In two months time, it'll be a year since my grandpa left us forever. It'll be a year since his suffering has been elevated from him. When he was first diagnosed with cancer a few months before his death, his condition has been on and off. One day, he gave simply gave up on himself. He did not believe in winning the battle. My grandpa is an optimistic person. He knew what will come and what will not come. He simply did. When family members tried coaxing him into believing that he'll win this battle, much to our surprise he said, "No. I know my condition far too well. I'm not gonna make it. I'm dying" That broke our heart. Some cried, while other cried deep inside them. I am the later. Another week, and he said "Look. I'm gonna fight this battle till the end. Everyone want me to get better, and I'll get better for the sake of you all. I will win this battle." We were happy.
There was a funeral a few doors down. The deceased suffered the same illness. Doing the same treatment as my grandpa did. When someone he knew so close died, he simply gave up on himself again. He was losing it again. He refused any medication. I understood his condition. We understood it all too well. I hope my grandpa will not read this, as we secretly mixed his medicine into his food. His condition did not improve.
I'm sorry, it took me a while to write all this down.
Looking back, it was like a dream. Everything happened so fast. From the diagnosis on 08.08.08 until his death in January 09, exactly a week before Chinese New Year. The previous night I went into his room looking at him. His headache bothered him so much. I tried massaging his face and scalp. It soothed him for a while. I whispered good night to him and left. The next morning before leaving for my class, I went to his room again. I called out to him. He answered me. He looked at me, smiled and then gave a light squeezed on my hand. He left that same day.
His birthday was last month. There was no cake-cutting like we used to have over the years. Instead, it was a simple ceremony of offering food at the altar table. I don't know if grandpa really came and eat all the food. Oh yea, speaking about birthday. Last year was his last birthday he ever celebrated in his lifetime. But, I hated myself for not preparing anything for him. Not even a slight wish of "Happy Birthday, grandpa." We were warned not to wish him anything, just pretend it's another day. Well, he did asked, "Isn't it today's my birthday? How come there's no celebration? Where's the cake?"
Soon, it'll be grandpa's first death anniversary. Time really flies. Have we come into a term that you've really left us? Does it happened for real?
Looking at the things that you've done, touch or used it adds the pang the of sadness in our hearts. We simply owed you too many things. There's no way in this world can we ever repay your kindness for what you've done to us.
We often joked that you will come back to life, if we were to throw all your things away. But, deep down inside of us, we refused to let you go. We refused to come into term that you've already left us. We are just too proud to accept it, nonetheless to acknowledge it.
Please do not take things for granted. How many more things like this that need to happen before we realise who we love and care the most.
We can gain even without losing.
The Unofficial Eulogy
Behind Blue Eyes
Lyrics:
No one knows what it's like
To be the bad man
To be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
And no one knows
What it's like to be hated
To be fated to telling only lies
[Chorus:]
But my dreams they aren't as empty
As my conscience seems to be
I have hours, only lonely
My love is vengeance
That's never free
No one knows what its like
To feel these feelings
Like i do, and i blame you!
No one bites back as hard
On their anger
None of my pain and woe
Can show through
[Chorus]
Discover l.i.m.p. say it [x4]
No one knows what its like
To be mistreated, to be defeated
Behind blue eyes
No one knows how to say
That they're sorry and don't worry
I'm not telling lies
[Chorus]
No one knows what its like
To be the bad man, to be the sad man
Behind blue eyes
Credit: http://www.lyrics007.com/Limp%20Bizkit%20Lyrics/Behind%20Blue%20Eyes%20Lyrics.html
Ini Semua LRT Punya Pasal
Taking the public transport to work everyday had already seemed like a norm for me. The minute the sun rises from its slumber sleep, I am already clocking my way to the nearest LRT station. Nothing excites me more than to see majority working adults droning by half awake, jostling for a place to seat. Whenever there is an open space, these little creatures will literally kill for that exact same spot, without taking into consideration whether their beloved bottoms can fit into that constraint space.
Apart from jostling for a place to sit, the usual best incident happens during morning and evening rush hour. If someone is to make a movie on the life of Malaysian public transport, this can simply turn into a horror, sci-fi movie. I am not looking things through a giant microscope but the truth is, during those rush hours, tired office lady can turn into something more frightening than their colleagues could ever imagine. Fighting for seats aside, these pretty looking office ladies can easily double-up in their strengths and push their way through a sea of people and into the already-crammed coaches. No, don’t get me started on the middle-age aunties.
While men commuters can be a lot less of a headache, believe it or not there are some species that lack the “gentleman-ness” in their self. Well, no one can blame them, right? These people have been working tirelessly since morning till late in the evening, breaking stress-o-meter and thus the rather abnormal behaviour. Well, through my observation not all men play the “kiasu” game. There are some really nice people around, who offers you their seats knowing you carry things beyond your own limit. Special attention is also given to those who sacrifice their seats to old people, pregnant women and mothers with noisy kids. Kudos, guys!
Okay, whomever put that “no eating and drinking” sign in the train can always come onboard and revise the rule. Because, as rude as it sound, people generally ignore these rules while on the train. The more the signs are posted on the train, the more people like to organise a feast there. Tak percaya, mai tangok sendiri.
Usually the best stuff often happens when you are reading or burying your nose into something less interesting. Occupying your time through reading is not a bad thing for your health, but those are the same moment where “interesting” incident takes place. I.e.: A lady got sandwich between the LRT doors, which I find it super hilarious. Like it or not, the public transport scene is such a great drama to catch.
If everything else fails, blame God
If, in the meantime you are facing the most difficult time of your life, blame God. If everything you touches turn into stone, blame God. If you are pretty suck up now, blame God. If your life sucks, blame God. Failed marriage, blame God. Failed grades, blame God. Friends backfires you, blame God. If everything you try to do and fail, blame the almighty.
It is hard to talk about human, success and failure without putting God in between. Everything human being did, God plays an important role. Everything that human being does, God is there to witness everything. Everything human being desire to do, they turn to God. Everything human being does that reaps failure in the end, God is to be blame. He is the ultimate bullseye. God. God. God. Religion. God. Religion. God and Saints.
For the first time, why can't we do things based on our own capability? Why can't we first do it and leave the rest to hope and dreams? Why can't we blame ourselves for our failure instead of the Lord above? Why should we point our fingers at our creator? Does God really have to do with our own success and failure? The number of cars we have, the clothes we wear, the food we eat and the properties we own?
Does God really exist in the first place?
I am not a skeptic nor a true believer. I believe that we have somehow possess powers to manage our own lives. I believe that there is one single force that governs the entire universe. That, these forces are merely supporting us. Basically, it's all up to us to put our foot forward.
I am already game for it, are you?
I hate to be Misunderstood 2
A little update so that I can sleep peacefully at night.
My mum and I had started talking once again. We made fun of each other's lack of willingness to stop talking to each other.
Mum.
Me.
Talk.
Sleep.
Happy.
Eat.
Die later.
I hate to be Misunderstood
I want to write a petition to God, asking Him for guidance and to take away my sadness. I have (almost) everything that I dream to have. I own more things than the average African kids have in their kitchen. Though I have what I've always dream of, to be honest I am not 100% content and happy. Blame it on PMS, but I've been feeling kind of down these few days. As I age, I began to realise that I don't fully understand myself - who am I, what I want to be and most important of all what has become of me. I hate almost every part of me. From my feelings, my needs, myself and those around me. I hate the bigger part of me. I am a real sucker in expressing my emotions. My emotions tend to backfires me (most of the time). Expressing oneself is important, but being the real me, expressing my own true self is such a headache, that I tend to keep things to myself from since-God-knows-when. Why should we have emotions in the first place? I hate socialising. I am an introvert. I prefer to sit by myself and observe people. I am not a people's person. I hate being in a group, I hate being part of a group and I hate myself even more. I hate the face I am carrying. I want to scrap it off, take it off, burn it, eat it and pour acid on it. I hate my fucking self for being a real sucker in expressing emotions without being misunderstood. I hate my fucking loser self.
Moments ago, I hated myself even fucking more. I felt like running to the kitchen and stab myself with the kitchen knife. Once again, I hate my fucking self for not having the guts to do so. I am a loser. A fucked up one. Mom has been misunderstanding my meaning earlier on, and she said she's not going to speak to me ever again. I said fine the fucking way. I don't care. Half an hour later, she asked me how her Happy Harvest on Facebook going on. Now, this is the damn part which I felt like stabbing myself earlier on. I said: "I thought you don't want to speak to me ever again?" Readers, let's see how dumb am I to have uttered those words? I should just cut off my tougue. Mom said, okay fine.. she doesn't want to speak to me. And left. From that second, I hate hate hate hate fucking hate the bitch infesting inside of me. See, readers? Those simple, meaningless words can separate a person from one another just like that. Once again, readers I am being misunderstood again. Those words are meant to be sarcastic, but it backfires me again. Hate. Fuck. Loser.
When will these end?
Hate.
Self.
Fuck.
Kill.
Stab.
Fuck.
High.
Die.
Jobless is so yesterdays
Message yang terpapar pada skrin laptop aku dibaca berulang kali. Macam tidak percaya sama sekali dengan apa yang terpapar. Baris demi baris aku baca. Seketika nanti, dibaca aku lagi. Entah berapa kali aku baca, baru aku percaya bahawa apa yang terpapar itu adalah benar.
Yes, just like a dream I couldn't believe my eyes. The message was quite clear and short. But those powerful words are enough to send massive shockwaves into my cortex motor, creating electrical impulses that surge throughout the entire body. It sounded too good to be true, but it's the truth that I'm staring.
On behalf of Voize, we will be offering you a position as Writer for Voize by early next week. We will be emailing you the offer letter for your consideration soon.
Best regards,
Rachel Chan Suet Kay
Assistant Editor
Voize.my
Forever in Loving Memory 1938 - 2009
Inside the Chen Jia - Part 1
This, is the place where I was born. This, will be place where I will be spending most of my years before finally moving out. This, will also be the place where I will miss the most even though it is full of memories that I wish it will last a lifetime and memories that as hard as I try to forget will haunt me forever.
Here I am today, long for a home that I once had and will never have again. I miss the creaking sound of the door when Er Niang secretly peered her head into my room, checking on me at night time. All the familiar sounds of maids ushering quickly from room to room and Da Niang pinching her young maid again. That poor girl soul.
My name is Chen Kexi, and this is my story.
The year was 1876. Outside, the street was bustling with activities of buyers from the street's bargaining for the best harvest of the day. A few walks down the same street, a young man was struggling to haul sacks of rice onto his back to be carried into the Huang's shop. From cartons of cigarettes imported from foreign shore to spices drawn directly from the port at the Straits of Malacca to highly expensive silks imported from India, the Huang manages almost all of the people's need. Such business not only gives the Huang a peace of mind, but supplementing the family never-ending sources of income. The old men gathering across the street for their morning teas often seen gossipping about the Huang.
"Aiya, the Huang's will never go hungry even the hardest year were to strike. Their fortune will last for generations!" said old man Wu aloud, while fanning furiously at himself.
Sitting next to him, old man Li spit on the ground and cursing out something out loud. "Only the fools will think that the Huangs are sincerely good person, always perform charitable works. It's what the inside that matters. I heard that old bloody fool of Huang is very fond of women."
"Yes. The other night I saw him hugging and kissing a young girl at the Sweet Blossom Restaurant near Ah Kim Soh's shop. The girl is about 18 of age, but that old Huang is almost 55. He can simply be his father than a new wife," said old man Liu.
"Well, he is the richest man in this town and I heard from Ah Chun Soh the other day that he owns part of this Bermuh Street. Only the rich can afford to take in as many wives as they like!" quipped old man Wu. "But, whatever or however that old fools want is his wish. We are the poor people, we better keep the talking to ourselves. We don't know what these rich people can do to us."
"I agree with what old man Wu had said. The rich can kill us and wipe out our clan just like...," said old man Liu snapping his fingers loudly, startling the young boy sitting at the next table.
I wasn't allow to go outside even though my brothers were allow to roam the street with their respective maids and caretaker. Niang always said that a girl must remain at home and learn how to sew, cook and how to be a good wife. Most of the time I don't understand what Niang said. My heart belongs to the outside world. At night I will sit eagerly by the door listening to Er Ge's stories about the outside world. He said there are lots of people going to opera house located in the town, which can only be accesible by car. The person attending shows at the opera have to have membership card with them or know somebody "big" or else they will never have the chance to set their foot in there.
"I saw the poster hanging outside the opera house today mentioning a new show from the famous Nanjing Opera Troupe. They will be performing their popular "The Girl of Swan Lake Mountain," said Er Ge, his eyes glittering with amusement under the moonlight. "You should see their costumes, Xiao Xi. It was beautiful. It has a lot of colourful beads running along the seams here and the embroidery, oh! it was too beautiful for the eyes to see."
Er Ge's stories made me more and more curious about the outside world. What is it really like? How would life be outside this huge mansion, outside this very doorstep? I long to escape from my room at the east side. My eagerness often build as high as the mountain but then it all died down when Niang appear from the inside.
"Enough of all your silly stories about the outside world. Go to sleep now, Han Wei. You have school tomorrow. Where's your Da Ge?" asked Niang looking around.
My Da Ge's name is Han Chao. He is always hiding away in a corner reading foreign books that he acquirea from his good friend from school. Never a day one can see my Da Ge without a book on his hand.
Outside at the West Court, Da Niang, my father's first wife was shouting on top of her lungs. It must be her young maid again. I wonder what had she done wrong this time. The other night I saw the young maid ran across our hall crying. Her face was as red as a ripe tomato. The poor girl must have done something Da Niang doesn't like, thus pinching her cheek. Da Niang who is always jealous about everything besides her had a heart worst than an animal. If she doesn't like you, she will go around spreading untrue gossips and total lies at the household. Her bad attitude is not a secret anymore for the Chen's household. Nothing said or done in our household is not known to another person staying at another court. Rumours and news were share among maids from all four corners of the mansion. There was one time Da Niang caught an Old Ma Jie busy talking behind her back. The next day, the Old Ma Jie was summoned to the main ancestral hall and was slapped across the face hard by Da Niang. Everyone was present at the hall. "This is to set as an example to all of you who dare to go against me and talking bad things in this household," said Da Niang her voice echoed throught the ancestral hall. I never saw that Old Ma Jie anymore.
Note: This is just a fictional story I had in mind for a long time. I've always felt the urge to write it down someday and letting it continue. The characters here are based solely on my imagination that has been staying for a while in my mind. All the streets name are purely fictional, which means I made things up.
