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.

                 

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.