TODAY - ON MY BIRTHDAY

Today is my birthday - on this 20th day in May. How do I feel? It is just another day. But then again...

By all accounts - I am old. Old enough to acknowledge it and not be embarrassed about admitting it. In fact, it's liberating. On many fronts.

I am no longer in a hurry to achieve this and that. That phase in my life - of pursuing dreams, of realizing ambitions - is long gone. Knowing well that we cannot undo the past nor can we foretell the future, it is best not to dwell on the what-ifs and what-might-have been.  So, I live in the present, and focus on the here and now. After all, at this point in my life, energy is a much-prized item. Why waste it dwelling on things we cannot control?

Could I have done better? Should I have done more? Or should I have done things differently?Maybe. But life should not be about regrets. It is about having done the best that we possibly could with whatever was at our disposal at that point in time. It's about moving on - from one phase to another - with acceptance and equanimity.

I am no longer bothered by so many things that had plagued the younger me. Some things that were once important to me - I now regard as trivial because I am none the worse for not doing or having them. Someone said this: "The most important things in life are not things." I know that to be true now. 

As I got older, I have always abided by this precept in life - 'you are your own best judge'. Other peoples' opinions are just that - opinions - that have little or no bearing on the person that you are. My mother taught me this. It is better to live by one's own standards and principles than that set by others.

I have come to accept that my skin is sagging, and I have crow's feet; the laugh lines aren't there only when I laugh. My age spots seem to multiply by the day. On bad days, I look like I'm frowning even when I'm not. Keeping my weight down has become a constant struggle. It is not so much a matter of maintaining a waistline, but more a health concern so as not to overload my knees at least. Looks are not everything; right now, it is the least of my worry.

Going by what is current, there aren't many styles of clothes or shoes that will fit me. I do believe that dressing should be age-appropriate, and that limits my choice these days. The stores don't make clothes for people my age; maybe they think we shouldn't bother about clothes. Moreover, I am not the shape I used to be, and the inability to adapt to the change would make me look ridiculous. But then again I don't feel the need to make an impression on any one or any occasion. I dress to please me; I am comfortable in my own skin. 

Having said that, I am far from letting go. Personal grooming has always been a priority, and I think one should look as good as one can at any age. Not "good" as prescribed by the magazines and the media, but good for one's age. At the very least, I try to dress for the occasion and without having to try too hard. The over-riding concern now is comfort, not trend.

You see, at this age that I am, I can be philosophical about life. That's a privilege only if you have clocked this many years of life as I have.

I have one regret though - that  in my younger days I did not know enough to know that life will take its course, no matter what we do; and we can only weather it the best way we can without fretting, lamenting or agonizing over matters that would soon become trivial at the end of it all.

I have this luxury now. And the luxury of time to think and do as I deem fit. And that alone is liberating!

IT'S NOT OVER...

Yesterday I attended the Yassin-reading session which has been a monthly affair for the last two years. It is always well-attended, not least because - I suspected - it is always accompanied by lunch. In all fairness, though, most of the regulars are ladies who are retired, with time on their hands. So it started off with the customary salam, and air kisses and hugs between the more familiar ones. I had been absent from the occasion over the last two months since the MH370 incident, so I was mostly greeted by the 'long time no see' phrase. Those in the know offered condolences with looks that expressed sympathy. While I detected some genuine concern, some were touched more than others when their eyes glistened with tears even as I tried hard to fight back my own. This was the reason I had avoided company other than family for the past twelve weeks. I knew that I could not bear the expressions of sympathy in words or in looks. Nor can I talk about it like another topic of conversation. How could I? They have disappeared without trace. And it is a disappearance hinging on ambiguity. People ask me questions but what answers do I give them when I have nagging questions of my own that beg to be answered. The situation has become incomprehensible.

Most asked after my son well aware that he is the one most affected by the missing flight. What should I have told them? That he was alright and carrying on as normal when I know that that couldn't be further from the truth? His life has been torn apart within the blink of an eye. How normal could his life be when he has lost his wife of one year, his mother-in-law and sister-in-law all in one go? He is devastated, depressed and dejected beyond description. So I told them this. Outwardly, he seems to be bearing up well. He does not walk around with a crestfallen face, making every one around him miserable with grief. Nor is he moping around, wallowing in self-pity. And for this alone, I should be grateful. Perhaps, I told them, acceptance has set in for him, and he is trying his best to move on.

But I didn't tell them that I also see another side of him - that he tries to fill up every minute of his waking hours as if to avoid being alone with himself and his thoughts. He is making himself busy - as though with a vengeance. I worry that this 'busy-ness' will take its toll on him. Where food is concerned, he has thrown caution to the wind, and this worries me too. It might be his way of dealing with his grief - binge-eating for comfort. Sadly, I don't know how to help him deal with the situation.

Every time I talk about this incident, my heart breaks. The pain comes surging back; the tears flow easily - like it was just yesterday. I know that as a Muslim, I should resign to Fate; that as His creation, we will return to the Creator as and when He wills it. That we can propose, while He disposes. That we can only pray for His compassion and mercy. 

It is three months today. Clearly, I have not reconciled to the loss, much less get over it. Will I ever? It is easier said than done.

A PAINFUL WAIT

It's the 57th day today. And I am still waiting for news; at least, to know the whereabouts of the plane. I must admit this is the longest and the most difficult wait in my life - weeks of anguish and frustration. What began with hope has turned to despair. And every time I see my son, as he puts on a brave front and some semblance of normalcy in his life, I go to pieces. And that's me. How do you think he feels, losing a beloved wife, a mother-in-law and sister-in-law all in one go? Excruciating doesn't  even begin to describe the heartbreak and pain he must be going through. 

I am stymied by the disappearance of the plane.  We hail our smartphones, GPS, radars, satellites and what-have-you tracking devices as milestones in our technological advancement. Yet weeks of intensive and extensive search have come to nought. The state-of-the-art instruments of connectivity that we gloat about has been rendered  useless in this case. What's even worse is knowing now that when you are in the plane going somewhere, for much of the time, the flight is not even monitored! 'Out of sight, out of mind' kind of situation - staggering thought!

 For me, and surely for everyone else with loved ones on board, the uncertainty is mind-boggling, jolting our emotions into alternating highs and lows. And that is not yet taking into consideration the plethora of theories associated with the plane's disappearance. When no answer is forthcoming from the powers that be, I have been tempted to contemplate these theories that range from electrical malfunction to the political, the conspiratorial and the bizarre. 

Politics and the world of political intrigue are beyond me. For me, they remain the stuff of Hollywood movies bent on stirring up the imagination. Yet, out of a desperate need for answers, I am drawn to the theories, a couple of which are seemingly plausible. Could something have been done at the expense of innocent lives just to realise an objective? It doesn't help that findings from investigations purportedly undertaken have not been revealed. So the possibilities are endless. But for the sake of preserving my sanity, I refrain from dwelling on these conjectures. They are after all speculation - nothing concrete, nothing definitive - they do not provide the answers that I crave for; they do nothing to ease the pain. 

The state of not-knowing only reinforces the mystery and ambiguity that shroud the disappearance of the plane. What would it take to unravel the mystery that has resulted in a long-drawn ordeal for us - the families of the 239 passengers and crew of flight MH370? After 57 days, we remain as clueless and helpless as we did on Saturday 8 March 2014.

I believe that nothing is impossible if Allah wills it; and The Almighty has His reasons. It might simply be beyond the comprehension of us mere mortals. I accept the impermanence of life and all that He has pre-ordained. But that does not obliterate the need to know. I want an explanation.

What will it come to in the end? Who is responsible? Was it a hijack, a sabotage, a malfunction? Will we ever know the truth of what actually happened during that routine flight to Beijing? Questions abound but the answers remain elusive. Still, we wait with bated breath for some form of discovery or disclosure that can provide us with a sense of closure. For my son, life will never be the same; the road to recovery will be long and hard. I, meanwhile, will continue to grieve because I cannot help it. Not a day goes by that I do not think and pray for my daughter-in-law, her mother, her sister and her aunt - passengers on board the ill-fated flight MH370.

Al-fatehah. 

To My Husband - On Our 33rd Anniversary

I thank Allah

For so many things

For the countless blessings

But above all

For the gift of you

How can I not?

You - gentle and considerate

With nary a harsh word

You - strong and supportive

Reassuring and attentive

With laughter to temper each passing day

It's your way to keep problems at bay

You make light of the burden you carry

So I would not have reason to worry

You rejoice in simple things

Like prawn fritters and the afternoon rain

You delight in the bloom of a new flower

As you would the sound of a child's laughter

You prize sincerity and honesty

Hard work and integrity

Not for you the pretensions and pomposity

And certainly not breaches of courtesy

Your humility humbles me

Your openness endearing

Your warmth beguiles me

Your selflessness amazing

Magnanimity is you

Kindness and forbearance too

You are your own person

And you make it right 

For me to be me

For 33 years

I feel the love

That give me cause to celebrate

The every day that I am your wife.

Alhamdulillah

A Lingering Farewell

Yours was a farewell

Without goodbye

No parting words

No final wave

No teary eye.

But you left behind

A numbing pain

With every breath we take

With the very mention of your name.

We endure...

Distressful days

Sleepless nights

Weeks of anxiety

Fraught with questions

Riddled with speculations

Toyed with our emotions.

Yet no answers came

To stoke our fading hope

Futile search only deepens the mystery

And underlie the ambiguity.

As hope turns to despair

Optimism to fatalism

Patience to desperation

We cling to prayer

And memories of you.

My Melaka-Nyonya friend

Jessie had come back to Kuala Lumpur for the Chinese New Year, and I was hellbent on meeting her before she returns home to Sydney in a couple of days. We decided to do lunch at KLCC (where else?) since it was within walking distance of her accommodation. So there we were, gaggling and giggling, like we used to do some 40 over years ago. Nothing seems changed as though time had stood still for us. (Except now we have a husband and children to talk about!).

I first met Jessie when we were both 'freshies' in the University of Malaya. As undergraduates, we stayed at the same residential college which became our second home for three years. Friends therefore was an essential component that could make life away from home that much more tolerable. And she did that for me with the warmth of her friendship. Friendly, funny and fearless was the Jessie I grew fond of. Make no mistakes; rub her the wrong way and you would receive a backlash that would leave you cringing. While she could be disarmingly charming, she was no pushover, I can tell you that. But it was probably her openness and non-judgemental attitude that made me comfortable in her company. And a talent for drawing that I envy to this day. She made drawing seemed effortless. Jessie was my introduction to the Baba-Nyonya community, and she provided a glimpse of their culture through her 'nyonya' accented ways, complete with slang (and curse words) and all! 

As fate would have it, she and her family now live in Sydney. Our meetings since we left university have been few and far between. In fact when we were both younger and busy building a career and raising a family, we hardly communicated. But the seed of friendship had been sown during our undergraduate years. On the strength of that alone, we could pick up where we left off. Yesterday, over a shared plate of char kwei teow and fried mixed vege, we reminisced our days in the 3rd Residential College.

As I looked at her walking away, I noticed that her manner of walking has not changed either - fast and purposeful - the gait of someone with a task to complete.  

To A Very Dear Sister

Yesterday                    

You lay stretched out on the bed
Legs apart - pillowless.
Your head turned to the wall
And remained so - motionless.
You were calm - as if in sleep
But emotionless.

I called your name
But you heard me not.
I stroked your hand
But you heeded me not.
Who suffers now?
I know not if you could speak
But chose not to.
Or if you could hear
But refused to.

Had you numbed your feelings
To obscure the pain
To harden the senses?
Were you imagining another world
Like you used to do
Where things would work out fine
When things were in fact askew?
This time I asked that you fake a smile
So I would know there was still a bit of you.

Was I intruding?
As you shut your eyes
Deny your feelings
To shut out the world
That was no longer bliss
No longer meaningful for what was left of you.

Only days ago
You spoke; slowly and haltingly
But unmistakably.
Yesterday your silence was loud
And I miss you already.

For a start...

After a self-imposed exile of almost 4 years, I am back on blogger sphere, determined to pursue my love of writing that has taken a back seat to so many other things in my life. Not that I'm prompted by a need to share with other (likely?) readers on the Net. Nor has my life taken on proportions of the epic or spectacular that I should shout it out. Unlikely so. In fact, if anything, it is as mundane as it gets. So, I will write about the everyday in my life - the insignificant, the trivial, the uneventful, the boring... and then some.

On the upside, I have time on my hands - to do exactly as I pleased when I am out of work (translating/editing). Which on some days may manifest into something creative, like painting, writing poems or moving and rearranging furniture; and sometimes, something useful and practical like cooking and cleaning. If nothing else beckons, there is always reading. Give me a book any time!

Like the one I picked up yesterday in Kinokuniya KLCC which wasn't by accident actually. I have a list of 'books to buy' on my Iphone Notes and this was one of them. I can't remember now how it came to be, but there it was. I have a knack of doing Lists/Notes that run the gamut from 'Boutiques/Stores/Places/Hotels to Visit',  'Things to buy/Check out', to 'Words/Phrases' that pique my interest whenever I come across them in magazines, newspapers or TV. The Customer Service girl was nice enough to get it for me from somewhere in the store after my initial disappointment of being told that the first book I asked for was 'out-of-stock'. Mind you, they don't always GET it for you; on many other occasions, I was merely given a piece of paper with the location of the shelf on which you could find the book. Which doesn't always work out. You find the shelf easily enough but not the book in question. Having been a librarian, I know only too well how books can go missing from its designated place on the shelf!

Looking at the book in hand, I think it must have been the title that attracted me - "Behind the beautiful forevers". Doesn't that stir up your imagination? It did mine - enough to buy the book which for RM49.90 and a paperback was not cheap. The cover also says 'Life, death and hope in a Mumbai slum'. Hmmm... India can't be the only country with slums; but somehow the Mumbai slums seem to provide endless fodder for writers, fiction and non-fiction alike. This is Katherine Boo's first book, and judging by the reviews on the back cover will certainly not be her last. So this, hopefully, will take  care of my time for the next couple of days. Or hours, at least.