Reflecting @ 30,000 feet in the air..

This was shot on Sunday night, using my phone camera, as the plane I was taking was leaving Subang airport on my way to Singapore. As the plane took off, I couldn’t resist taking a picture of the view from my window, despite knowing how crappy pictures from phone cameras tend to be, especially at night.

I was in a pensive mood that night; a million and one other thoughts going across my mind. I always get this way when I'm alone, with no one to talk to, ever reflecting, ever searching my own heart for answers... or at the least, clarify of mind.

I thought about dinner Friday night, when my brother and I finally came to some sort of agreement on what to do about my mother. I thought about how funny it was that despite spending our lifetime together, going through thick and thin, he and I have never really talked about our feelings regarding our ordeals when growing up. That night was the first, and I never felt closer to my brother than when sharing all these things. He was the only one who ever saw what I saw, experience what I experienced, and felt the pain I felt. We grew up to be very different kinds of persons, but because of what we went through together, there was a unexplainable bond between us. We used to hate each other and fight a lot. When I was 13, we were fighting in the room again, to the point of physically punching and assaulting each other. My father, came in fury, broke us apart and said to us “The two of you only have each other, no one else. You only have each other to depend on if anything happens to me or your mother”. My brother and I looked at each other, and something changed from that day onwards. We never fought with each other again. We’ve had our disagreements and arguments. But he stopped treating me like a baby, and gave me the respect I always yearn for from my older brother, and I started giving him the respect that he deserved, as the older one, even if it was just a couple of years older. I thought nothing of giving him whatever spare cash I had a few months ago, because I remembered….. when he got his first job and I was still studying, he gave me what he could, without me asking for it.. and I knew he did it out of love.. Love for his brother.

I thought about my mother. I always think of her. It’s funny that many people close to me don’t know how close to my heart she is. But then again, probably everyone has their mothers close to their heart. 3 times in my life, I thought I had lost her for good. First, when I was 13 years old, on her birthday. She swallowed 28 tablets and told me she was ‘going to sleep for a few days’. I was in my school uniform, ready to go to school, but instead, I used every last dollar I had to send her to the hospital immediately. The next day, everyone thought I was a lazy bum, intentionally skipping class. It was easier to let them continue thinking so. Second was when I was 20 years old. We had received a lot of calls from her. She didn’t sound very well. My brother and I took the long drive up north to see what was going on, and as we drove up to the house, we saw the house door open, the entire house ransacked, smelling of urine and dirt, and there in the far end of the kitchen, lay my other motionless on the floor, half naked and not responding to my calls. “Dear God, please don’t let her be dead”… I think that was what was going through my mind. The 20 steps to the back of the house were one of the most dreaded ones I’ve ever taken. Half desperate to see if she was OK, half terrified……..that it was too late. She was alive, but not what you would call living. We had to bath her and dress her and carry her to the hospital. She couldn’t stand, she couldn’t walk, she couldn’t recognized who we were. For the first time in more than 10 years, I witnessed my brother break down and cry…. I wanted to cry with him, if only the tears would come. The third time was when I was 23. My brother broke the news to me “Ma was hit by a lorry…………” I was too afraid to listen to the rest of that sentence. “It’s my fault.. it’s my fault.. it’s my fault. Please let her be OK, please let her be OK”… that was all I could think of before he finished his sentence. It was a hit and run. The lorry driver hit her, came down, cursed her in the middle of the road, and drove off. She got up, walked to the side of the street, and sat down, not realizing how bad her wound was. Passers-by called the ambulance when she finally passed out. She was in a wheelchair for the next 6 months. She required 30 over stitches on her skull, there was a hairline fracture to her lower spine, and she still walks with a limp today. With her haggard look and somewhat unusual mannerism, people constantly stare at her. I think she feels it. Society always looks at you differently. It’s the stigma that comes with being a mentally ill person. I didn’t want her to walk the streets thinking people were looking at her in a funny way. It hurts me to know that about people, but I try to stand tall and proud next to her, showing to the world that, yes, even a frail and ill woman like her can have a son like me. I wanted her to walk the streets and be proud that while some other mothers have sons that couldn’t care less, she had 2 young, successful, capable and strong sons, who were there by her side that she could be proud of, for whatever that’s worth. It's be nice if she could boast about something for a change.

I thought about, my girlfriend.. Sheesh, I should stop referring to her as that. But for some reason, it' still taking me some time to adjust to caller her my fiancee. I'm slow at adapting to change. She'll be going away soon. She quit her job in the hospital and got the job in Saudi Arabia, as she had hoped for. Many discouraged her from going, mostly her relatives. Some were worried for her safety. Others say it was risky leaving your man alone to his own devices for an entire year. Things happen, and you never know if other women came along and snatched him away; a fear I know she could never really erase too. Plus, what kind of couple gets engaged and then decides to part ways for almost an entire year? For that reason, I have been careful in the way I've been supporting her. Too eager a support for her to go would almost imply like I'm only too happy to 'get rid of her' so to speak. But I have been her staunchest supporter. "Go for it. It's a once in a lifetime thing. You will remember it for years to come." I said to her. To me, her going overseas, could only be a good thing in her personal development. I didn't want to have her stuck in Malaysia without ever having the opportunity to see the world, to see how others live. Traveling to a foreign land always broadens your mind and teaches you things about yourself, if you have the eyes and the mind to learn from it. Life always teaches you by experience. The lessons only come AFTER you've done whatever it is you're supposed to learn. It's always retrospective. This was more than just about the money. "Go dear. And do yourself a favour this next year. Go travel on a holiday, either to Egypt, or Europe, or anywhere else that you can afford to go while there. I insist." I said to her. To the nay sayer, I simply said to her "It will take more than a simple year of being physically apart to destroy what we have been building together for 7 years. I'll be here when you leave, and I will be here, waiting for you when you return.". I have wondered to myself how on earth I will manage this coming year without her. I have always been a strong advocate people being independent despite being in a relationship. As close as two people are, you can never be my whole world, and I can never be your whole world, at least we shouldn't. You still need family, you still need friends, you still need time of your own. Being in a relationship should add to the sum of what you are, not diminish the things that make you an individual. Something I believe strongly in after seeing how my mother crumbled when my father left her. But I suddenly found myself fearful of being alone again, without her constant company. What will I do on weekends? Who do I talk to? Who am I going to share my constant lame dry jokes with? She leaves in a month. What about Christmas? Shucks..... this would be the first Christmas I will be spending without her. She was the one and only soul in my life that stood in then the most inner core of my heart, any closer and you would find my heart. No one else has ever come even close to this most inner layer, no one else knew me better, no one has accepted me as I am more than her. There was no one I could act more myself than with her. I could be silly or serious, reflective or ridiculous, and somehow, she still loved me for all my peculiarities. I needed her, more than I had realized.

Other random thoughts ran through my mind.

I had a list of ten outstanding things to do on my work. I keep telling everyone I'm busy. And everyone keeps telling everyone else I'm busy and overloaded. Truth is, I've just been inefficient.... and procrastinating... and daydreaming. I've been busy being distract by every other thing that I'm not supposed to be doing (like blogging). I suppose in a way, I've shifted a gear down a bit for now. This time last year, I was full steam ahead. Traveling everywhere, working weekends and nights. I hardly had time for my family, what more my friends. But with so many things happening in my personal life of late, I didn't want my life to evolve solely around my work. I needed to make time for others too. Family, loved ones, myself..... and of course... God himself. These things deserved my time and attention too. Work never ends, and every task seems urgent. There will always be things to do, deadlines to meet. it's so easy to get get lost in that ride, because day in day out, we are reminded of these urgent deadlines by the boss, or an email, or a call, or a fax. The squeaky wheel always gets the oil. But there are other things in life that are more important, but seemingly never urgent, until it's too late. There's a stinging pain in my ear every time a close friend of mine asks me how is my walk with God is going. I wanted to reply that God's practically dragging me along on the floor, nagging me like a father who's at the brink of loosing his patience before leaving me behind. Hours earlier, my mother had greeted me with a big smile and said to me "Come, let me give you a kiss, this prodigal son of mine." and I happily obliged. She said it's so hard for her to catch this younger son. Always jetting off here and there. I felt guilty.

There was someone I was supposed to meet for coffee. I hate first meets. It gets me nervous and jittery. I never know how to behave, what to say, or how to do when meeting a stranger. "Can't people just skip to the second meet straight away?" I asked myself. The first time I ever agreed to meet a stranger, boy was I in for a surprise. She was bigger, taller, and probably stronger than I was. Her arms were the size of my thighs, and she had a battalion of girlfriends (of comparable built) to meet me and my skinny friend. I didn't know if she thought of breaking my neck for staring at her with my mouth open wide. To say I was shell shocked would be an understatement. What was her name again? J... someting... Judy, Jane? ... No... no.. aaaah.. It was Julie. Yes, Julie. I'm so sorry Julie. You left me too shell shocked... and I wasn't sure how to behave. These days, I assume everyone I'm meeting for the first time looks like Quasimodo, and I tell them I look like Quasimodo. Something I learnt in my working life: Always under promise, but over-deliver. Keeps everyone happy.

I closed my eyes... and tried to sleep. At least with flights, there were no bumps.. except during turbulence.

I wanted to be a pilot when I was a kid. Free as a bird, flying here and there, and looking oh so cool in those pilot uniforms and shades. I remembered the first time I sat in a plane. I was so happy and excited. I got a window seat. I didn't blink an eye as the plane slowly sped down the runway and took off, feeling the sensation of your weight shifting backwards as the plane climbed the sky. I never got to be a pilot. But at least I was still flying. I wanted to share that moment of elation with someone. To be able to say "Hey, this is my first time flying! Look, no motion sickness! I didn't puke, and I didn't freak out either!" But I was alone. So, I suppressed my smile, bit my tongue and just stared out below, seeing mother earth from 30,000 feet in the air for the first time in my life. Life's no fun when you have no one to share it with.

I thought back on my friend who sent me that thank you email a few years ago. A silent smile to myself. Maybe I do matter to people around me. Maybe there is a point. Maybe I CAN believe in the heart of others. She was one who gave me Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mitch Albom to read. I fell in love with it. I identified a lot with the writer, and the things written in the book. It got me thinking a lot about life (which seemed to be my favourite topic)... and the best part of the book was, it was written in a very personal and intimate way. It felt more like someone sharing their very real, and very true personal experiences and journeys through life, rather than some millionaire motivational guru tryin'a tell you how you should live your life.

After I touched down, I walked into the first bookstore I saw, with every intention to buy Tuesdays with Morrie, to read again. God knows I really needed a good dose of life lessons and words of wisdom right about now. But I never came out with it. Instead, I walked out holding his second book; "The Five People You Meet in Heaven".... a book I had no doubt, I was going to enjoy too. It starts with a man dying.. and going to heaven, and meeting 5 people who's life were deeply affected by HIS life in some way or another, even though he never even knew it did. Everyone has their own story.. but everyone story intersects with one another and affects us. In that sense, we never really lead meaningless life that don't matter to people. We're all connected in some way. But really, just the darn title was enough to make me buy the book.

I've started reading it.. and it has some really really beautiful lines. Gosh, how I wish I could write like him. Maybe one day I could write a book.. Mondays with Mom.. or something life that. If you haven't already read it, please do (the Mitch Albom book, I mean). I'm pretty sure I'll be sharing some of it here. But for a change, I'm not going to rush through a good book (like I usually do). This time, I want to read it, line by line, savouring it. If books had flavour, I think this one would be Cookies and Cream, with a topping of chocolate. Rich, creamy, fulfilling, with a good firm bite inside.

Cheers.