BOOK TALK

Judging by the number of people that came, some as early as an hour before the time scheduled, it was a much anticipated event. Ipoh was to be Clare-Newcastle Brown's last stop in the book tour. I was simply glad that they decided to include Ipoh which has often been bypassed for such events which usually gives priority to KL or Penang. I was one of the eager-beavers having been told to come early lest I might not get a seat. As it turned out, the Tower Regency Hotel's ballroom was large enough to hold more than the anticipated crowd.

For a crowd it was - largely made up of Ipoh residents who were mostly middle-aged and beyond. Of course there were some younger ones too. Before Clare's arrival, a corner of the Hall was set up to sell "The Sarawak Report" - the very book she had written and had come to launch. Needless to say, the book was a sellout, even at RM80. Now, who was it who said that Ipoh-ites are a miserly bunch? Those who couldn't get a copy had to get on the waiting list - the reprints would be on the way.

The minute Clare started speaking, she held the audience in the palm of her hand. The subject matter of her Book has obviously piqued everyone's interest, and who better to talk about it than the lady who had uncovered it all in the first place. It was like hearing from the horse's mouth. You could hear a pin drop from the rapt attention she was getting from the audience. Clare spoke calmly and distinctly - in that unmistakably British manner - and never for a moment brought attention to herself except the issue at hand. Members of the audience were ready with their questions and the Q&A session could have gone on forever. But, there's only so much that she could say in an hour's talk. After all, everything's in the Book. She has given it 3 years of her life, in the face of intimidation, threats and risk to personal safety. The least we can do is READ it, and make our own deductions.

For me, it was a morning well-spent. Not only did I get another book to read, but one signed by none other than the author herself - priceless.

MOVING ON...

It is 4 years 6 months since the disappearance of flight MH370 on 8 March 2014. In a month's time, my son - whose wife was on the flight - will marry again. It is hard to describe how I feel because my feelings are mixed. After 3 years there was a time when I worried that he might not be able to move on with his life in terms of starting anew with someone else. As a mother, it was my biggest fear. Even today, I cannot put the incident out of my mind, so how can I expect him to? Some days it is still fresh as if it was only yesterday. They had only been married a year and had just celebrated their first anniversary. In a cruel twist of fate, what was supposed to be a brief trip to Beijing in the company of her mother, elder sister and an aunt, turned out to be one of no return. While it hadn't been easy for us, I can only imagine the heartbreak it was for my son. But he soldiered on, burying himself in work and returning to the home they shared late at night, so as to find solace in sleep. It must have been one hell of loneliness.

In the beginning, when the media was at its frenzy covering the flight's disappearance, coupled with the hordes of theories from every source imaginable, we told him that it was best to avoid watching TV or any form of coverage of the incident. The uncertainty and  confusion would only wear him out. And to only await news from MAS or official sources. To his credit, he bore the years that followed with perseverance. He showed more fortitude than I thought he had; never once did he give up or wallow in self-pity. He seemed calm - at least outwardly - and took the tribulation in his stride. For us who are closest to him, he had become a tad quieter and his laughter, if it came at all, was forced and hollow. He had grieved in silence. Finally, the loneliness must have got to him. He started dating his soon-to-be wife a year ago - 3 years after the incident - and they got engaged last April. It wasn't easy for him; he had his moments of hesitation before taking that step. After all, it was going to be another milestone in his life. He is 35 and should be in the prime of his life, building a career and a family.

I am happy for him. Alhamdulillah, he is moving on. I pray to the Almighty that he be given the happiness he deserves, in lieu of the one that was so suddenly taken from him. I want to hear his hearty laugh again. Insyaallah.

Picking Up Where I left Off

Today I feel better than I had been feeling for the past 3-4 days. I had some kind of mild contractions in my stomach which caused frequent visits to the bathroom. In between, I had the chills which forced me to take Nurofen every 6 hours or so because I did not want to visit the doctor. I believe some kind of virus must have assaulted me and caused chaos in my tummy, leaving me listless, lethargic with not much of an appetite. Unproductive would also be an accurate way of describing the condition I was in.

Not that I had been doing anything very much before this. During the last few months, my attempt at writing short stories got derailed somewhat for no apparent reason other than procrastination and lack of motivation. I had come to a point when I was questioning if I should be writing at all. I mean, what's the point? I had not been making any headway so far. Despite the amount of reading up on the craft, through books and websites, I was nowhere near to knowing if I was on the right track. All that information makes me more confused and frustrated. 

Postings on my Instagram and Twitter have been sluggish too lately. Perhaps I'm lacking material to make up the content? I have treated these platforms as my writing outlet. I may not be able to write at length there, but the postings still require some thought to put them into a readable and coherent form.

The only thing I kept going was reading. Maybe I was meant to be a reader, not a writer! I had bought some books on my last trip to the UK in April, and I have been catching up on those. Then of course the arrival of "The Billion Dollar Whale" on Malaysian shores this week cast everything else aside. I finished the almost 400-page book within 2 days. Once I started on it, it wasn't easy to put it down. Could be due to a couple of reasons, not least of which, the subject matter! First - it is readable with clear and easy-to-understand language. In view of the subject matter, which could be daunting to a non-financial person like me, perhaps it was the intention of the writers to break it down into more comprehensible terms. They certainly succeeded there. I've no intention of doing a review of the book here, but suffice to say, it is a good read - believe it or not!    

Yesterday Voice370 issued a press statement expressing their disappointment that the Malaysian Government has chosen to remain silent again. This time regarding the offer from a US company that they would like to embark on the search for the missing plane now that Australia (ATSB and CSIRO) has redefined the search area further north of where they had been searching all this while. The offer amounted to something like 'no-find, no-pay' which I thought was pretty reasonable and KIND. Why then is Malaysia not taking it up? I'm equally sad and disappointed. Which leads me to question its sincerity in wanting to recover the plane. Some parties earlier had already suggested some form of 'cover up' on Malaysia's part. The present stance is definitely open to question, doesn't it? In the first place, what was your real reason for ending the search? Surely money spent - no matter the amount - on looking for the plane can be justified in more ways than you can think of. We are talking about human lives here -isn't that reason enough?

Please consider this. The incident is entering its 4th year and we are nowhere near to getting any form of answers as to what happened to the plane and its 239 passengers. You might choose to sidestep the incident but don't expect that we - family and friends of those on board - can do the same. Do you even have the faintest idea of how we have coped for the last 3 years without the slightest inkling as to what happened to our loved ones? 'Difficult' can hardly begin to describe our torment.Things might have seemed normal to you, and that we have weathered the worst. We all grieve in our own way, some more demonstrative than others; but believe you me, we GRIEVE....and will continue until the day we know what happened to flight MH370 and why it ended the way it did.

You say you empathize, and that you feel for us. Words alone won't do; actions speak louder than words. Your silence amounts to inertia, and it doesn't augur well for you, much less for the future of our nation as our Merdeka Day looms around the corner.

BECOMING A WRITER

I thought now is the time for me to pursue my writing ambition. It might be late - considering my age - to even harbour an ambition. But, as long as I am fit in mind and body, why not? Didn't George Eliot say "It's never too late to be what you might have been"? Back in 2014, I had decided that I would not take on any more translation assignments once 2015 set in so that I could focus on writing for myself. What that essentially means is that I would set about embarking on a vocation that revolves around writing, and see what and how far that would get me. Don't get me wrong; it wasn't a spur of the moment decision, nor was it a 'whim and fancy' thingy. I admit it wasn't a childhood ambition. It was something I was drawn to and considered upon leaving university. But I had allowed other demands to derail my pursuit of a writing life. Until now.

Virginia Woolfe said: "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction". Well, at this point in my life, I still don't have money, but with a husband, thankfully, I know where my next meal is coming from. What I do have is a 'room'. By the latter, I think Woolfe meant that a writer must have a place to write - be it a room or a corner in the house, or a cafe even (remember J.K Rowling?) - where she would be most comfortable writing. I have created my own work space in the house. I need quiet to read and write, but that really is not a problem since there's only my husband and I at home. Most times, for a greater part of the day, I am on my own. So, conducive to writing, right? But, don't forget - I still have  the housekeeping chores and cooking which demand my time (and energy). I simply have to be smart about balancing my time. I don't need to clean house every day, and some days, I find an excuse not to cook!  

With time on my hands now, it is only right that I should use it to awaken my dormant dream and not fritter it away. Having time alone won't cut it - as I've discovered. What you need more is self-discipline.  When I was doing translations, I had deadlines to meet - which in a way kept me watching the time. When you find that time is at your disposal, it is so easy to get distracted. There's the TV, for instance. Although I'm not a TV addict, I do like watching documentaries on Discovery and Nat. Geo channels, so my excuse is to watch them when I need a break. The worst is of course the phone and the Internet. When I'm trying to write, I put my phone on silent mode although it is only an arm's length away. I also mute all notifications on my WhatsApp Groups except for my family chat group - in case of emergencies that need my  immediate attention. I'm also easily tempted to surf the Net for info or research, so I try to manage this by allotting a certain day or time for it without it interfering with my writing time.

As a newbie in writing, I tend to read a lot about the craft which keeps me from actually writing. I'm beginning to realize that there's only so much that I can read, and the simple fact of the matter is to just sit down and WRITE. Which is what I'm doing (even if it's just a blog post!).

MH370 - three years after.

In a few days - on 8 March 2017 - it will be the 3rd anniversary of the disappearance of Flight MH370. Among the 239 passengers on that fateful flight were my daughter-in-law, her mother, sister and aunt. To date, they are still missing. Extensive search in the Indian Ocean over the past two years has not yielded anything by way of the plane or its passengers. Meanwhile, we are as far away from solving the mystery of the plane's disappearance as we had been on the day it disappeared. While questions abound, answers continue to elude us; for how much longer, we wonder.

I can't even begin to describe the emotions that surged through us - my family - that Saturday 8 March 2014 as we sat in the KLIA waiting room accorded to family members  awaiting news of the flight. Together with the family members, relatives and friends of the other Malaysian passengers on board the flight, we were a mixed bag of emotions, huddled in our own cluster of support. Anxiety ran high; tear-stained faces underlined hopelessness  as the day dragged on to night without word of the plane's whereabouts. Baffled by the uncertainty and lack of official communications, I kept looking towards the blue sky through the wide glass windows for a sign of the plane returning - as if it would suddenly appear in the sky in the same way that it had disappeared from it. Besides, there was little else to do that day but wait for news of our loved ones. I prayed for their safe return, silently and ceaselessly. Little did I expect that henceforth for the next two years and after, I would still be doing the same thing, mostly in the sanctuary of my home and wherever else I happen to be because I have not been able to forget. Coming to three years, it takes very little to remind me that there is this personal tragedy waiting to be solved. And more than anything else, begging for closure.

With its disappearance shrouded in mystery, it became fodder for all manner of sleuths and speculation. Theories as to the possible causes of its disappearance are rife - a fire or catastrophe on board beyond the crew's control, alien abduction, act of terrorism, seizure by a foreign power, act of suicide-murder by the pilot, interception by remote control...the list goes on. While some theories might appear far-fetched, others seemed plausible. But your guess is as good as mine. For a lay person like me, the Government's Official Report issued the following year in March 2015 only compounds the confusion. The figures, the satellite readings, the calculations put forth in the Report are Greek to me. Without a shred of tangible evidence, they are as good as assumptions and presumptions after all. Still, I continue to read whatever bit of news or article relating to the Flight that I chance upon on the Internet, hoping that it will provide me with even a modicum of a clue as to what actually happened to Flight MH370. Sadly, the media has lost interest, and little, if anything at all, is mentioned of it these days.

But what of the people, like me, whose lives are impacted by the flight's disappearance? Of the husband, wife, son, daughter, father, mother, brother, sister etc. left behind in its aftermath?  Do we simply accept it as an unfortunate accident and move on with our lives?  The passage of time alone does not heal. After three years we might be finally resigned to the loss, accepting it as fate decreed by the Divine, but it is by no means easier. Questions still abound and with the ending of the search, the much-needed closure is as elusive as ever. 

REMEMBERING DINA

This morning - alone and in the privacy of my bedroom - I cried for her. I simply let the tears flow, uninhibitedly and unashamedly, to give vent to my grief, the only way I know how. Whenever in company during the last few weeks of anguish and distress, I had held back the tears as best I could so as not to make a public display of myself. And it was as much for her sake that I wanted to do it in a dignified way because I don't think she would have liked it any other way.

Dina was hardly ever effusive in her actions, and most certainly not with her words. She always conducted herself with an elegant restraint that was very becoming for a young lady. And so as I grieve for her, I would like to do so in the same manner that would do her justice - with tears and quiet sobbing, and certainly no wailing - although that would not be a true measure of the immense pain that I feel with her passing. 

Our time together was short and abruptly ended; I can't say that I really know her well enough within just a year. But it was long enough for me to love her as I would a daughter. For that is what she has become within the span of a year. I wonder if there were any awkward moments between us in the beginning of their marriage. On my part, I can't recall any. She had many likeable qualities, and the one that struck me most from the first time that I met her was her composure. She didn't seem easily ruffled, and there was an air of serenity about her. That, I knew, would be a good complement for  her husband Nizam (my son) who is characteristically spirited. I remember thinking that she would be the calming effect on him in times of agitation, or whenever he needed to slow down. 

Dina was intelligent and articulate, but unassuming and mild-mannered - traits that would endear her very easily to just about anyone. But these were the very same qualities that served to make her presence felt. While she might have preferred to take a backseat sometimes, she was no pushover; just someone with good manners. Underneath that quiet demeanour lies a strong sense of self - she was secure in who she was, therein lay her strength. She didn't need to try too hard or to prove anything. It was by no means arrogance; it was simply an honest representation of herself, a personification of a wholesome upbringing. Her slight frame and quietude belied the gumption that I believed she had in her. If she had to, she would put up a good fight. She was a good sport, determined to enjoy life and soak up its challenges in her stride. Believe me, as gentle as she seemed, she was no shrinking violet! 

It was heart-warming to witness the sisterhood she formed with my daughter Pita who found in Dina the sister she never had. Pita truly rejoiced in the closeness of the bond that they forged so quickly together in such a short time. They clearly enjoyed each other's company, and had made plans together too. I can't even begin to describe the extent of the loss for Pita, and the depth of the pain she is going through. Such is the effect of Dina's departure from our lives. 

I will be forever grateful for her help during the preparation for my other son's wedding last January. Dina had been plagued with back problems but not once did she complain when she had to be on her feet most of the evening. She did her fair share of the tasks obligingly and smilingly. It was a Bollywood-themed wedding, and the green chiffon sari which she chose to wear complimented her fair skin splendidly.

Dina exuded confidence in the way she dressed - whatever the occasion, she knew what suited her. Her fashion was an extension of herself, never ostentatious, always classy. She had an innate sense of style that was a combination of her individuality and of trends. She had the knack of putting things together like the true urban sophisticate that she was. I will miss seeing that. 

I had envisaged and looked forward to more days when we would do things together in the course of our journey as mother and daughter-in-law. In time I knew her opinion would be one that I would seek out because I foresee that it would be nothing short of fair, honest and well-thought out. Alas, it was never meant to be. Will we ever come to terms with the way she left us? Will there come a day when I will remember her without tears?

Still, I thank Allah for her time with us  - albeit briefly; and especially for the happiness she brought my son. During their wedding reception in Ipoh - on March 2, 2013 - I read a poem that I had written as my gift for them. There was a part in which I said: 

       "Dina - when you touched Nizam's heart, you touched mine

         When you make him smile

         My heart beams like sunshine."

Dina, you did more than touched my heart; you endeared yourself to me. Sadly, you will never know how much. I miss you dearly; you will always be in my prayers, and will live forever in my heart.

Al-fatihah.