My greatest dilemma
On the way to Kl, we stopped by Tapah to eat breakfast. We got down from the car, and i led my mother to the nearest table while my brother went to buy some food. As we settled in, my mother wouldnt keep still, and kept turning her body backwards, and erecting her back, into an extremely ackward position. I kept pulling her back down and told her to sit straight, but she was in her own world and incapable of responding. Then, something happened that really disturbed me. When she kept on turning, ignoring our pleas, my brother suddenly turn aggresive and turn her around and said with clenched teeth
"Dont make me hurt you!"
Now, this certainly took me by total surprise and i didnt like hearing it one bit. I quickly took over and told him to just turn her around, and dont resort to threats. i didnt say anything much after that, but it really bothered me. Why did he have to resort to physical threats? Doesnt he realise that she doesnt know what she's doing? As quickly as his anger came, it just vanished, and if you just missed the moment, you wouldnt have thought anything was wrong. But i didnt miss it, and to me, this was something that that i consider wrong. To me, it is a sign of potential physical or psychological abuse, and it isnt the first time. How can i agree with my brother when he has constantly been championing for my mother come to stay with us, saying its the right thing to do, when he himself is acting this way? If in just a few hours, he resorts to verbal threats, what about the long months and years ahead? But more om that later.
Arrivin in Kl, we brought her to HUKM directly. But then, just as i feared, it was closed, because it was a Sunday. So once again, we had to go to the emergency ward. Only, this time we were not refused treatment. Instead, we were ushered in immediately to see a doctor, but then, at a price of RM30 for consultation in the emergency ward. Not wanting to make a fuss, i paid the sum and my mother got to see a doctor. The GP and psychiatrist saw her and made their diagnoses, and she was then warded into the psychiatric ward. So, after 2 tiring days, it was finally done. We had made something happen. We had taken our mother out of that dreadful place and put her in a hospital. If we did not, im not sure if she would have survived another week alone up north. But we didnt have any time to consider the implications of our actions.
Now, two weeks down the line, my mother has been treated and has improved considerably. For the two weeks that she has been there, she has been given proper medication and care and now can speak to us, and can interact with her surroundings, just like perhaps 5 years ago.(just remember that she can no longer be 'normal' in the usual sense anymore) So i guess this is an improvement nonetheless. I am truely glad that she has improved, and life has returned to her once skelelton looking face. Yet now, i am forced to consider something that i have dread for all this while, starting from a few weeks ago when my brother brought up the subject.
In the two weeks that my mother has been in there, where we would put her was something that caused friction between us. Before going down, my brother wanted her to come stay with us. I didnt agree totally, but he had is points. He said that it was only the right thing to do, directly taking care of our mother, after neglecting her for so many years. Come what may, we will swallow hard and face all the hardship that we will face. A noble and just thing to say, and i couldnt possible argue against that. But i still did not like the idea. The last time we stayed together, it was he that couldnt take it the most, it was he that kicked up the most fuss, and it was he that threw all the tantrums and anger episodes. I was the one having to be the peace maker and keeping things in order and making sure my brother didnt get out of hand.. or abusive. But in the end, it was my mother that couldn't take it anymore, and she left to go back north. The friction and conflicts within the house was too much for her to take. Fast forward to today, i still have that same doubts, if my brother really realises what he is saying. Its easy to say that you'll take whatever that may come, and he may even be able to endure it again, just like the last time, and just like the last time, maybe turn abusive.
But i am selfish also, and i disagree with her coming to stay, not only because of my brothers temperamen but for my own personal reasons too. I dont know if i am able to cope with the same situation again, having to be peacekeeper for brother and mother, and babysitter to her. However responsible and loving a son my brother might think he is, he too is bound to slip in he;s duties and in the end it is the rest of us that have to bear the burden. Take for example, our dog Doby. I dearly love and care for that dog, and take care of him willingly now, cleaning his shit, feeding him, mopping up after he make 'deposits' around the house. But i remember very clearly too when my brother mooted the idea of a dog. I was against it, citing the extra responsibility and the fact that we live in a flat as good reasons. But he insisted, and got the dog anyway, without really bothering with my consent or not, saying he will bear ALL the responsibilities of keeping a dog, shit included. But till today, i am the reigning shit clearer of the house, no kidding. Although i'm not nearly comparing the dog with my brother, i AM highlighthing my brothers own inconsistencies and when he said, we will take and bear whatever that may come with my mother coming to stay with us, i have my doubts.
The other thing of course is my darling. She has been living with us for the past 2 years plus, and in my brothers own words, if my mother comes, we will need to 'reorganize'. But basically what it means it that my darling will have to go. From my father, i found out that he has actually been itching to get her out from day one. I know that they mutually dislike and distrust each other but i never thought that we was constantly looking for a reason to get her out. He constantly asked my father to just give him the word if he wanted her out, when actually, it was my brother who wanted it. My father gave him to reason to boot her, and he didnt dare to offend me by openly saying it, but constantly kept his distance, remain negatively neutral (??) and overall managing to let my darling feel unwelcomed.
The other day, he even dared asking me what i saw in her (with a very disapproving tone, as if i have chosen poorly) and told me matter-of-factly that he finds her very suspicious and dishonest. Always secretive and not open. I was fuming inside. Firstly, i didnt have to justify to him who i choose as my other half and secondly, how prejudiced and hypocritical he was of her. He hasnt even cared to get to know her better over these 2 years, taking a superior "i am just tolerating you because i am better, noble and more accomodating" posture. And he too is sooo soo sooo suspicious of her (prejudice) and he too constantly never show he's true feelings, often putting on a show of goodwill and tolerance until one day, he just cracks, and confronts me, saying how good he has been, putting up with all the nonsense, but he's had enough and wants to give me and her a 'warning'. But he never tells when there are things he doesnt like, often just letting happen to prove how patient and how right he is about it. The worst part it, all the time, nobody knows whats going on in his mind.
He's definition of being tolerant, co-operative, patient and accepting is by just keeping quiet about what he doesnt like until he cant take it anymore, gather all the supporting facts and proof, and present it to the person so that they chance accordingly, and the process is repeated until the message is accepted. And all this while maintaining his posture of being very considerate and patient. Bullshit. That's not acceptance at all. That just a big ugly farce of what he calls manners.
And now, he finally has a legitimate reason to kick her out, and he certainly is taking his chances well. He's trying to drive into me the notion that i havent been a good son (it is he who has been making all the effort, he who has the right priorities) and now is the right time to make ammends and do what is right for a chance and not stick and side with this 'outsider' for once. What he does not realise is that she is no outsider to me.
But of course, he has a legitimate point, and a rather good one for the matter. I do after all have the responsibility of taking care of my mother too. But i am torn. Just now, my brother told he i havent been visiting her enough, challenging the amount of time and effort i have put into going to see her. Easy for him to say, the hospital's on the way back from work for him, and he has a car. For me it involves two train rides and a taxi ride just to get there. But i wont try to find excuses for myself. He wants me to show more effort, i'll give it. It is not an unfair demand. She cried, saying how she would rather stay with us that to go to a nursing home, which was enough to convince my brother that she must come to stay with us. He said to me " I am willing for her to come and stay, it's just you now. I cant force you to agree, you have to come to your own realization of what is the right thing to do." So now, i am left with the final decision, or rather, he's waiting for me to conform to what he wants to do.
Agreeing to her coming to stay would mean asking my darling to move out, undoubtly. my brother would insist on it. "Why take care of other people when we have our own mother to take care of." Again, the other people. But she has no where to go, and no place to stay, except her hostel, but thats hardly a home. On weekends, she will have no place to go home to from hostel. Renting a room is costly, especially when you only sleep there once a week. Where will she go, where will she stay? My brother will be determined not to care. As far as he is concerned, she has to go to accomodate my mother, where and how she lives is gladly none of his business. But i am faced with this questions, and i can not and will not go hands off in finding a solution. I have told my darling, that she can call me as home. She has always felt that she doesnt belong anywhere, an outcast unwanted by anyone. I have tried very hard to build her confidence and tried to be a pillar, telling her that whatever happend, she will always be welcomed and accepted by me. But now, my own brother, forced by circumstances, as well as his personal vendetta, is wanted me to kick her out of the house.
I am put in a very difficut situation with no one to consult with, no one to offer me an ideal solution, and no one to share this burden with. I am alone on this decision, even from my darling, because my actions and the stand i take will directly influence her life. One one hand, is my mother, mentally ill, needing care and attention, with no family or place to live except with her sons. On the other, is my darling, also alone, having no place to call home, family scattered and missing, having no one but me to geniuinely confide and go to as a place of refuge and home. And in the center, my brother, trying to get rid of my darling because of his prejudice against her, and trying to take my mother in, not really knowing or caring of the implications of it all. It seems obvious, that due to the stand my brother has taken, i will have to either ask my darling to leave and find a place of her own, or put my mother some place else. Both as difficult, and hard to accept. And all these, not even considering my cousin who stays with us during the weekdays to go to college.
And so, i am face with the impossible task of choosing and facing the consequence of it. I am torn, and i feel lost. How am i supposed to choose between the two women i love most? How can i choose? What middle road can i take? I face a dilemma. A choice between two ugly decisions
Mother Part II
Having been ignored by the government hospital, the other choices we had was to go to a private hospital, or bring her back to KL. We couldn’t afford admitting her into a private hospital, and going back to KL meant we had to know which hospital to bring her to on a weekend. We went to the supermarket and bought plastic bags, bread and a shower foam, to try and clear the house. My brother, through his contact in his church, managed to find a private hospital and a doctor that was willing to see my mother’s case. We headed out to the hospital with some hope, although we knew it would burn our pockets. The sky wouldn’t be enough to separate the two different hospitals that we went to that day. The private hospital was big and modern. Fully air conditioned. When we arrived, they immediately offered a wheelchair for my mother (who kept trying to lean against the wall and lying on the floor) and ushered us to the doctor’s office immediately. They were friendly and co-operative to our situation and quickly provided us what we wanted the most, just seeing a doctor. But of course, he wasn’t just a doctor, with a big fancy door plate with the words “Consultant Psychiatrist” engraved proudly. My mother stiffened her body while on the wheelchair, erecting her spine and raising her body as if in a fit.
Bringing her into the office, we finally managed to get someone to listen to our case and our pleas for help for the first time that day. The doctor listened attentively, asking questions here and there about her history, and tried talking to my mother also. He told us my mother’s case was acute and chronic. He explained that my mother was having a thought disorder, and was pretty much in her own world. True, because up until then, she didn’t even call our name once. He explained to us that the human mental health was like a downwards step ladder. If it took a plunge, and treatment is give, it will go up again, but never till the original state. If not treated, it would plunge and plunge even further. At 10% of the original full health, a person should be able to take care of her personal hygiene. But my mother wasn’t even able to do that anymore. That meant that my mother was in extremely severe mental health. The acuteness could be treated with anti-psychosis drugs, but it would still remain chronic and go on for many years, probably for the rest of her life. He told us not to hope that she could ever become ‘normal’ but at best hope that she recovered to a previously better state and at least be able to take care of her personal hygiene.
Putting words and terms for what was happening to my mother helped. It helped me feel more in control and aware of what was happening and took away slightly, that feeling of uselessness and hopelessness. At least we knew in black and white what we should and shouldn’t expect. In the past, I struggle to accept that my mother was totally lost and mentally ill, but after what happened and what I saw on that day, I knew I had to accept the fact that my mother is indeed seriously ill mentally. We asked the doctor for a referral letter for my mother, and he also prescribed a liquid based anti-psychosis drug for her, which again he told us, we had no idea how she reacted to it until we tried it. We shook his hand, thanked him gratefully and headed towards the dispensary. This was the only bad thing that I could point to in a private hospital. The bill. For consultation and one 30ml of medication, it cost RM250. But we were desperate, and paid the bill and left to the house. Trying to get my mother in and out of the house also proved a challenge. She kept on resisting and pushed against the seats, and refused to use her legs to support herself and tumbled onto the tar road. In the car, she lied down under front seats and ignored or could not understand us asking her to sit straight.
We have always hated the neighbourhood at my old house. They were always very busy body. When we arrived, some just stared shamelessly, and others pretended to be doing things out in the lawn but their eyes ever in our direction. We have a lot of fond memories growing up in this place, but for the neighbours whom we disliked from the beginning. I lead my mother into the house while my brother took the things in. We dripped the medication into some milk and made her drink it up. She refused any food, but when we put the cup of milk to her, she drank it up eagerly. Seeing her take the milk as well as them medication made me a feel a lot better. The milk would replenish her and the medication would do whatever it was supposed to do. We lied her down on a bed and set out to clear the house. We would bring her with us to KL, but first we had to clear the house and look for her documents. Slowly but steadily we started clearing the house. We gathered all her clothes and folded them aside, but almost all needed washing. Then we started throwing away all the waste papers and junk lying around. This was tricky, because in the past, my mother used to hide her money and documents in seemingly innocent places. Among a pile of paper, or in between books and inside the sofa. We had to be careful not to throw something important away accidentally.
It was also difficult to throw away some of the papers lying around. Scribbled here and there, were her writing with words from the Bible, or her thoughts about us and how she miss us. Some wrote advice, asking us to be good, or asking us to come back. It was heart breaking for me to see all these signs, that in all these years, even while she was ill, she had her thoughts to us. We threw away a great deal of things, and finally swept and cleared the floor and gave it a wash. The medication did show some effect on her, although minimal. She was able to look at us when we called her, and instead of babbling incoherently to herself, she babbled to us instead. This was an annoying but none the less good and welcomed sign for us. We tidied the place until we were exhausted, but we couldn’t have possible done it all. That required a second trip down in the future. By the send of the night, my mother was restless and kept messing up the bed and moving around. We gave her some more milk to drink before finally lying down on the floor to rest. The next day would be another long and trying time and we both were emotionally and physically drained.
The next morning, we woke up at 6. Already, my mother was back to her former (worse) self. She had taken out her pants and panties, and the room smelt of urine again. She had done it on the floor beside the bed. We quickly gave her another dose of the medicine (twice a day) with her milk. This time, I bathed her and dressed her. We cleared up our things and got ready to leave. We were going to bring her to KL with us and bring her to a hospital there, maybe HUKM. As we were about to leave, I looked at the house again. I loved and hated the place. It was a place that many of my happiest and worst memories as a small boy were made. There used to be a tree by the sides that we used to climb and watched out for my father to come home . This was the place that we kept our dog Baxter, which we had to give away when my mother wanted to move to KL. I was crushed having to part with him. He bit me on my chest once and gave me a scar that is still visible till today. But he also tried to follow us up the bus one time when we were going outstation. When the bus man screamed at us and we were forced to push him down, he went chasing after the bus from behind until we were out of sight. That was my dog from the past. It was in that house that my parents had countless arguments, and my father eventually walked out. In primary school, we visited her here during holidays and she refused to let us go back. She locked to door and left the house to buy some things. Somehow, my brother managed to unlock the door. We left a letter to her telling her that we have left. I never did imagine that I would have been running away from my own house and from my own mother.
There are many other memories I have in that house. The great ones and the horrible ones, all of them unforgettable. As we locked the door and left in the car with my mother in the back seat, I looked at the house, and I knew one chapter in my life had ended and another had begun. Things were going to change again.
Mother Part I
Last weekend was probably one of the most trying times for me in my young adult life. Friday night, we headed out north in the car to see my mother. The purpose was to discuss with her our future plans together and where she’s gona live etc. We told her a month ahead that we will be coming, but stopped getting calls from her 2 weeks ago. My brother and I were still discussing where we actually wanted to put her and the issue still wasn’t resolved yet when we arrived. I didn’t know really what to expect, but the moment I saw the house, my heart sank.
The door was ajar, empty torn boxes lying everywhere inside the compound. I had a very bad feeling that something bad has happened. As I opened the rusted gate and walk towards the front door, I caught the smell of urine. Near the front door there was a dry patch of yellow liquid. The entire house looked like there was a thunderstorm that went through. Smelly clothes were lying in every corner of the house, books were oddly stuffed here and there, random things just thrown everywhere. There was no fan or light on, no sign of movement and the house stank of urine and stale linen. But at the end of the house, on the kitchen floor, I spotted her. She was lying down on the dirty kitchen floor side ways. She had no clothes on, except a bra, which strap was slung around her neck in an awkward position. She showed no answer when I called out to her so we hurried to her side. She looked ragged and dirty, and skinny like I’ve never seen her before. To my great relief, she responded. She was shocked to hear someone there, and when we spoke to her and asked her to wear her clothes, she just started babbling away incoherently. No sign of whether she knew who we were. The last time that I met her, she was still able to speak to me, and know who I am, and still had a presence of mind. But this time, she was totally not aware of what was happening.
We tried again and again to put her clothes on, and to get her to go and bath. We could see that she wasn’t taking care of her personal hygiene, her nails were dirty, and she had body odour. I held her by the shoulder to make her get up, but she struggled to get up, as if her body couldn’t respond properly to her command, if she even understood what I was asking her to do. As I got her up, she suddenly hugs me. She held me tightly, as if she finally found someone will save her from whatever horrors that she just went through. My brother watched from the side, as I embraced my mother for the first time in a long long time. In my heart, I was in pieces, thinking what would have happened if we arrived a week later. I doubt she would have been alive. She was very weak, dirty and totally lost herself, not aware of things anymore, and not able to feed and clean herself.
The tried to bath her first and I searched the house for some fresh clothes, if there were any at all. My brother tried to clean her as best he could, and tried to put on her clothes for her. But even that proved to be a challenge. It was like trying to dress a child, but worse. We tried to guide her verbally, asking her to lift her leg and so, but she just continued babbling away. When we told her to lift her leg, she lifted it to the wall, as if trying to climb it, and when we physically guided her leg into her pants, her other leg refused to support her weight and she just went tumbling down on the floor again. When I held her, she stiffened her body, as if someone was dragging her. At this point, my brother couldn’t take it and broke into tears. I quickly took over, gave my brother a hug and told him to calm down while I did it.
I was pretty close to tears myself. Having have to bath your own mother like a child, seeing her not recognize you totally and not even being able to answer a question or wear her own clothes properly has that kind of effect on you.
I held back my emotions and just continue putting on her clothes. She didn’t resist too much. But she wasn’t aware of what I was trying to do for her too. We sat her down on the sofa and tried talking to her again, seeing if there was any sanity left in her. I asked her does she know who I am and who my brother was, she seemed to struggle to answer and said other things instead. It’s very heart breaking when your own mother doesn’t recognize you. We let her lie down on the sofa while we tried to decide what to do. We also tried feeding her some food that we bought, but she refused to eat any. Obviously, she couldn’t be left alone anymore and she needed some sort of medication and care. My brother made a few phone calls to his church mates for advice. In the mean time, we tried searching the house for her documents, IC and whatever money that she had left around. Things were all scattered and we couldn’t find it. We tried asking her but she couldn’t answer us. We tried further but in vein, and decided we’d better bring her to the hospital first.
We couldn’t afford a private one so we took her to the General Hospital in town. When we arrived there, I went down the car to try arranging things with the hospital people first. It was a Saturday, and in the North, it’s a holiday (They work on Sunday’s instead). So the hospital was only opened to visitors and also the emergency ward was open. I went to the counter, explaining what happened and that I wanted to admit my mother into the hospital and see a psychiatrist. But this stupid guy behind the counter was giving me a hard time. He refused to let me see a doctor, saying that unless it was an emergency, I’ll have to wait till the next day. I told him that my mother is mentally very ill and hasn’t eaten for days but he still refused. He asked me for her past treatment record and IC and when I said that I don’t have them, he turned around and starts lecturing me. Said that if I was a responsible son, I would have brought her records, and that would not have left her alone like that. I was ready to just burst out screaming at him but I held my tongue. He further said that the hospital was a place for treatment and not for charity. It wasn’t the place to come if I wanted to just dump my mother somewhere. They couldn’t admit discharged her as we pleased. “We have proper protocol and procedures to follow.” He said. My blood was boiling, but knowing them, I knew I had no chance if I lost my temper. In the most polite tone that I could use at the moment, I said to him that I came here for a solution, not another problem. I respected that they have proper protocol to adhere to, but then I need treatment as fast as possible for my mother. I asked what I had to do to even get an appointment to see a doctor now.
To my great shock, he told me to make a police report. He asked me to go and report to the police that my mother is ill and caused whatever disturbance in the neighborhood, then only with the police report will they set an appointment for us to see a psychiatrist. I was just absolutely furious. Making a police report was totally unnecessary. She wasn’t violent, she needed care! She might not have a fractured skull or bleeding to death, but I definitely think that this warrants proper attention from the emergency ward right? It was definitely more urgent then some of the cases waiting in line. Leg pain, fever, headache. No gushing blood or screaming pain anywhere. Even the fact that my mother hadn’t eaten in God knows how many days didn’t warrant a look from them. I tried asking if a referral letter from a private clinic would do it, but that stupid man behind the counter, (who proudly told me that they stand between the doctor and the patients, and that it was them who decided who did and did not see the doctor) told me to just come back tomorrow. “Unless you make a police report, I can’t help you “(or won’t).
I left the counter and walked back to the car, feeling absolutely disgusted. Disgusted that in our time of need, my mother was turned down treatment merely because of “protocol and procedure.”. I wondered if that man was waiting for a bribe or anything, but I didn’t have time to consider. We had to think where we could get a doctor.
Crying for lunatics.
I went to General Hospital today to see a friend. This friend, suffering from some sort of depression and maybe something more, we're not sure, admitted herself in. This was the same person that tried committing suicide few weeks ago. Apparently, she wanted to go see a psyciatric and then at the hospital decided she wanted to be admited into the psychiatric ward. Now, the doctor did not insist that she should be admitted but she wanted it herself. According to her, she has some issues she wants to work out. But from the way she did things and the way she spoke, there is some speculation if she actually wanted attention instead of real therapy.
Obviously, she got a little more that was she bargained for. We warned her that the psychiatric ward isn't exactly a nice place to be in, but she wanted it so. When we got there, not unlike in the movies, the place was fool of lunatics. There were people jumping in front of the wall, others talking to themselves, and some of them came up to us, shaking our hands, as if we were best of friends. Many asked us to lend them the things we had like our phone, or food, pen, or whatever they saw. Others looked just fine, with their families visiting them. The ones that seemed normal, i would guess, maybe suffered from depression also and was on medication. Because they haven't seem to lost it yet. But then, there was my friend, among this bunch of very emotionally needy people. I asked myself if she really should be here. Afterall, i didn't see how any of the people there were ever going to get better. The place was just so miserable and depressing, how can anyone nourish their soul, or believe that they can get better when they are stuck among other even worst people compared to themselves? I don't think the hospital management can do anything either. It's in over its head with the limited staff and funding from the government.
Speaking to my friend, she sees herself not as one of them obviously. She calls them all gila, but obviously she has some issues too. It seems to me she's fighting her own set of demons. On the exterior she seems just fine. But touch a nerve and why she's here starts to show. Its very strange to me why anyone would want to be admitted, especially when she at least still can think rationally. Suffering from depression hardly seems the right reason to go there, and if anything, it'll make it worst, staying in a place that is so unconductive, plus the stigma and impression others get when they find out she was admitted into a psychiatric ward.
My mother, fought long and hard in refusing to be admitted into a psychiatric ward. She knew that she too was suffering from depression, but refused to go on medication and be labeled a psychiatric case. The moment i stepped into the ward, my heart grew heavy. Not for my friend who was there. SHe brought it onto herself. I felt my heart thinking to a few years ago. My mother had been admitted into a psychiatic ward. I never had a chance to visit her in there. I knew my mother wasn't well, but i never really believed that my mothers place was among a bunch of lunatics. Going into the ward, my thoughts went to my mother. The many times that she was in the ward, she never had any visitors. It really broke my heart looking at the people there because my mother had to endure all these kind of people during her stay. People sidelined and rejected by society. Cared only by their direct family. And my own mother didn't even receive that.
I struggle to accept just how severe is my mothers psychiatric problems. At times, i just feel that she has totally lost it. But then, she surprises me sometimes, because in all her blaber, she would suddenly very real and very true and sane things. She would give advice, talk about her past without even a trace of anything, maybe except a lot of sadness. It is this glimmer of her true self that makes me just refuse to believe that my mother is totally lost. She used to be a nurse, used to raise the both of us up just fine. She wasn't the very extroverted and fun loving type of person, but i still love to hear her laugh. Its the most beautiful sound in the world to me. I know she has been lonely and sad for the past 9 years, and to me, listening to her laughter sooths my heart. At least in that moment of laughter, she truely has all the sad things out of her mind. When i hear her laugh, somehow i feel like crying. Because i blame myself for not being by her side all these years, and make her laugh more often. Instead, for months and months at a time she is alone. Imagine what it is like going on for months, staying alone in a house without another soul in sight for you to talk with or laugh with. Just a piercing silence that goes on and one.
Sometimes, at night when i can't sleep, i think of her. Or when i'm having a lot of fun, i think of her. Thinking about how she is and what she is doing, and more importantly, what she is thinking about. Then, with dread, i realise that i know the answer. The answer is that she is alone, and she hasn't been thinking about anything else for the past few years except her two sons. And it breaks my heart even more. There was one time, i was having an arguement with her. I was so angry and was just scolding her, and she was fighting me back. But then she suddenly stops and starts crying. When i asked her why, she tells me she is scared. Scared that she dies, alone in that house and since she has no friends or family, no one would know. Only when her body is decomposed and stinky would the neighbours realise, and even longer before the news reaches us. And when we find her, her body would be stinky, ugly and decomposed. To die, without anyone even realising or caring that you have gone until your body stinks. That is her worst fear. That night, i couldn't take it anymore, i broke down and cry like i hadn't for years. I was totally devastated by what she said, and i blamed myself
I have only cried in front of people only a few times in my grown up life. It takes a lot to get me to that point, and when i do, i always do it alone. No doubt, i would love to confide in someone and cry my heart out to them, but most people just ask you to stop crying. Trying to console by saying its not my fault and dont cry. But then it wont help. Maybe being a guy people dont expect us to cry but face things like a man. Trust me, i try to. But even guys are humans. When i feel so down and miserable (mostly about my mother) there are no word that can adequately express my feelings. I just want to let the tears and the sorrow buried so deep inside to come out. If i dont do that, it'll just build up more and more, and i have no outlet. That's why i cry alone. Because though theres no one to comfort me, no one will ask me to stop, and the tears rolling out and the aching in my heart all help me release my emotions and comfort me. I dont have to worry about troubling people, dont have to worry if im making a fool or myself and nobody thinking im some kind of cry baby.
I understand why women cry sometimes, because i feel it to. But as a guy, i dont carry my heart on my shoulder. On the way back from the hospital, i was very sad. Couldn't help thinking about my mother. But i didn't show it. Some people intentionally half act like they are ok. They want you to ask them and find out from them what is bothering them. But they dont want to be telling you. They want to be asked and be care for instead. But i try not to do that. I just carry on, carry a smile on my face and talk like there's nothing bothering me at all. It works because i totally surpress that emotion at that moment. But at moments like now, when im alone, that these emotions come back. There's no hiding it. I can surpress my feelings for a while, but even i cant lie to myself thinking that i dont feel sad about it when there is nothing and no one to hide from.
Report card and Circumcision
When i was young, i used to dread report card day. The day that parents come to school and take their kid's report cards. To me, it meant nothing more than a whole lot of embarassment and lots of questions. You see, would be very embarrassed when my mother came to collect it. Them moment she came, i would be ushering her to quickly get it and quickly go. My mother who suffered from depression, wasn't exactly what i would have called a normal mom. I didn't want people to start making fun of me, saying my mom was 'gila'. I didn't want people to ask me "Why your mom like dat one?"... because i didn't know what to answer.
When i moved in to my Aunt's place, things became even worse. Being banned from appearing near my aunt's house, my mom occasionally resorted to coming to scholl to see us. When she came, she would create a scene with the teachers, and talk very loudly. My brother and i used to be terrified of her coming to school. And when she did, it was just pure panic on our parts. Now that i look bad, i feel so bad for treating her that way and asked myself why didn't i defend her instead any try to shield her from people's words? All she wanted to do was to see us and talk to us. But at the time, i could see that, and was just terrified about her making a scene. When i moved in with my father and step mom, things too a turn for the worse.
I had always been proud that my father was involved in Ministry and that he studies theology. I was just utterly shocked when i found out that he had converted and i had a step mom. On report card day, things were even more complicated. Since my dad was busy and worked far away, my step mom would come instead. And to the confirmation of my worst fears, when she did come, it caused and uproar in the class and the staff room. People came rushing to me, asking questions like "How come your mom is a malay? (when i am so obviously chinese)" and the second favourite "Have you/Will you /How come you havent convert?"
To the first question. That always got me very irritated. Because obviously, she isn't my mom. As grateful as i am to her for taking care of us for all those years, i could never ever really consider her my mom when my own real mom is still around and alive, being neglected. The cl0sest she ever came to was as a mother figure and as a friend. I hated it when she confided in my father, and requested (through him) for us to call her mother (mak).. I can tell you, i was just absolutely crazy. But being young and obedient to my father, we tried none the less. Initially, it was very very very difficuly. Felt like i had an apple stuck at my throat whenever i said the 'm' word. But after long periods, we kinda got used to it. But i never could get that feeling away, the feeling that i have betrayed my mom and became a useless son by calling someone else mom. It would eat at my heart when my mother asked me what did i call that 'other woman' and even worse when she said to me never ever to call that woman mother. Till this day, she never knew that we did in fact call her that.
To the second a trickier question of converting. I always hated to tone that the teachers and students (the malay ones) took when they asked me this question. The approach was that of "Hey welcome to the RIGHT religion. Im glad you are one the PROPER path." They asked me with a smug on their faces, and just kinda expected me to convert because it was the right thing to do. They weren't even trying to preach to me or make me understand the religion better. Just a "Hey, your dad took the right step, its about time you did!" tone, and i hated that. This tone of language, i sadly detect in Christians also. They belittle other religions. They speak with superiority about their religion and have that smug look on their face. How do you expect people to open us with that kind of arrogance?
You see, it's not that i have anything against Islam or Muslims for the matter. I have been living here in Malaysia all my life and know what racial and religious tolerence is. But i didn't fancy converting for a few good reasons. Thankfully, my dad gave us a free will to chose our own religion and never forced us to convert. But then according to the law, being below 16 at the time, ny dad had every right to convert us. So one of the reasons i refused was because, having had a dad in Ministry, i was always kinda proud of it and simply refused to even consider it because to me, Christianity seemed a pretty good religion. And i felt that if i did convert, i was betraying someone or something, a principle maybe, or God even, but i wasnt sure at the time.
Secondly was the ... erm.. the.. aah.. the ....well, in a nut shell, circumcision. Didn't fancy that. Being 11 years old, there are many things you dont know and even more things you where terrified of. All i knew at the time about circumcision was that it involve a (old) man from a mosque, a (possibly) blunt knife and your little winky. And that, in any 11 year old sane boys mind, was enough to convince me what stand to take. I didn't fancy some Tok/Pak whatever from the mosque pointing a knife at my future offspring! Silly it may sound, but that was (i admit) one of the major fear factors that made me simply refuse to convery. I am till today still uncircumcised and if i ever did, it would be out of choice my good friend! How glad i was seeing all those Malay boys walking around in their loose sarong, walking funnily and i wasn't one of them! I knew i had made the right decision! :P
Cheers..
Suicide
Very recently, a person i know tried to commit suicide. Imagine the shock i had, when a friend told me "..... committed suicide." when what he meant was ".... tried to commit suiced." Theres a world of difference you know. But let me not get caught up with the lannguage.
You see, i have actually just got to know this very person. 2 days prior to that day, we all went out to the zoo together. The week before, we all enjoyed a home cooked meal in a friend's place. Naturally, hearing this sort of news is always shocking, especially when you never expected it to happen to anyone you actually know. Mind you, suicide cases are not uncommon here in KL. every now and then, we here of cases where people jump down the condo's. (On a creepier note, on the night of her attempted suicide, 2 other people were discovered dead in a nearby condo. An old lady jumped to her death, and a group found their housemate dead for 2 days, corpse all stinky and swollen. TARC student apparently.) But anyway, this person, messaged a mutual friend, asking what he thinks is the best way to die. Needless to say, and hour later, her ex-boyfriend (which was the primary cause of her depression) came crashing the locked door down and found her on the floor, blood gushing out of both her wrist.
She was taken to the hospital, but the their surprise, the hospital refused to take her in the moment ther realised it was an attempted suicide. I guess they didn't want to make a police report. So, she was taken to a private clinic and was treated there. For the next few days, my friends accompanied her as much as they could. But it was obvious that she was depressed and nothing they did or say could really cheer her up. Most of my friends were angry. They were angry that she has been so foolish and so silly to want to take her life. I felt sympathetic. I didn't know her that well, and i couldn't imagine what is was like, wanting to die.
But reading the signs, i told my friends what i thought. She didn't want to die. If a person really wanted to die, they would have just left a note, or none at all and get along with the job. No dramatics, to TV crew, family members screaming out, no people trying to persuade otherwise. Just die and let the note do the explaining and let them figure it out themselves. No, she didn't want to die. She wanted attention. First, she told someone, although indirectly. Her pride holding her back from doing so. People who commit suicide do it quietly, not announce it to people. Secondly, she didn't cut herself deeply or properly. Instead of going for the veins directly below the palm, she went lower, near the muscle. Though she did cut herself, and thoughtof dying, i don't think she really wanted or dare to. Afterall, it is always near death that a person realises how precious their lives is to them
I initially blamed the ex-boyfriend for just leaving her like that, but i was jumping to conclusions and made a mistake. After furhter revelations from my friend, i could see that things were not as simple as they seemed. But i won't comment on that just yet.
Our lives are not really our own to live. I came to this thought recently. All through out my years, i took a rather individualistic view of how i should run my life. But then i realised that when we live, we live for the people around as and the people we care about. All the money in the world would be useless if you had nobody to share it with. Those who show off their wealth do so because they are selfish and refused to share it with people. But when they eventually got what they wanted, they find themselves showing it off to people, trying to make them see what they have to make others attracted to them because, without knowing it, they long to share it with someone. That all their possesions are useless if that is the only thing you have, things.
When we are kids and teens, we are constantly taken care of by our parents. We do not ask why they love us and care for us so much, just accepting that it is so. Why even after we repeatedly do wrong or anger them, they will never renounce us? And being so used to the receiving end, we take it for granted. But when you start to love, and start to care for people (sometimes you cant differentiate them), you start to realise why we were so loved and cared for. When we love and care for someone, whether as a friend or special one, a part of us is given to them and they become an extention of you. It becomes second nature to be worried for them, to be happy when they are, sad when they are and to be angry when they are mistreated. Because you care for them like they were a part of you. This bond is even stronger when its your family , because they literally a part of you. They are you origin and your flesh and blood. Im sure many will come to thos realisation when they are older and have kids of their own
So back to the suicide thing, when we live, we do it not for our own sake of living, but for the people around us. That's what makes life meaningful, and that we are there makes life meaningful for the people around us. Before you think of suicide remember, you'll be killing a part of everyone you love and everyone who ever loved you
An unsent letter
Dear friend,
You and I never got the chance to be closer. If fact, we were more acquaintances than friends. Over the many years, I used to look at you all the time. I don’t think you realized it, but I would just look your way to catch a glance at you. Despite all the teasing from people, I never once admitted my feelings to anyone, expect a few trusted ones. You were the first person that caught my eye when I moved in to that place. I remember the bag u used to carry, I accidentally spilled water all over it, remember? Of course you don’t. I always wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t dare, because we didn’t speak the same language and I was afraid of making a fool of myself. So instead, I just admired you from afar, always keeping my distance, occasionally talking to you but never daring to say too much. On days that we did speak, my heart would be filled with joy, and when you occasionally caught me looking at you, I felt like the embarrassment was enough to pierce through my skin into my heart and kill me. Still I felt for you, if only from afar.
As time passed, you started mixing with others and slowly drifted away from class and the only time I got to see you was in school. By the end of 7 years, I still only knew you by name. People always spoke about you. Saying that you are very beautiful and whoever got to be with you was a very lucky man. My father said you had very nice brown hazel eyes. I always thought about coming up to you and talking to you, being friends, but I knew it would have caused an up roar. Plus, I had a feeling that you didn’t feel the same way towards me. You were this very beautiful and popular girl, guys always looked at you and spoke about you and I was a fat overweight, pot bellied squinty eyed nobody that couldn’t speak Cantonese. I knew that if I ever approached you, I would have to deny my feelings. You could have your choice pick and I certainly wasn’t prime material.
So time passed and we no longer see each other at all. All of us are in our own world. We were never really that close and there is no reason for us to miss each other. But I just want to tell you that I think about you sometimes. We don’t know each other, but I do think about you and how we met and how we have known each other for 7 or 8 years yet we are nothing but strangers. I had the longest of crushes on you bur never acted on it. I admired you from afar, and I still do. Maybe it was fate, or maybe we’ll get to know each other better in the future, but unlikely. I think back fondly on you. To me you are a beautiful, mysterious figure that I admired yet never dared to approach
Yours truly
A friend
Songs on my computer
I realize that most of the songs on my computer have remained unchanged for the past 5 years. Listening to some of them really brings me back down memory lane. I used to do my work on this very computer, go surfing on the net, chatting with friends over icq and listening to mp3’s. Memories of some of the things that I did during my secondary school years all come flooding back. Doing late night work on the environmental awareness project and listening to music with Saiful and playing computer games. It’s funny that a piece of hardware can remind me of so many things that now seem forever gone and things that will only remain a memory. Much has changed since then and the person I am today is not the same as the me that first used this computer.
It’s silly to wish for time to be reversed, but sometimes I do. Not to change the things that have happened, but to relive some of those moments that are so clearly recalled by my heart. The heart always remembers the feelings of those moments, but the mind forgets and the details get blurred. Eventually, all that remains is a memory of a certain feeling of long ago you know you had at that time, but you forget what it was about. Maybe I’m just living in the past. Listening to these songs on my computer, my mind ever turns to my friends from those times. The ones you were close to, the ones that you liked and enjoyed, the ones you found amusing but weird and the ones you wanted to be closer to. My mind ever turns to these people wondering if they ever remember me or if they think of me even if it’s only occasionally. I wonder if they will ever guess that there is a friend they know that thinks about them and wishes somehow to be closer to them, but never acting upon it. Will they ever guess that here I am cherishing those very brief moments and occasions that for some reason has stayed in my heart for a long time, refusing to be forgotten? Of course not! People move on and memories fade away for most. Yet here I am thinking of them.
What he's thinking
When a person gets nostalgic, he starts to think much of the past. He thinks about his friends, his past love, his teachers, his parents, siblings and even his long time crush from long ago (she never found out that he really liked her, amidst all the denial and teasing) The realization that time has flown by and still is dawns very hardly on him. We wonders what would have happened if he had actually confessed to that crush his feelings. Would he have been burnt? Would his love be returned instead? Should he have been better to his friends and be more of a friend to them and not just an acquaintance? Would it have made a difference? Should he have studied harder or been more active? He wonders that is going on in the lives of his former family members, if they are doing ok or if they have moved on.
Thinking about all the should haves, could haves and would haves, he feels tempted to give these people a call, saying "Hey, I was just remembering you. You know, I really enjoyed the times that we did spend together. It is a shame that those times have passed. You want to catch up?" But something just holds back his hand. Maybe it’s the thought that they did not enjoy those times or worse, they do not cherish those times and have moved on. Many would welcome the occasional call, but he didn’t think any of them would seriously want to further develop that friendship. They all are in new friendships now and with other people to laugh and play with and to create more of those memories.
He was told that people change friends every 5 years on average. So what happens to these people after 5 years? Do people just forget about them? Of course, they find new friends too. So does friendship last? Many months ago, he called a friend. They spoke and chatted for a few hours. But then he realized that that person wasn’t on the same wavelength as him. If he didn’t call, that person wouldn’t have either. True enough, it has been 6 months and not a call. It is very melancholy to hurt yourself to prove a point. How many fully grown adults still have friends from their schooling years? Who are your friends now? What happened to those friendships? Who do you think will be around you 10 years from now? Do you think people think of you as much as you do them?
A letter to my love!
Dear Darling,
Life is full of wonders. The day I meet you, I was dead tired with not enough sleep. Yet meeting you rejuvenated my energy. That special feeling of chemistry stirred me very deeply and I enjoyed talking to you throughout the trip. Before, I had never talk to a girl or a stranger that casually and comfortable. Blame it on my limited social life, but I was intrigued by your life’s story and all the more by your appearance. You carried yourself so happily and confidently (you still do) that I never expected that you had gone through so much. I am not a person that cares much about how he looks, but on our first date, I was nervous. I wore what I think was my best shirt or rather what made me look ok. I didn’t like the fact that I wasn’t good in dressing up and I was scared to disappoint you. After all, I didn’t know what kind of person you made me out to be. But when I saw you, and you were even more casually dressed that me (shorts!) I knew that you were different. It put me at ease, knowing that you were in a way like me. You were comfortable the way you were and dressed down, very confidently, and that put me at ease.
I was taken in by your frankness and openness. You were just being yourself and not being too uptight or ‘jaga muka’ I was comfortable talking to you actually, It seemed so unreal and too perfect. Yet it wasn’t a dream. You were real, and I knew that I shouldn’t let this go by. Even if I couldn’t be your special someone, I would be your friend. The greatest thing that I value about you was that you were totally not judgmental of me and willing to accept me as it is. Not wondering why my face is so funny or why i dress so horribly. Darling, you left a very powerful impact on me that day. We just walked, didn’t watch a movie, ate fish and chips, and you sang to me in the park. If I had to choose a word to describe you from all I knew of you that day, it would be ‘special’ or ‘different’, ‘one-of-a-kind’ or basically a “I’d-be-a-fool-to-let-this-girl-slip-through-my-fingers” kind of girl.
Fast forward to today, you are still that same girl that I knew. There are sides of you that I discovered and others that I only catch a glimpse of. I feel that we have both come a long way. I feel so honoured that I have had the chance to watch you bloom and become a really great woman. Yes, we do fight, sometimes so seriously that you doubt if we have made the right decision in being with each other. But I think it is all part and parcel of a relationship right? We fight because we step on each others toes, but we step on each others toes because we are so close! Though we have many issues to work out together, I believe that we can do it. They are not obstacles that are holding back our relationship but rather an opportunity for us to get closer and find a harmony. I am very happy that we are together. Even though it seems that we are of totally opposite characters, it may turn out to be something good in the long run. Being with you and meeting you on that fateful day up on Bukit Gasing has really changed my life. I’m not sure where I’ll be and what kind of person I would have ended up, but I am glad that I am here, with you and because of you, I am the person I am today, still sloppy, messy and disorganized but gratefully, having in my possession, the most wonderful and precious thing in the world that is beyond any value. Your love.
Yours truly
Me!
