Stories of Jane

“I have to make a choice. I was ready to let him go already. It’s either I use it all on the old one or the young one. But he is old like me. We are going to die soon anyway. But Christopher is young. He still has so much life ahead of him. It’s better that I use that money for him rather than the father.”

“I’m not being wicked. It’s just being realistic. When you’re old and it’s time to go, then it’s time to go. I have nothing to leave Christopher except a little bit of money. If it’s all used up now on hospital bills, once the father and I are gone, he will have no money, and nobody. “

Christopher is their only child. He’s barely 18. Smart boy. Likes to dress in black. Has a bit of a pessimistic aura about him. But surprisingly, very dedicated to the local church. Jane is his mother. She’s worked as a nursing assistant in the same hospital all her life. Her pay is lower than what waiters at starbucks earn. Uncle Liew is the father. He’s a sales assistant all his life in KL. He takes the bus to work. They have no money. They have no property. But they have one son, Christopher.

Uncle Liew had been on the brink of death for the past 2 months. Complications in the kidney. Jane hospitalized him in another hospital nearby. Despite being a loyal medical staff for the hospital all her life, her lowly position as Nursing Assistant means that medical benefits are not extended to her spouse or family. With the pay she draws, she cannot afford private medical treatment.

She’s been going back and forth between working shifts and taking the bus to the hospital nearby to be with her husband. She tells me her life for the past 2 months has been from one hospital to another. She told the doctor that if it was time for the husband to go, please let him go… she can’t afford prolonged treatment.

She’s looking for a new place to stay. Her landlord has given her till the end of the year to find another place to stay. They are selling the house to someone else. The old landlord was kind enough not to raise the rent for the past 10 years. But now she’s struggling because she can’t find a decent place to stay nearby that she can afford.

I’m there because I felt that I just had to be there. I disappeared from work in the morning. I brought 3 things with me. An invitation to my wedding, a bundle of cash, and my car. The invitation because she was my fiancées Godmother.. we considered her an important person in our lives. The bundle of cash because we knew she couldn’t afford the medical bills. She never asked for it. But we felt her need was greater than ours. The car because they had no transport to bring the father home.

I didn’t have to be there. But I went anyway. Not because I must, but because I should. Compassion cannot be on a minimum requirement basis. It should be abundant and overflowing… as should all good deeds in life.

God knows how many people like Jane’s family exist in this world. Unknown, unnoticed, ordinary folk who struggle through so much yet never get recognized. It takes someone with a lot of resilience to go through what Jane has gone through an still remain strong. People like her, with no connections, no money, no influence, no power; they rely almost exclusively on 3 things – the strength in their heart, the kindness of others and the faithfulness of God. And yet their amazing stories will never be known or heard by anyone else.

Sick.. :-(

I'm sick. Damn. Been sleeping practically the whole day. I sent my boss a message telling him I'm cancelling my trip to Singapore and that I'm going on MC. He told me to get lots of rest.... or drink lots of beer. The guy can be real funny sometimes.

I went to the clinic to get some medicine and the records show that the last time I was there was 28th July 2009. That was last year. One day before my birthday actually. I remembered that. Seems I have a habit of falling around this time.

I hate the way I fall sick. It's seldom the kind where I'm so weak I can't get out of bed, but it's also not the kind where I can function without actually making an effort. It's medical limbo I tell you. The good thing is, I pride myself for generally being in good health. I hardly fall sick more than once a year. This would be my first (and hopefully last) sick day.

There's also this guilt conscience thing going on with me. Everything I ask the doctor for an MC, I start feeling guilty... as if I'm playing truant from work. This happens even though I'm fully aware that a. I AM sick... and b. This only happens like.... once a year. I don't know why I'm like that. Is it some sort of sense of duty? Of leaving your post when it's your responsiblity? Something like that I guess.......

I think I'm one of those guys that if there was a woman around, I'd totally start playing the pity card and get her to care for me. I can't pull off the big eyed puppy face (cuz my eyes are so small), but I do pull of a pretty decent 'Look-at-ne-I'm-so-sick-I-so-need-you-now' tone. Which usualy works because it's in their natural instinct for women to nurture & care for other people... especially if it's for big bruly egoistic men who under normal circumstance would never admit their weakness. I also think my body and mind have this conspiracy going on... to not fall sick during the times that are critical but only when things are less busy and it's ok to be missing for a few days... preferably on public holidays and weekends when no medical leave is required.

My back is hurting (for having slept all day), my eyes feel like their going to burst out, my nose is running like a tap, and I'm pretty much flying through this post writing whatever comes to my mind without so much as a filter. And at the top of my mind are these totally random stuff:

1. I think the thermometer that was put in my mouth wasn't washed.
2. Blogger has a 'stats' page now.
3. It's bloody hard to find good popiah (springroll) these days.
4. How do you define a burger from a Sandwich?
5.If you can't have your cake and eat it, why don't you just buy two?

It's totally weird that 3 out of 5 of these thoughts involve food, because frankly, my taste buds are gone and my appetite is missing.

I also think that there might be an oxygen deficiency in my brain, resulting in this most random, unstructured, disjointed post... which I guess is a sign that I should stop now and go back to sleep.

So good night worlds....... wordl.... wrodl....W.O.R.L.D....

We All End Up in Diapers

Slowly the boy picked up the cone from one side and placed it on the other. There were 2 dozen cones. He was only on his forth but it already felt like eternity to me. Across, an old man lifts simple plastic rings from one end to another in a secular motion. It was a real simple motion, but he seemed to be genuinely struggle with it. To the other side, a man in a wheelchair had his arms and shoulders supported by scary looking brackets, wires and knots. All he was doing was swinging his arms left to right. And every time he managed to do so, the therapist around him would praise him. And everywhere else in the physiotherapy clinic I was in, there was some other person like this.

Funny how it almost never crosses our minds our fortunate we are sometimes in simply being able to do the basic things in life like brushing our teeth, bathing, making a meal, walking to the store, rolling around in bed without the aid of others. We take it for granted that just because we have always been able to do so, we will continue to do so in the future. And a lot of our self-worth is actually derived from our ability to do things on our own without the aid of another person. I can’t begin to imagine how it would feel like if we are robbed of even that basic ability… which is not so much a matter of if, but when.

There is this quote from the movie ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’. In it, one lover grows older while the other bizarrely grows younger – but in either case,

We all end up in diapers.

Perhaps it’s something we should all think about.

All the Fuss

Have you been driving lots of water?
Yes.

Enough rest?
Yes.

Plenty of vitamin C?
Yes.

Can I eat that?
No. Heaty.

What about this fried thingy?
Absolutely... NOT.

What about the coffee then? That looks good.
OK. I'll let you have a sip. But just a sip OK?

I was being told what I can and cannot do... but I wasn't about to complain.

"You see la... overwork yourself some more la. See now, sick already."

I gave a sheepish smile. It was exactly the kind of nag you'd hear from a mother/sister/wife/girlfriend who was too proud to get all soft on you and comfort you, but still needed to show that they cared enough to make a fuss over it.

"I've been resting, I've been resting!" I respond as I sip my cup of hot chocolate. She didn't allow me to order coffee, but I guess that was OK. 

I had been sleeping practically non stop for the past few days. My body ached everywhere, I had fever, sore throat, cough, a blocked nose and absolutely no appetite. Happy Chinese new Year indeed. By the third day, I decided I needed to get out of the house, even if I was still a bit under the weather. I'll be damned if I spent my entire holiday sitting at home getting well only to recover in time to go to WORK. So out for coffee it was... with as-good-as-a-sister of mine who had been checking on me to see if I was recovering. She had been constantly hounding me to see a doctor, drink plenty of water and take medication. I absolutely resisted going to see a doctor, so the least I could do was make an appearance to show that I was recovering well.

This was the most fuss anyone had made over me for the past 3 days.....come to think of it.. the most fuss anyone has made over me in 3 months. Very honestly, I enjoyed being fussed over at times like this. Being sick is the one time I feel like I deserved to be fussed over without needing to feel guilty. In some ways, I like to think that if someone fusses over me, it means that they care about me, and that I mean something to them. Otherwise, why would they bother?

I guess I kinda miss that. Feeling like I mean something to someone.

Is blogging healthy?

Is blogging really a good thing to be doing? A bizarre little thought crossed my mind as I was going about my day today.

"Blogging is almost like talking to your imaginary friend"

Or rather, MY blogging is almost like talking to an imaginary friend. You write and you write, but to who? Who are you writing to? Is it supposed to be for anyone in particular to read? And when I say 'you', I really mean 'me'. I do nothing to promote this blog to people I know. Quite the opposite really. I go through great pains to make sure no one ever comes near this little space of mine! And so I keep this intimate little space online.. whispering all sorts of secrets to my little blog, like a little boy playing with his own imaginary friend at the corner of the play ground, away from the rest of the boys. Its my little secret... and its my little space.... no one's supposed to know or read the secrets I divulge. YET.. at the same time, I get excited every time someone leaves a comment. Again, I'm full of contradictions.

There are times I wonder to myself why I enjoy sitting alone in Starbucks or at home being lost in my own world minuting down all the itsy bitsy details of my life. But there is a strange allure to it... and from the number of people out there blogging their hearts out, I must not be alone in this addiction too. Maybe its a two fold reason.

We all have this infinite desire to share our lives with people. No man is an island... and as I read somewhere, we are all wired for connection. It's in our veins to want to connect with another human being. We put our lives up for display via our blogs, because we want others to come, peer in, be interested in us, and engage us in human interaction. We have this craving to be part of something bigger than ourselves; part of a community. By having a blog, and with steady stream of readers, we are reminded that we exist not only as ourselves, but also as part of this larger group. In many ways, I think making this sort of connections, via blogs, emails, phone calls, facebook, twitter and what have you all really serve the same underlying thing. These connections truly make us feel alive.

To a lesser extent, I think blogging also sort of fulfills the inner of some of us to become writers. Gone are the days when the only way for you to get people to read your writings were to have them published in the newspaper or journals. With blogging, EVERYONES a writer. The good, the bad and the ugly, all in. Anyone with an internet connection and a web browser can start a website of his own. Heck, look at me; When I started, I didn't have a clue about html editing, web page design or how to start your own blog... and look at me today.....I...wait a minute.....I STILL don't have a clue!.... but then look at how easy it has become so easy for everyone! Even your grandmother could write a blog these days. Not everyone is that should write does write, and many who shouldn't really write at all write all the time though. But who am I to judge them.

So back to this idea of this blog as an imaginary friend. The more I write, the more I feel it is true to some extent; like an invisible confidant that I go to everytime I need to get something off my chest. Maybe if I were a bit more normal, my first port of call would be the my phone, calling someone sharing my thoughts, fears and dreams.. But here's the funny thing that happens instead. I blog FIRST... and write it all out... AFTER THAT, when I find myself in conversation with friends and family again, I suddenly find myself echoing the words that I had typed out earlier in my blog. I am actually repeating the things I write instead of later writing out things I said. Not that any of them know it of course.

Anyways, that's all for now.