sure I was provided with all the reading materials I need, he wondered all around KL looking for book sales and contacted friends like uncle Johan who was working as an editor in DBP then, who would give dad a whole box of misprinted copy of novels published by DBP, so I would be happy for about two weeks, devouring 2 or 3 novels a day. And when I was about nine I started stealing a read from Mom’s collection of Mills and Boons, which she thought was too adult for me, but as usual my stubbornness wins, and Mom lets me read it with a reminder to come to her if I am curious about anything, lol. I guess that started me on the road to reading romance novel, as I turned 13 I discovered Sweet Dreams series, and I found them more appealing to my teen self, and I guess Mom was relieved enough I let her M&B collection alone that she’ll let me buy as many Sweet Dreams books I want. But of course I was still supplementing my readings with library books, and biography of famous inventors and scientist was a favourite.

I think the depression I suffered right before SRP, started my limited choice of reading materials, Dad from personal experience and from looking after Mom with her schizophrenia was very reluctant to send me to be treated by psychiatrist here, so he decided to guide me himself through my first depression. What he did was, talking to me a lot and brought me on a visiting tour of our favourite places in Malaysia and supplied me with a lot of light reading materials, especially my favourite romance writers, I found that escaping into this fantasy happy-ever-after world helps calm my troubled soul and it help me manage my emotional turmoil. So in effect Dad found the perfect drug for me, addictive but not destructive, and it does not dull my mind or my reflexes or make so sleepy I can’t go to school, and from that moment on, books more specifically junk books, become a need, like the air that I breathe or the food that I eat. The only side-effect to Dad’s dismay is that I seem to be limiting my scope; I stick to books I can escape with and stopped reading non-fiction unless it is for school. The reason for that is mainly non-fiction tend to make me think and what I need from books was to stop me thinking, because when I start thinking too much, I get depress easily and I don’t like being depress, so I avoid non-fiction unless it is a feel good story etc.

So there I was faced with an upset boyfriend, wondering why I would be so nonchalant or uncaring about a book in which the subject he is passionate about and a book he made a point of reading quickly so he could leave it for me to read and talk about it with him, at lost to explain the reasons why. I apologized to him of course and promised him I would read it, and I did and the book was interesting and opened my eyes to a lot of things, but I kept thinking how to explain why I read the way I read. (If that make sense, lol). So there, Phil, Hun, this is my long overdue explanation, and it actually was fun writing it, lol, gave me a break from crying while writing. :)

I miss you Mummy 5

Yesterday was the 40th day since Mummy was called home, so after sending Adik to work, and having auntie Jen so graciously taking leave from work and lending her car, Daddy, Abang, Auntie and I pack in the car with two pots of plants we’ve been nurturing for about a month, shovel and a cooler bag full of drinks and head off to Chenor.

It was an uneventful drive, gave me plenty of time to think, memories peppered each landmark, and actually threatened to overcome my concentration, so I sang myself hoarse, so I could drive us safely there. We had breakfast along the way, so arrived at the graveyard around 12.30 p.m. The weather was exceptional yesterday, it was drizzling as we were driving, but by the time we arrived, it had stopped and because of that the sun was hidden by clouds so it wasn’t that hot. When we arrive Dad and Abang got to business, Abang raking the leaves and dad started raising the ground of mom’s grave using the shovel we bought the day before.



Dad and Abang spelled each other from time to time, it was hard work, the soil was wet so it was heavy to lift, but around 1.30 p.m., they were nearly done, the only thing left was to plant the plants we brought plus the plant in the pot I left 39 days ago. I was playing camera woman while all this hard work was going on and it was hard too because I kept being bitten by ants and going through the mud in my sandal was hard work. After the grave was done to Dad’s satisfaction, Dad recited Al-Fatihah and prayed, and so we said goodbye to Mummy yet again.




As we were cleaning up and packing things back up Dad told me to go back to the grave and take full shot of the grave. So I went and being alone, my tears could not be dam up anymore; I cried and told Mummy how much I miss her again and again. I think I took more angles of FS than required by Dad, but I guess Dad in his instinctive way, yet again, give me the chance to grieve privately.



Actually it was harder driving back, because we drove to Temerloh and that route hold so many memories, and going through the bridge was hard, Mom, Dad and I have a history on a drive to that bridge (maybe I’ll write about it someday), I think whatever part of my heart that has healed since broke again and I guess my bubble basket have to be back hard at work collecting the pieces.

After arriving safely at home, from a drive that took all my stubborn will to concentrate on, and after eating dinner, I distracted myself with WOW and Facebook games, Dad told me to sleep around midnite, I capitulated , but I kept tossing and turning, I can’t sleep. Abang had trouble sleeping as well, I talked to him about Mummy until he fell asleep but I myself can’t enter that sweet unconscious dreamland. So I did what I usually do when I can’t sleep and I need to, I texted Phil, unburden what was in my mind and cried myself to sleep. I miss you Mummy.

I Miss You Mummy 4

As we were putting away groceries and preparing lunch yesterday, after Daddy and Auntie Jen returned from the market, Auntie commented that we have a lot of salted eggs that we have not cooked, and my mind just suddenly thought of the many times I had to forbid Mom from eating salted eggs and other salty stuff, because I was afraid it would aggravate her hypertension, all I wanted was to prolong her life, but at that moment all I felt was regret that I didn’t let mom enjoy all the food that she love while she was alive. It was hard not to bawl out in front of everyone right there and then.

There are days like that when the weirdest things trigger the tears, it could be seeing Mom’s empty pill box or it could just be a fleeting memory that makes me real sad. I wonder if it will always be that way, Phil keep telling me its normal and the pain will lessen in time, but would that mean I’d forget, Abang asked me a couple of weeks ago, would he forget? He is afraid that he’ll forget Mom, because he says as time passed memories has become a blur and he is afraid the memories would disappear. I just assured him that he’ll never forget the important stuff, things might go fuzzy but his memory of Mummy’s love will always be there. I don’t know, it is tough, I have no idea how to steer everyone including me in this unfamiliar waters, I am just dealing with it, moment by moment, day by day. I have been thinking a lot what to write, the memories been swirling, but again having problem putting it all down, I wish February is here, so I could just talk it out with Phil, I think it’ll be easier talking it out, writing it out all alone is too lonely for me at the moment.

I don’t know, I’ll try again I guess, one of these days soon, because every time I wrote, I feel less tense, it is good for me, but as usual there have to be little pain for the great gain. Till I can write again, I miss you Mummy.

I Miss You Mummy 3

Mom and me had a weird dynamic, me stubborn and mom ignoring that stubbornness, and sometimes her ignoring my stubbornness leads to big disaster that led to some of my biggest life’s lesson, which worked out fine apart from a hospital trip or two :P, unlike dad who does not tolerate at all my stubbornness which basically make me dump all my stubbornness on mom, lol. Why am I stubborn? I don’t really know, I think it was my grandma who told me (could be other relatives, lol, I can’t really recall) that if a person has a mole behind her ear, it shows that the person was born stubborn, well I don’t know if it is true, but the thing is I have a mole behind both ears, so that is where the family is blaming my stubbornness on, and teasingly saying I am doubly stubborn. But if you look at it, mom told me I was a week or two early, mom fell in the bathroom one day, and I decided that was the perfect time for me to make my loud entrance into the world, so from day one I stubbornly refused to follow the schedule that was prepared for me, mom should have known from then on I am going to drag her from one stubborn tantrum after another, but I guess mom and dad didn’t, because they chose a sweet, demure third name for me (why I never liked being called Ayu, lol).

Anyway, the accident I had when I was 3 years old was because I was stubborn , I know mom blamed herself, but honestly it had to be blamed on my two moles, lol. We were living with Tok Jamilah (my maternal grandmother) then, across the street was my auntie’s house, I adored playing with my cousin who was one year older, so most of the time I’d be there. One day mom thought I have been at Mak Ngah’s house too long, so she came over to fetch me. Of course I refused, so mom bribed me by promising that she’d make banana fritters and Milo, my favourite snack at the time, and I reluctantly said goodbye and took Mom’s left hand, she was carrying 6 months old adik on her right. While we were waiting to cross, I had the bright idea to show mom how clever I was, despite being told and impressed upon a thousand times to never let go of my parents’ or an adult’s hand while crossing the road, I that day stubbornly did so and ran across the road as fast as I could as shown by my much older cousin, De Fidah, (I forgot the part where she showed to look, left and right first, not that I could tell my left and right, I just remember the run, lol), the thing was I made it safely across the road and as I was triumphantly turning to show mom what a clever girl I was, I flew into the air, yeah that was all I could recall now, how I flew into the air after the motorbike hit me, I can’t recall the impact, or the pain when the tip of my right little finger was blendered by the wheel, all I remembered was how I was thrown into the air and how time seems to have stopped and the absolute horrified look mom had. A look that stayed with me my whole life, which has stopped me doing a lot of foolish things, not all of course, I still have a lot to learn, but that accident taught me, to never let go of my parents hand when they are guiding me, even if I think I was too old for it, and of course it also taught me my left and right, lol, till today I still feel for that lost tip on my right hand little finger to make sure which is right or left.

Well I have a lot more stories of my stubbornness and how mom dealt with it, like why I hate my middle name so much, but I guess that is for another day, because again I am flooded by too many images to make it out into words. Till the next time then, I miss you Mummy.

I Miss You Mummy 2

After writing I Miss You Mummy ;( the other day, I had a talk with Phil. I was telling him I was worried that I might not be grieving properly, that I would wake up one day and totally lose it. He says he thinks I have not suppressed my grief, just that I don’t wallow in it, but taking me seriously he suggested I continue writing down my feelings, memories about mom, and he even added, I don’t even have to blog it, unless I want to, that made me smile, he knows I post almost anything on my blog, let’s face it not a lot of people would be interested in reading my infrequent updated blog which most of the time talk about me and my problems, the only people that read are Phil (when I make him, lol), my sister and a few close friends, whom I would share what I post anyway.

But the thing is I can’t write, memories been swirling around but I find no threads to tie them up, I can’t make it comprehensible, which make Phil’s way of getting drunk and talking about it easier to swallow, lol, since he and I both know that way is kind of close to me, so only writing it out is my only avenue. I tried really hard, especially the night I couldn’t sleep, I wrote How Do I ... a poem about my last hour with mom, it made me cry and actually till now I am still crying inside when I am with the family and real tears when I am alone, but I don’t think I am successful at keeping my sadness from them because everyone seems gloomier these 2 days.

Well anyway, what memories have been swirling apart from that vivid last moments, well that is just it, myriads of them, of the image of mom with my large bamboo cane given by a village gangster when daddy was shooting in Rembau, the cane was nearly 6 feet long and 2 inch thick, and there was mom in all her 5 feet 1 inch height using it to threaten me about what she is willing to do if I don’t go to school, and there I was, rebellious 15, who knew very well that cane will never touch me, but looking at sweet mom and know how badly she wants me to behave and not succumb to the sweet seduction of uncontrollable emotions, so I obeyed and till today the legend of mom carrying a large bamboo cane and harrying me to school remains in the family history.

And there was the time when I was away at university and trying to cook dinner for my housemates, I had to call mom 7 times just to find out if I am cooking her Kangkung Belacan correctly. The whole family still get a good laugh about that. I guess there’s just something in me who believed mom will always be there to cook up all my favourite food and only she can do it right, which stops me from learning all her recipes right, it takes me a long time to be able to make gulai, asam pedas, kangkung goreng belacan, just like she does it, because once I can she won’t do it anymore, saying I can do it now why don’t I make it for her, so I never did. I don’t think it is because I can’t cook or anything, I can learn and adapt a lot of recipes as long as it isn’t mom’s, or my sis would just say, I am just plain lazy, lol, by saying mom’s better, I never have to cook. But what can I say, it does taste better when mom cooks, mine just lack something. So when I was chatting with Phil, a few days after mom passed, I was telling him there’s so many things yet I haven’t learn from mom, and I think he was worried I would say women’s stuff, and so he ask what things? And he laughed when I said, “hmm right now, mostly I think of food.” And the thing is, it made us kids really sad, that we’ll never taste her Laksa Lemak, Ikan Sarak, Nasi Minyak, not that we haven’t helped her or watched her cook all this but we thought that there were still time for her to impart all this. One of the projects that we keep postponing is me typing out all the recipes that mom keeps in her head; well I guess that is what happen when you procrastinate.

Well I guess these two memories would have to do for now, before the myriad of others starts to confuse me on the deatails, anyway, can’t type through the tears anymore, but I guess will continue when the memories get too much in my head and I need to unburden again. I miss you Mummy.

How do I...

I wanted so much for you to stay,
I prayed and prayed
asking for more time
I whispered how I love you
and wasn’t ready to let you go
but at the end
I love you too much
to make you stay
I told you to go
I begged Him to take you
and as I sat quietly
watching you go
my heart broke the moment yours stop
I barely heard what the doctor said
I think a part of me went with you
I miss you so much
How do I go on without you?

rya
3/12/10
3.01 am