of Winter & Springs

Life can seem so tragic and sad sometimes. 

Just the other day, I was talking to a close friend, and she told me her father said to her "I feel lonely." Her mother, his wife, had passed away some time ago. Even though quite some time had passed, he still felt lonely. I felt sad hearing that. It's a horrible feeling, having a void in your heart and having nothing to fill it with. That same friend also told me her grandmother just passed away a few week earlier. She had succumbed to old age. And though she lived to a ripe old age, a loss is still a loss. She tells me with all this death and sadness surrounding her, she just doesn't feel like there is much to look forward to in this life. Even her own desires to be married and settle down seem dimmed. 

On the same night, I learn that another close friend just went through a roller coaster month, having just broken up with a boyfriend, only to reconcile almost a week later. How turbulent her heart must be. I asked if everything is okay.. if everything is normal again. She says yes... but there never really is such things as normal when you go through something like that. I remember this same friend a few months back. She was flying down to Singapore every weekend to be with this Auntie.. who was on the verge of dying. I remember the look on her face when she spoke about this old lady. She was like a grandmother to her.. and I could tell that she loved her dearly. 

Again, at the beginning of the year, my other half was surfing Facebook when she came across a lot of post from other people on a particular persons wall. Apparently, her friend from primary school had passed away in a car accident. We loaded his facebook page and scrolled down the wall. There were countless tributes and words of sadness from everyone over his passing. You could read how sad everyone was about his sudden death. We scrolled further down... and you see post from a day before...many of his friends posting on his wall... asking him to Wake up, wake up, wake up!!! Saying how mad they would be if he didn't wake up and buy them that beer he promised. Asking him to stop sleeping already and wake up to for futsal this Sunday. He went into a coma after the accident. We scrolled even more to just 2 days before the accident, and you could still see his last post on Facebook. He posted a song he liked to share with everyone. He made a shout out to a friend for some event there were going to attend. I guess he can't make it anymore. 

My own grandmother passed away a few months back. It was the first funeral in my family for almost 2 decades. The last person to have died was my grandfather, her husband. And although I wasn't particularly close to my grandmother, watching my uncles and aunties and even my own father shed tears of sadness made me sad too. So many celebrities we know have died too; Whitney Houston died, Steve Jobs died, Michael Jackson died, Amy Winehouse died..... Their deaths are seldom related to us, yet we feel sad too. We somehow feel a loss simply because we know a life was lost.. and it could easily have been us.. or the ones we love. 

Death is grim. But it is surprisingly a good reminder of life. After being surrounded by death, you become acutely aware of how alive you are. Holding someone you love, you don't just feel their skin anymore. You feel the warmth of their palm and the blood that runs beneath it. Being aware of death, you suddenly realize how precious, how beautiful, how fleeting life can be. Every laughter and tear seems magnified. Every moment seems so precious. 

My other half was asking me the other day "How do you think all those vampires would feel.. in the movies.. if they could live forever.. how do you think they would feel?" 

I was surprised. She wasn't the kind that usually asked this sort of questions. 

I guess it would be a lot like the greek gods. Those who lived forever would feel bored and detached. Since everything is timeless, no amount of change seem to matter. Since there is no death, there is no renewal. Everything becomes stale. Life becomes stale. 

Ironically, death makes life beautiful. 

I've never quite understood people attraction to babies. I've always been awkward around them. But more and more, I'm starting to realize.. When people look at a baby, they aren't just looking at a cute, chubby little  miniature human.. they are looking at creation renewed. They are looking at life in its spring. Where hope blossoms and happiness flows. And I guess for many of us who are starting to see one too many winters, there can never be enough of spring... 

Have a good night everyone. 

If you died today

If you died today, who will miss you most?

Would it be your boss? Would it be your colleagues? Would it be your friends? Would it be your family?

If you died today, who will find it hardest to move on?
Your telco company? Your bank? Your other half? Your family?

If you died today, what will you worry about the most after you are gone?
Your unfinished work in office? The state of politics in your country? Your family?

Every now and then, I lose perspective of what's important. It's sad that it often takes something dramatic to happen, like someone we personally know dying suddenly, before we are reminded again on what are the truly important things in life.

Another Day to Live

For about ten minutes, I seriously thought my time to die had come today.

It was when the lights went dim and the pilot announced "Flight attendants, please take your seats for landing.." But instead of descending, the plane swerved violently and started to make a sharp dive then a sharp climb. Everyone in the plane was started. I felt an intensity of the G-Force pushing down on me as the plane seemed to climb desperately. I spontaneously let out a low groan. It seemed everyone around me felt it too. I could feel the intensity of the wind. And sitting at the back rows of the plane, the feeling of being tossed around could only have been worse.

I had been on many flights before, and this was certainly not normal. Pilots don't suddenly decide to go all roller-coaster immediately after announcing a landing. Perhaps at the very last minute before touching down, the pilot had to abort the landing due to an unexpected wind. Whatever it was, it scared me. I switched off my MP3 player and started paying attention. The little boy next to me was terrified. And his mom was trying hard to reassure her. But I could feel her mothers nervous energy. To my left, the man sitting next to me had tightened his seat belt for the third time.

I didn't know what to do. There was nothing I could do anyway. I thought of all those disaster movies, where the poor characters all are stuck on a place that's about to crash, and the hero comes up to the crowd and says "If you believe in God, now's a good time to start praying..." There was no hero in my plane, but I started praying anyway. I suddenly understood why some people were so terrified of flying. There was absolutely nothing you can do if something bad was about to happen. Your life literally depends on 3 parties; the pilot whose flying the plane, the engineer who built and maintains the plane, and most importantly, God himself who decides which wind blows your way. You just had to trust that they each would do what they promised to do; one to fly, the other to fix and the last one, to save.

So I closed my eyes and started praying. Or at least I tried to. It all came out in an incoherent mix of fear, hope and faith. What you have no time to think, the things most important to you, usually come out most naturally...

"Oh God... help us. Help us get through this safely. If its possible, not yet God, not yet. I can't die yet. My family needs me. They need me. Please God. But if I really die God.. if I really die.. then let them be OK... Please let them be OK...."

That Garth Brooks song started playing in my head.... "If tomorrow never comes, will she know how much I loved her? Is the love I gave in the past, going to be enough to last, if tomorrow never comes?" I closed my eyes and started visualizing my own funeral... with my father, mother, brother, wife, friends all standing around sobbing. Would they ever know that my dying thoughts were on them? Will they be alright? Funny that my thoughts were more on those who would survive me rather than on my own death. I kind of knew that once I was dead, that was it. In the blackness of death, a day would be a thousand years. And a thousand years would be a day. But for those who lived on, it would be weeks, months, years and decades of sadness and lost.

Hours earlier, my wife hugged me closely and said to me "Come home safely OK dear.. I can't afford to lose you." I had always brushed talked like that aside. To me, I wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon, so there was no need for such talk. But right now, sitting in a plane being tossed by the winds so easily... her worries didn't seem so unfounded after all. After about 20 minutes of circling around, waiting for the weather to subside, the pilot announced that we will be making the 'final' approach to land. The most dangerous part of a flight is often the landing. I was still recovering from the earlier failed landing attempt.  I didn't like the 'final' part in his sentence. It was still raining heavily. I wondered if perhaps we should wait longer before trying again?

Needless to say, this isn't written from the great beyond, and I didn't die. The pilot landed us safely and we arrived in one piece. Although everyone did seem more eager than usual to get out of the plane. The little boy next to me was smiling again. And as for me... well, I kind of laugh at myself.. it felt as if I had gone overboard in my own thoughts (again). Perhaps I wasn't quite at the brink of death as I thought I was.

Sitting in the taxi heading to the hotel, I thought about it a bit more. It didn't really matter if I wasn't technically really going to die. Emotionally, it felt real. Emotionally, in that short ten minutes (that seemed to last an eternity), I had given the prospect of my immediate death very serious consideration. And as expected, the fear associated with it sprung out so great, I was hardly able to contain it. Had something else not sprung at the same time, I don't think I could have taken it so well. That something else was faith. While a big part of me is not ready to die, a big part of me also believes that all things are in the hands of God. If my time was indeed up, I had to trust that God knows what He's doing... and that He would take care of the ones I loved most... and that if I were meant to die today, in the grand scheme of things, it was never going to be without purpose or meaning.

So thank you God... for keeping me safe today. You answered my prayer, and you gave me one more day. I'm calling my family... to tell them I love them. Thank you for that.

RIP Steve

Sorry I haven't posted anything lately. Busy is the lame, but nonetheless valid excuse I'm giving. The excuse I'm about to give is.... that I have nothing to write. Though life continues to go on, events continue to unfold, there has been nothing compelling enough for me to pen down beyond the random pieces of thoughts that would belong more on a twitter post than on a blog like this.

Steve Job died today. I remember being so impressed with his famous speech on ted.com to Stanford University graduates about how to live before you die. That was 6 years ago when he was first diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He talked about how he said ''Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart." I admired that about the man. It would seem he lived a truly remarkable life by embracing his impending death.

We aren't all Steve Jobs. Only a minoriy of people ever truly live remarkable lives, doing things that would affect millions of people. The rest of us would most likely live unremarkable, ordinary lives. Remarkable people are the exception, the rest of us are the rule.  Not that there is anything shameful about that.If there is anything I think Steve Jobs was trying to say in his speech was to measure your life against yourself, kind of like a game of golf. "Your time is limited. Don't waste your time living someone elses life" he said...The only handicap you needed to improve on was your own. You had to trust your own gut and intuition to do what you think is right, instead of following what the world tells you you need to do.  He did a lot of great work in his life at Apple..He loved what he did, and people loved the things he did. The secret to those great work was this... "You've got to find what you love...... The only way to do great work, is to love what you do..."

It's funny....  that truly importan things only become apparent to us when we realize that we could lose it at any moment. The fact that whatever it is we have in our possession, isn't really something we own perpetually, but rather something we steward over momentarily. In this case, life itself. We have this life to live, but it's not meant forever. We build friendships, but they too come and go. The things we have and the money we earn, all eventually get passed on to others, either through our own doing or death. Nothing this side of heaven is ever permanent. It's fleeting. And I guess that's what makes it beautiful.

RIP Steve Jobs.

And good night my friend. You are on my mind as always.

It Is Well With My Soul

We sat in silence, watching as my 3rd Uncle played a Theresa Teng song on his guitar and harmonica. It was a touching dedication to my grandmother. The song was one of her favourites. 3rd Uncle had sung it to her almost 12 years ago in the same black vest and white shirt. It was a repeat performance. Just like last time, all her children and grandchildren were present. But back then, it was for her birthday. This time, it was at her funeral.

My father was always the kind to put up a brave front. I wanted him to know he didn’t have to. I got up from my seat and walked over to him. I didn’t want him to sit alone. As I sat, he placed an arm around me, his other to his face. I could tell he was shedding tears. Earlier, as we chatted privately, he told me how he never cried when my grandfather died almost twenty years ago. But this time, it was different. We had spent the last few hours chatting, and he seemed almost nonchalant about the whole thing. But I understood my father. He was the kind that hid intense feelings behind casual conversation. It was a kind of coping mechanism. I put my arm around his shoulder and bowed my head as the pastor said the final prayer.

My grandmother was a feisty and determined woman. She had a stroke when she was only 29, after giving birth to her fourth child. Yet, in all she managed to raise six children with the little money her husband earned as a policeman. She had never step foot into a school in her life, yet she understood the importance of education and how to spend wisely. In her Eulogy, my third Aunt revealed how each and every sibling had borrowed money from their mother at one point or another in their lives. She never turned them away empty handed, even when the children didn’t always return the money. In fact, she made it a point to help out any other relative who was in need. She was every bit the matriarch of the family.

No one other than her children, grandchildren and relatives would ever know or remember my grandmother. But to her children, she was the greatest. In ending her eulogy, my third aunt proudly declared that grandma was the best mother in the world. And at that last line, all the siblings nodded and shed tears. Sad as it was, her death came almost as a relief. She had been bed ridden and in an almost vegetative like state for almost four years. She was a pale shadow of who she used to be before her second stroke. My uncles and aunts had tried so hard initially to put her on the road of recovery. And when it was apparent that there was not going to be a recovery, they focused instead on making her comfortable. The last time I visited her, I couldn’t tell if she could still recognize me. Her eyes stared blankly, but my father insisted that she could still hear and could still feel touch. So I reached out and held her hand. It was actually the first time I had actually touched my grandmother. My relatives had never been particularly touchy. It turned out to also be the last.

After the prayer, we were all called to give our last respects to grandmother before her body was to be sent for cremation. We all gathered around her coffin, looking at her through the glass. The undertakers had dressed her in her best cloths and her hands were placed above her heart, almost like in a praying position. My third aunt sobbed openly. My uncles stared in gloomy silence. Most of the grandchildren were holding on to their parents, trying to offer comfort. My mother stood next to my brother. Many many years ago, my mother had tried sharing her faith with my grandmother. But my grandmother rejected her. She defiantly declared that money was her god, probably to spite my mother. But here we were today, saying farewell to her in a Christian ceremony. She had converted almost 2 years ago, after her stroke, when one of her sons approached her again on the matter. I reminded my mother of this later over tea, and she nodded her head with a smile. “God works in his own ways…” she said.

Indeed.

I found it ironic, that my own father, once a theological scholar, a preacher and once the beacon of faith in my family, who knew and understood so many things about faith, had none of it in his heart……. while my grandmother, bed ridden and unable to talk, unable to ever read or study the scriptures, who once idolized money, could accept the faith offered to her at the end of her life.

The ending song was the beautiful and comforting hymn “It is well with my soul”. A song with great meaning, and a great story behind it. Among the chorus of voices, I could hear my father, singing it with all his heart. I was sure he knew the story of it too… And through his tone, I felt that perhaps with the way things turned out for my grandmother, it was well with his soul too…

Please let me share this song with you, and the story behind it, in memory of my grandmother. A song I have been singing to myself since last Sunday.

Sad News

Various Artists - Amazing Grace Mp3
Mp3-Codes.com

I received an alarming message from my brother early in the morning.

"I just got news... Ah Ma is dying..."

11.00pm I got another message from him


"Ah Ma just passed away. She breath her last breath just moments ago."


What sad news to start the morning. After lunch I made my way back to KL.. there was to be a Wake on Saturday and a Funeral on Sunday.. then it was back to Singapore for me..

The 4 hours drive back north, my thoughts lingered on my grandmother. She was the typical chinese grandmother type.. wearing floral 'ah  ma' cloths as sort of a uniform, swearing profusely in Hokkien whenever she was angry, and always reminding us not to talk while eating dinner. That was before the stroke. Her last few months of life was spent mostly in bed. She could neither move, talk or feed herself anymore after her second stroke. The last time I saw her, I wondered which would be crueler... keeping her alive and in pain like this, or allowing her to die a natural death. I guess the question is moot now.

Her death isn't unexpected, but sad nonetheless. I have many mixed feelings in receving this news. I was never particularly close to her. Yet there are things about my relationship with her that I remember till today. Many small incidences, insignificant as they were, somehow remain embedded in my memory even till today. I will write about it more when I get the time.

She was my grandmother, the mother to my father. Her blood runs in my veins too. Without her, there would be no me today. And for that, she has always had my respect.


May your soul ascend to the skies and find its a welcome in the house of God where from above, He, and now you, watch over all of us...

Rest In Peace Ah Ma....

If I Die Young

If I Die Young - The Band Perry Mp3
Mp3-Codes.com

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a, bed of roses
Sink me in the river, at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song


If I die young - The Band Perry

I've been listening to this song of late. The lyrics intrigued me in a way I found hard to explain. I researched a bit further, and this is what the author herself said about what the is suppose to mean...

"........ it’s about making the most of whatever time you are given, whether it’s 2 years or 20 years." She goes on to says that even at their young ages they have all lived and loved and if it all ends at this moment, look what they’ve gotten to do. “Whatever time we’re given will be absolutely enough as long as we make the most of it"

Making the most of your life..... that strikes a very deep chord with me.

I wake up many mornings staring myself in the mirror, wondering what all this means...Whether I'm heading the right direction in life.. Whether there is such a thing as a 'right' direction at all. Whether I should perhaps be doing something else. And if I did, then where would it all lead to anyway?

I heard this spectacular speech from Steve Jobs once... and he said one thing "If you live everyday like it was your last, one day, you're going to be right." He also asked "If this was your last day to live, would you still do what you are going to today?"

Powerful question. Sadly, like many of people I know, my answer is seldom a 'yes'. Living everyday like it's your last. A concept understood by many, lived out by not many. We don't live like it's our last day because our human nature is such that we always expect there to be a tomorrow. When things are good, we want there to be a tomorrow, as good as today. When things are bad, we still want there to be a tomorrow, better than today. It's the perpetual spring of hope embedded in our souls. Despite acknowledging the gloom and scepticism of the world, we each secretly hold a very private, very personal hope about our future. Even the  inevitability of death is countered with a hope of life after death.. some through Jesus Christ, some through Muhammad and some through the laws of Karma and reincarnation.

"What's the most important thing to you in your life? What do you think you need to make you happy?" This is a question I have asked more than 2 dozen people over the last six months. Some answer me instantly. Some stare at me blankly. Many answer that it's their family. Many answer it's money. Some answer it freedom. Some say it's personal achievements. A few days respect. Only one person answered God. "... to drop everything and run to Him...." was the amazing answer that left me speechless.

The natural assumption that ties these two questions is this; if this was the last day of life as you knew it, you would spend it doing the thing that matters the most to you. 

What would I be doing if I knew this was the last day of my life on earth? I don't really know. It would defnitely not be what I'm doing now, running a business I have limited interest in, dealing with people I have limited affection for, and providing a service I have limited passion for.

Instead, a picture comes to mind. Of my family, my friends, of the people who mean something to me in my life, all coming together in this one moment...sitting a top a high cliff, full of green grass, overlooking a sandy beach, having a picnic of home made sandwhiches and lemonade, wind blowing against our faces and messing up our hairs...... and laughter..... lots and lots of laughter... as we watch the sunset over the horizon, with rays of light colouring the sky and clouds in a million different hues...

THAT is how I'd spend my last day on earth.

7 Days

7 days ago, I was caught completely off guard with the news that I was about to become a father.

I confess, I was more terrified than happy.

Having a baby wasn't part of the immediate plan, and I felt far from ready for it. I couldn't rest the next few days thinking about it.

"What am I going to do? How am I going to manage? What does all this mean? A BABY.....?"

Life thus far for the past 6 months had been so challenging as it is. The year thus far had been marked by constant struggles.... having a baby on the way made that infinitely harder.

I spent the next few days thinking about little else. I accepted that whether I liked it or not, comfortable or not, this was going to happen. This was one of those classic curve ball God likes throwing at people. So I might as well embrace it and make the best of it.

It still felt so unreal to me. But we started talking about what to do; how do we announce? Who do we see? Which hospital do we go. How much does it even cost to have a baby?

But somehow... somehow... I started warming up to the reality of it all. I didn't know how to handle this, but perhaps that was OK... perhaps I could still do it anyway. I closed my eyes and tried visualizing myself holding a little baby.. and for once, one that wasn't just cute or cuddly... but one that was my own flesh and blood.

My heart did a somersault.  I could feel a seed of happiness and acceptance being planted in my heart. Yes. Perhaps I can do it after all...We made plans for the announcement. We called our immediate family from both sides for a dinner on Sunday night. We would share the good news with them over dinner.. I'm sure they would have loved it. Heck, even I started to seriously warm up to the idea.... (not of changing diapers and all, but of at least having a little mini me..or mini her..around)

But the good news never lasted.

Because 2 days before we were due to announce it, she sent me a desperate message.

"Darling, I'm scared. I'm bleeding. Stomach pain... I'm really scared. Please pray that the baby will be OK."

This time, my heart felt more like it had just jumped off a cliff. I was driving home from Singapore... and it was at least 3 hours before I could arrive. We were not sure what was going on. We hadn't even had time to see a doctor yet and now this. From what little we knew, a little bit of bleeding wasn't entirely uncommon.. but it was an alarming sign nonetheless.

I had barely gotten used to the idea of welcomig a baby... and suddenly I had to deal with the prospect of loosing one. God and his curveballs.....

That night... and nights following that, tears fllowed freely... tears of confusion, of despair, of helplessness...


The pregnancy did not last.. and the baby did not survive.

She woke me up in the middle of the night.... and I asked what was wrong.. She said nothing and just stared at me with more tears dropping down her cheeks. I held her in my arms... and she started sobbing non stop. I would have cried too...the whole thing was just too much for me to absorb in such a short time...my heart was aching in a way I had never knew before.... but the tears refused to come out.

Sunday morning I went to church... and in the midst of all the songs and the sermon... I prayed desperately to God for some sort of guidance. All things happen for good, all things happen under the sight of God.. But why was this happening? What possible sense could I make of this 7 days of brought me from fear to acceptance, to hope, to happiness, then to shock, to anxiety then finally to despair?

I'm back to exactly where I was 7 days ago... yet I cannot act like I have gone nowhere and expereince no loss... the expereince of receiving something then loosing it isn't the same as never receiving it. One is a pain of grieving, and the other is the pain of longing. I felt completely isolated from the world... completely alone in my experience. There was no one I had confided in.... simply because it happened so fast...

And the world around me was simply to busy, or caught up with its own sufferings to have an ear...

A best friend was in the midst of a nasty breakup and looked to me for guidance and advise. Business was not going well and called for my attention. Work was no better with, with my boss breathing down my neck constantly requiring me to travel...  A (former) friend called me a cheat, liar and two faced swindler... and for the first time in my life, decided to completely burn bridges... not because I was bitter, but because I knew I wanted nothing to do with people who had malicious hearts.

Sigh.....

I'm tired Lord. Tired of so much struggle. I ask not for an easily, carefree life... only a life with meaning and purpose. So help me find meaning and purpose in all of this.

A Treasure On Loan

“Don’t you find it scary?”

“What?”

“The end of the world… 2012.. With all the shit happening of late.. don’t you think it’s scary?”

“What are you afraid of? We’ve all got to die some day anyway.”

“Yeah… but if its like in the movies and we’ve got nowhere to run to.. man.. it’s going to be crazy.”

“You got to stop watching those crap dude.. But then again, if your time is up and death comes for you, do you really think anyone could run from it?”

“True…. But still… it’s going to be scary.....”

“I guess so…I think the end of the world is always going to be scary. But to some, the end of the world also means the start of something else… something spanning eternity. Ever heard of something like that?”

“Of course… heaven on earth right?”

“mHmmm... a lot of people wait till it’s the end of the world before they start believing in something called God. But by then, it’s too late.”

“No problem... We'll just go to church and repent in December this year. ”

“Erm... maybe it's better before December.”

“And why is that?”

“Well…… because it might end THIS YEAR… “

The point:

Waiting for the end of days the same as waiting for your own death. The timing is irrelevant. People shouldn’t be any more obsessed about the end of the world as they are with their own death. More important than when it’s going to happen, is ARE YOU READY FOR IT? I heard a speech by Steve Jobs once and he said “If you live everyday like it’s your last, eventually you’re going to get it right.” If you died today, if Armageddon was today, go you must, die you will… but will you be doing it WILLINGLY? READILY?

The thought of dying, and the thought of the end of the world scares people because they cling to this world so tightly without realizing that it’s a world that is already decaying anyway. It scares them because this world and this life is all they think they have and they don’t want to lose it.

Life on earth is a gift we all receive. I don’t think anyone will argue with that. But in a sense, although gifted to you, you don’t really own your life anymore than you own the world and all its wealth. We are beings merely passing through.. given a chance to marvel at creation, to be a guardian and steward for a brief time of all things created. Then when our time is up, we pass on the baton to others and we return to the one who brought us there in the first place.

Life

It was never a gift you own.

It’s a treasure on loan.

In Heaven

“I think you would like my daughter. Want to see how she looks like?”

“Oh? You think so? Sure..let me see.”

She takes her phone out and show me a picture of a pretty young girl in her twenties.


“Pretty… takes after her mom I suppose? Where is she now?”

“In heaven……………died in a fire.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry………long time ago?”

“It’s OK. Just last year actually…”

I too shocked to say anything for a few seconds. My heart sank. From behind that smile came a deep sadness when she talked about her daughter.

“We were very close. People used to say we were more like sisters. We’d talk to each other about everything….even about sex.”

“How did it happen?”

“They say it was the electrical socket that caught fire. She got trapped inside… I lost everything in that fire. By the end of the day, I only had the cloths on my back.”

I dared not ask anymore. The thought of this persons daughter dying so tragically in a fired was a bit overwhelming. To listen to her talk about it so candidly barely a year later was also another thing. I still find myself not very good at dealing with death.

I know no parent would even want to see their children go before them. They want to die knowing their children live on. In one of those rare show of emotions, my father once shared with me that he had a dream; and in it I died in front of him. It shook him so badly that he woke up from his sleep palpitating and sweating. I looked at him and I could see that it was a thought that genuinely disturbed him.

I think I understood perfectly. When I was 6, I dreamt that I was digging a grave for my father and mother during twilight. The sky was orange, I was sobbing and I was using a shovel to move the dirt. It disturbed me so much I woke up crying and ran next door to my parents room, banging the door telling them not to die.

People have asked me why I believe in God. And this is one of those reasons why - death. I don’t know how to live life and not despair if all there was to it was to be born, live, suffer, then die, the end. I cannot believe that life on earth is pointless… because every fibre of my being, every strand of my existence tells me that we are here for a reason. There is a meaning to all of this. And that meaning is found in the divine.


That night as I drove home, I thought about what more I could have said to comfort her. Perhaps I could have said that she's in a better plance now, with God.. But it’s hard to talk to someone about heaven when the word ‘God’ and ‘faith’ isn’t in their dictionary. Then I remember what she said in the beginning... She said her daughter was "In heaven..."

Funny how people can live their life completely ignoring God, yet talk about heaven when faced with death.

Grieving

To you dear friend who is in grief, and to anyone out there who has ever lost someone dear to them.

Someone out there is crying. Someone out there is grieving. Someone out there is asking themselves how to go on; how to know when to let go; how to know when it’s too soon.

I dare not say I know how it feels like because I don’t. I dare not give any advice because I don’t really know the answer.

All I know is that it’s painful. All I know is that it’s hard; to have someone all your life and then to lose them; to love someone so much, then to be separated from them; to wish with all your heart to have more time, then to have that time robbed from you.

Even though we all know death is a part of life, it still doesn’t make it any easier to take. Losing someone dear to us is perhaps the most painful thing anyone can experience. Trying to get over it is probably the hardest things our hearts are called to do. It’s called grieving.

Grieving is our heart trying to come to terms with reality. Grieving is us trying to consolidate what our minds already know with what our hearts are still not willing to accept is gone. When we grieve, it’s more than just feeling sad. You feel empty. You feel a void in your heart. Something’s missing. And the bigger the loss, the bigger hole that is left in your heart.

People try to tell you not to be sad. They mean well, but they don’t quite understand. At some level, you just know you need to be experiencing this sadness. You need to be feeling this way. The pain of your loss must be expressed, not just for your own sake, but also for the sake of the one you’ve lost. For all the wonderful things that they were to you, for all the great things that they were, it is only right that you grieve fully and unreservedly for and in honour them.

But how long? How long do we continue in this state? When is it too soon? When is it too long? I wish I knew how to answer that. But the answer lies within our own hearts. You and you alone will know when to come out of mourning. You and you alone will know if it has been too short or too long. Know that every second of the day, your heart is healing. Such is the resilience of our heart. But the heart heals at its own pace. All you have to do is be mindful of it.

But remember those who love you; the ones that are gone as well as the ones still around. Everyone who has ever loved us want only what’s good for us. As long as the grieving is good for our healing, than grieve we must. But when it starts to destroy you and consume you from within, then you know it is time to stop. Then you know it is time to stop the mourning and start the living. Even the one you grieve for will not have you consumed by grieve. No. They would have us live well. They would have us tackle life with all the best of them they managed to instill in us. We often become a living testimony of the kind of love we received from others. Yes, our lives are a testimony. And our testimony speaks loudest of the people responsible for making us who we are today.

In that sense, we honour those who love us when we live our lives well... So live well my friend, in honour of them.

Life goes on, and so must you. Death is not the end.

Death & Burials...

‘Ma…let me ask you something...’

‘Yes……..’

‘What would YOU want us to do after………… after you die’

I surprised myself. I didn’t know it would be this hard to ask the question.

‘Do you want to be buried?.... Or cremated?’

It was a very morbid question to be asking on a beautiful Sunday evening. But it came to that somehow as we strolled around the park. My brother’s good friend suffered a great loss just 2 days ago. Bobby’s father died of some sort of medical complication this week. His body was cremated and put to rest next to his late wife.. Bobby’s mum.. who had died late last year. Another old friend of my mother was also in mourning. Her father had just passed away a month ago and was buried back in his home town.

I recalled my conversation with a close friend, talking about her experience going through the process of arranging her mother’s funeral and cremation just a few weeks ago. Her dying wishes were to be cremated.

I consider myself still very green when it comes to issues about death. What are you supposed to do when someone dies? How are arrangements made? Do you preserve the body? How long do you wait? What sort of things need to be done? IS there something you should ready before they die? Is there a number to call? It’s delicate issue….

In my years growing apart from my mother, I never really stopped to consider what I’d do if she died. Many nights, I’d fear for her safety. Sometimes, months would go by and we would not hear a word from her…. and my brother and I would wonder if everything was OK, or if she was still alive. But some part of me always believed that God would protect her… and that she would be alright in the end.

But faced with so many news of death recently, I had to ask this question. I needed to know from my mother what she wanted not just in life, but also in death.

‘I want to be buried……’ she said.

‘OK. So you’re totally against cremation correct?’ I asked.

‘I will prefer to be buried if possible…. Otherwise, you can bury me up north in Sungai Petani….‘

Sungai Petani was the place I partially grew up in. It was also the place she had spent almost 8 years of her life alone.

“Do you just want to be buried anywhere that is available, or is there a specific reason for Sungai Petani?” I asked….

‘The land is cheaper there.. Over here it will be too expensive. And also….. there have been only 2 places where I’ve been happy in my life. One was in New Zealand, and the other was in Sungai Petani…………. When the family was still together.’ she answered.

I kept silent…. There was a lot to digest there.. Our old hometown was over 350km away… a 6 hour drive. Memories of the last time I was there came back to me. I didn’t like the place.. but if this was what her wishes were, I knew in my heart that I will not refuse it. How do you transport someone’s body 350km away anyway? Was there some sort of envoy needed?

‘We can do that ma…. But if it’s up north, what about all the people that might not be able to attend your funeral? And it will be harder for us to visit you…’ I asked…

She kept silent for a while. I immediately regretted asking the question. It – how stupid and thoughtless… But before I could take it back.

‘It’s OK… Just family members will be enough. And if it’s too far away, you don’t have to come visit my grave every year. A few years once is also fine……… but if it’s a few years once, I think the place might be a bit unkept.’

Again….I kept quiet. This was so typical of my mother. Ever the sacrificing one.. every the accommodating person. She was always offering to give up her food, or her time, or her money for us…. I wondered if this was more of a maternal instinct or was she just naturally a giving person. Whichever it was, I respected and admired her for this selfless quality. Even in death, she was still singing the same tune…. telling me not to visit too often if it was too much trouble.

I reached out and held her by the shoulder and pulled her close.. giving her a sideways hug and a kiss on the cheek. I wanted to reassure her that there would never ever be such a thing as ‘too much trouble’ to visit her grave…. But I didn’t want to say anything further, because I was afraid I would get too emotional. Just listening to hear say those things was hard enough.

Someone once made an observation to me that I was very attached to my mother. That person went on to express that should and when my mother pass away, I’d probably be hit hardest compared to even my brother. My first inclination was to argue that while I’d certainly be sad and mourn for a period, there was no reason to believe I couldn’t get through it. Plus…. It’s not like she’s going to die anytime soon. That was what I would say…. In that past that is.

But time has gone by much faster than I previously anticipated… and I realize that I must prepare myself for the eventuality of losing her and my father in the future. I needed to talk about it because I needed to know how she want me to act and how she would feel about things. But it wasn’t just about fulfilling her dying wishes. I think that my asking her these questions were for me as much as it was for her.

I needed comfort and courage in dealing with it if and when the day comes……. and I guess I wanted to gain some from her before it was too late. I will remember what she told me today. I will remember how even in considering her own death, she would think first of her children. Such is the great love of all mothers. She might be an unexceptional woman to the world, but it was still her hands that rocked my cradle.. Indeed, I would grieve most at her death.

‘Don’t worry OK.. whatever it is… we will sort it out. Everything will be OK. I’ll take care of everything…. That is provided I don’t die before you... ‘ I half joked.

‘Don’t say that son….. it would make me very sad.’ she immediately replied.

I held her closer. I think I know what she meant.

Whispers at a Wake

"My funeral," the Blue Man said. "Look at the mourners. Some did not even know me well, yet they came. Why? Did you ever wonder? Why people gather when others die? Why people feel they should? "It is because the human spirit knows, deep down, that all lives intersect. That death doesn't just take someone, it misses someone else, and in the small distance between being taken and being missed, lives are changed. "You say you should have died instead of me. But during my time on earth, people died instead of me, too. It happens every day. When lightning strikes a minute after you are gone, or an airplane crashes that you might have been on. When your colleague falls ill and you do not. We think such things are random. But there is a balance to it all. One withers, another grows. Birth and death are part of a whole. "It is why we are drawn to babies . . ." He turned to the mourners. "And to funerals."

Except from The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom

I had thought about little else that day. The news of aunty’s departure was sudden and abrupt, but not entirely unexpected. Many questions came to my mind as I made my way to the house. I had never been to Wake before. Do I bring flowers? Do you write a card? Do you make donation? How much? What are the right things to say? Is there ever a right thing to say?

I spotted my friend from a distance and pushed those questions aside. If I didn't know, I'd just find out later. Right now, there was a friend needing comforting. She was aunty’s eldest daughter. Her eyes looked a bit swollen. I couldn’t be sure if it was from crying or exhaustion… perhaps it was both. I tightened my grip on the little card I brought along as I walked up to her and gave her a hug.

“I’m so sorry….” came the whisper from my lips.

That was all I said. I've always had this weird belief that special moments require special words.. words that somehow reflected the significance of the event. But even after spending the entire day thinking and meditating upon it, that was all I could bring myself to say..."I'm sorry..." Perhaps it was the only thing to say really….. the gravity of the events did not need overstating. The service started as soon as I arrived. Thank goodness I wasn't late. The crowd starting singing hymns and Christian songs that Aunty was most fond of. Halfway through Amazing Grace, came another whisper;

“Are you a Christian?” Many heads bowed in prayer. A few did not.

Though I too grieved over the sudden departure of Aunty, I knew deep inside that this was not the end. This was not goodbye. Christians aren’t immune to sadness and grieving… but we are told not to grieve without hope. One day, we will be raised again. We will be united in Christ with the ones dear to us. I wondered what comfort those who did not believe had. I wonder what hope they kept in the face of death. I remember my mother weeping when I was a kid. She had heard that her own aunt, the closest thing she had to a mother – died before knowing Christ. I could not understand this at the time. The full realization of death and what it meant to have a hope that goes beyond death did not come until much later.  But that night more than ever before, I was reminded what it meant, and just how priceless it truly is to have this faith. The dearer someone is to you, the more critical this faith becomes.

The eulogies came from friends who’d known Aunty for decades… one of them my own relative. I smiled as I heard testimonies about how Aunty would go through great lengths to prepare the favourite foods for her friends and loved ones. I smile because well… it was Aunty’s cooking that I remembered most clearly too. It’s funny that in the end, it is the simple gestures and small acts of kindness that seem to leave the biggest impact on people’s lives. And with Aunty, it was her simple act of preparing food for people that showed how warm and loving she really was. The testimonies were proof of that.

“She looks so pretty” came another whisper.

This time I was standing at her coffin looking down on her. She did look pretty. It was actually the first time in my life that I have come face to face with the deceased. I gazed silently. It’s a sobering experience. It forces you to confront the hard truths of life. Everyone born of this world will die one day. It’s just a matter of when. Mankind puts the value of human life above all other creatures. But under the sun, the only difference between our lives and that of even a May fly is that we live for less than a hundred years and a May Fly lives for just a few days. When you compare that to the eternal span of time, our lives are a miniscule dot in grand scheme of things only marginally longer than others. But there was a key difference; unlike the May Fly and every other creature on earth, mankind wasn’t created just to exist. We were created to nurture and love one another, to learn & marvel at all of creation, and ultimately to know, honour & worship the one that created it all - God The Creator. The God that I knew Aunty had been faithful to till the very end. She had finished well, and that was a comforting thought. I placed one hand on the coffin, closed my eyes and said a quick prayer, committing Aunty into His hands. God keeps all his promises.

Everyone was talking casually and laughing; everything from upcoming weddings, cost of funerals, latest movies and even career prospects in the airline industry. On the way home I wondered why this was so. Why did everyone talk about everything else except the reason we were all there? Maybe many just didn’t know how to tackle the subject. Or maybe like me, many people fear the clumsy words that may escape their mouths. Maybe everyone was trying to put on a brave face, or trying to cheer up the surviving family. But I realized something; our collective presence there as a group was a physical message that made a stronger statement than any amount of words could convey. And that statement is that ‘We are with you. Your loss is my loss. Your sorrow is my sorrow’. By being present, the heavy weight of grief is carried by all. The family need not mourn alone.

I was among a group that was the very last guest to leave. I made a promise to my friend as much as to myself that I will visit again at the end of the week. On the way home, another whisper came from a friend

“I’m glad they’re OK. They seem to be taking it rather well…”.

I was glad too. But I appealed to them in earnest; our role does not end here. As reality sinks in over the next few months, so will the pain of this loss increase. A lot of people don’t understand grief. The most painful moments don’t come immediately after the events, they come later when the state of shock is gone and the gravity of it all starts to be felt. 

“It is in those darkest hours that we must be there.” I whispered in my heart.


To my dear friend….

If and when you read this, again, I am sorry for your loss. Please allow me to share this as words of comfort and encouragement to you and your entire family.

The 18th-century Bible commentator Matthew Henry wrote these words that he hoped would be read after his death by anyone who might unduly mourn his passing. May it be a comfort to you too. He wrote:

“Would you like to know where I am?


I am at home in my Father’s house, in the mansions prepared for me here. I am where I want to be—no longer on the stormy sea, but in God’s safe, quiet harbor. My sowing time is done and I am reaping; my joy is as the joy of harvest.


Would you like to know what I am doing?


I see God, not as through a glass darkly, but face to face. I am engaged in the sweet enjoyment of my precious Redeemer. I am singing hallelujahs to Him who sits upon the throne, and I am constantly praising Him.


Would you know what blessed company I keep?


It is better than the best on earth. Here are the holy angels and the spirits of just men made perfect. I am with many of my old acquaintances with whom I worked and prayed, and who have come here before me.


Lastly, would you know how long this will continue?


It is a dawn that never fades! After millions and millions of ages, it will be as fresh as it is now. Therefore, weep not for me!”

I believe with all my heart that Aunty will be telling us all the same thing from up above.

Cops, Robbers & Boys

Everyone's talking about the 15 year old boy who got shot by the police these days.

The story goes something like this:

It's 2a.m. in the morning. The police are doing a routine road block in Shah Alam in a neighbourhood well known for robberies and break ins. A car tries to escape the road block and the police give chase. A 6km pursuit follows in which half a dozen red lights are broken, a motorcyclist is nearly knocked before the police finally brings the car to a stop. The police approach the car by foot, but the car reverses, in what seems like an attempt to run them over. The police draw their gun out and open fire. One person from the car runs away, while the other is shot dead. Then, they discover, that it was in fact, a 15 year old boy.

To start, it's really so so tragic that a young boy had to die so needlessly. There was no crime (except perhaps driving illegally without a license). And even if there was, there was hardly any need for a life to be taken.

Understandably, a lot of people are upset.The integrity and reliability of the police force is immediately called into question. 'Trigger happy' is added to the long list of defamatory labels Malaysians already associate with the police. The family says they want the truth to come and and justice to be served. They've hired no less a big shot than Karpal Singh to look into the matter (how come he has to get involved in everything anyway?). I agree that the truth must come out and that can only be done once the facts of the case are fully revealed. The high profile nature of the case will undoubtedly make sure no cover up is attempted.

But what kind of truth does the family (and the rest of the blood thirsty nation) hope to uncover anyway? The core facts of the case does not change. The boy ran from the police. The police assumed the worst. They open fired at a vehicle driven by someone they presume to be extremely dangerous. The boy dies and the police discovered their mistake only too late. Unless you think the police deliberately shot a 15 year old boy in cold blood (which is totally absurd), I don't think the full blown investigation is going to reveal anything new. More than justice, I think the family want compensation (which isn't unfair). And the nation.......well, they just want blood and another good excuse to bash to police.

I'm not the biggest fan of the Royal Malaysian Police Force, but in this particular case, I do sympathize with them. Contrary to popular belief, police aren't just a bunch of donut munching fatso's looking for their next victom to squeeze ang pow money from. It's easy for those of us who draw a good pay just by sitting our butts in an air conditioned office to criticize. But for the meager pay they receive, the police really do put their life in harms way to protect our people. The gun they sling around their waste though hardly ever used, isn't there without a reason.

There are a lot of hardcore bad asses lurking around. Remember just a few weeks ago, an armed robber shot dead his own accomplice just to keep his own identity secret. This happened not 10 minutes away from my home.... and the robber is still on the loose. The public gets frightened.... heck, I got frightened. And who do we expect to apprehend hardcore criminals like that? THE POLICE RIGHT?

So fast forward to last week.. the said criminal is STILL ON THE LOOSE and the police are certainly still looking for him. And suddenly, you have this car trying to get away at all cost to avoid capture. What do you expect our men in blue to assume? "Oh... maybe it's just some kids frightened because they don't have a driving license and their moms will so kill them if they find out." Gee... you think so?

What if the car had indeed been driven by the same trigger happy criminal? What if one of the police had been shot dead even before they could even approach the vehicle? What do you think today's headlines will be? "Hardcore criminal got away - AGAIN."; "Cops Let Robber Get Away"....... If a policeman had died, do you think people would be in an uproar? Do you think their families will engage Karpal Singh to demand better pay, equipment and protection for the police force? Of course not. They are being paid after all right? And surely, they should have known the risk when taking the job right? Right.....

So.... why did the boy run? Why did he try to reverse into the police? Surely he should have known the risk when deciding to run from the police right? Wrong..... No, no, no...that's not fair. He's just a kid that didn't know better. That's true. He didn't know better. And so did the police when they opened fire. They didn't know better too. There was no way they could have given the circumstances. There is a difference between committing a wrong and making an honest mistake.

Intentional or not, a mistake was made. Out of compassion more than guilt, the family should be compensated in some way even if the deed cannot be undone and their son can never be brought back. For the police officer who pulled the trigger, whatever punishment awaits him (if any is due) it certainly cannot outweigh the agony he must be feeling over taking away the life of a young boy needlessly. Has anyone stopped to wonder how his family is coping with all of this?

You can assign blame, and it will most likely go to the police, but there are no winners in this tragedy. Punishment to the officer will be but a small consolation... he will be haunted for life, his entire career will be ruined... and the family of the deceased will not gain the peace of mind they seek nor find any meaning in all of it.

I think only God can give them that.

My condolences to all who suffered in this tragedy.

of Brotherly Love

"When you go back..... drive safely OK." my brother said.

"OK.... Don't worry.. I'll be alright." I assured him.

I felt I knew what was on his mind. He was thinking about his friend.

I had driven 350km back from Singapore to KL. I was starting to feel pretty trapped over there. The week had been one long frustrating struggle of paddling my way through the myriad of rules, regulations, laws, requirements and restrictions that seems to define life in Singapore. It wasn't even planned...... the last straw came when I tried buying a mobile broadband package when they asked me for a proof of mailing address, bank statement, copy of passport, copy of work permit AND a SGD200 deposit. There and then I decided, I'm going home. I'm taking the drive back, I'm going to have dinner with my family and I'm taking my mom to church.

The weekend was over, and it was time for me to head downs south again.

Earlier at dinner, he and I had the best of times recollecting our childhood memories - catching dragon flies in the grass, fishes in the longkang (drain), riding bikes exploring the neighbourhood, playing with our dog, playing kites, running away from dogs ... We were recollecting all these funny stories and retelling them to my mother and my brothers girlfriend. Why me named our dog Baxter, why I never dared walk pass the house with the blue gate... and how my brother ended up being chased down the road by the usually passive Rooster (He was actually taunting it with a stick, to prove how brave he really was... but ended up being pecked in the heel). We moved on to primary school, where we'd pretend we were going out to play badminton when we were in fact, going to play video games. We also developed a fanatical obsession with rearing fish. We upgraded from a tiny square aquarium to a 1 foot to finally a 4 feet one equipment with water pumps, filter, decorations and what have you... Every weekend, my brother and I would spend our time tending to our fish, discussing the best ways to keep the fish health and what sort of worms to feed them. Those were perhaps the times when my brother and I shared the strongest bonds.... at least at that point I mean.

After he went to college, we started to grow apart. He had his life to live, and so did I. We did maintain our brotherhood, and stood united whenever there was a family crisis... but most of the time, we mind our own business. We talked about the friends we each made over the years especially in college. I had always felt that he somehow had the cooler bunch of friends. At one point, I felt like I liked his friends more than I did my own. Funny how things seem to be coming full circle for me recently. Over the past 2 years, my brother and I seemed to have rekindled our sense of closeness and brotherhood. We don't live together anymore, but he calls me and talks to me, sometimes asking for my advice, other times just to bounce of some grand new idea he has in his mind. And in turn, I know that although he doesn't always know what goes on in my mind (no one does anyway).... I can always count on him to be there.. and to support me.. the same way I'd support him. I always thought I wanted a sister... but now I think.. having a brother is just as good too....

"You know my classmate? The one that was the top student. Very brilliant, very smart... really talented and gifted girl..."

"Yeah...What about her?"

"She dies last week..... Car accident in Johor...."

I was shocked. I stopped eating. This was the second of his classmates who have suddenly passed away - both in car accidents. She WAS a brilliant girl... she WAS talented.. graduated top of her class... people said she had such a promising future. Who would have thought she would leave this work so quickly and so abruptly. Who would have thought.........  Dinner was much more solemn after that.


As I dropped them off, my brother gave me that reminder to drive safely.. with an uncomfortable pause in between. I reached out and help him by the shoulder and told him not to worry. He lost 2 friends to the road.... For all the beautiful memories we had together as kids, for all the future memories we will create with together as a family..... I had to make sure he didn't loose a brother too. For once, I drove slowly, and unhurriedly.

You never need to say it dear brother.. .... but I love you too.