memorial services 2013

Today marks the memorial services of my late father-in-law who passed away peacefully on 2nd July 2012. We rose when the sky was inky black and got dressed in the palest of all colours - black and white, according to my mother-in-law's tongue - "No other colours ah, or else you won't get all the benefits your father would send you from Heaven. No reds, no pinks, no, aiya, just black and white ah, remember, ah!"

Upon arriving at the memorial site, a crowd of ladies and gentlemen was already there, busying themselves with the foods and drinks to be served later during intervals. These are volunteers aged between 40 - 50 and share one thing in common - they were or have been seriously sick before surrendering themselves to Buddha, according to my beloved husband. Then, somehow, magic powers worked themselves through these devotees' veins and souls and healed them, miraculously. Yes, doctors - western or eastern or 'bomoh', were or have been useless and all forms of medicine ceased their functions. Only through the power of faith, love and devotion that they could be granted a new 2nd life. 

Then, I began to watch people, as usual, and I couldn't help but to notice that a vast majority of those who attended this event shared one thing in common, yes, again - they looked ill and weak, physically. What about spiritually? Perhaps, strong on the inside, the mind, the heart and the soul. I don't know. They seemed to come together with one mulish determination - the more frequent I attend this memorial or religious event, the more money I donate, the more animals I let free, the faster I will break free from all my illnesses or sufferings, the longer I'll survive. So, they clothed themselves with the teachings of Buddha, reprimanding others that did not show enough respect to Him or counselling those who showed a faintest sign of doubt. And I, I was one of them - the doubtful and the disrespectful.

Finally, the events unfolded themselves one after the other. The devotees rose and fell from and to their knees, kowtowing to the Almighty, uttering the purest of all words - Namithaba. Immediately, the atmosphere was heavy with chants and prayers and children's laughters and cries. Intermittently, message tones and ringing of mobile phones cut the air of solemnity that befell me, pressing against me like a metal lid, suffocating me. 

Wastage is man made. Wants are unlimited if not controlled. 
I must seriously look into living a more frugal lifestyle.

Hands so beautiful
A heart so pure
A mind so innocent
A soul so true
Fingers that fly over
keys and strings
Melodies and harmonies
charmingly rings
Hands so beautiful

The Bell of Prosperity

                                    'The Bell of Prosperity'

I hope with only one strike, all one's wishes would come true. Christmas has just breezed past - those 24 hours, those 1440 minutes, those 86400 seconds. 
How many wishes have blossomed? How many have shed tears of joy? How many have been blessed?

I shall fasten the bell in my heart so that its warning toll will wake me up when I am befuddled, so that its pealing ring will pull me away from falling into my mood swings, so that its  clamorous clang will call my soul back when it begins to wander off. 

God, now I am speaking to you

I have never truly believed in you, God; in fact, I think I still don't.

I believe in myself for I have learnt the facts of life the hard way.
The day I knew the meaning of the word 'difference' it hit me hard and clear. 

During my primary school years, I observed how a family worked or should work and found that mine was, somehow different...
There were no celebrations of any sort - no birthday parties, no Chinese New Year, no Ching Ming, no Mid Autumn Festival, nothing.
Every day was the same as the one before and the one after. 
All holidays were greatly despised for there was only silence and empty walls.
It's not that I really longed for the silly noises and squeals made in the classrooms, but it's the fact that I existed when there were kids my age around me. 
Hence, all celebrations or occasions are not important to me especially if they are carried out superficially. Now that I have a beautiful daughter, I must change this perspective. I cannot let her go through what I have been through. Thus, I try my best to fill her life in the most colourful manner I could imagine. 

I'd very much like to see people I know lead a happy life. My heart swells seeing my Mum's smiles, hearing my daughter's jingling laughters. Being an emotional person, I shed tears easily. My biggest enemy, letting people know that I am weak. I don't recall crying much when I was little. My Mum confirmed the statement as a fact - I did not cry unless I was in real pain. Amethyst is just like me in this matter. So if she cries, I know she's in real trouble. But now, it's really ironic that I could not contain my tears as easily as I could back then. I am truly shaken by the number of times I broke down before people; how unnecessary, how embarrassing, how annoying!

Why bother or burden people with my troubles? Don't they have enough on their plates? Why be a pain in the neck? 

God, if you really exists, hear me. Let me be strong, which I know I will and I must. But, hear me, God. I will be strong again like I always have. There's nothing impossible as long as I am still breathing. 

The unexpected end of a journey

'Now going back, one leg numb no strength to walk. Doctor say nerve is pressed by bone. C u tonight' - This was the message I received today at 1.32pm from David. 


'Drive safely' - my reply to his message at 1.40pm.


In less than half an hour's time, my mobile phone rang while I was in the midst of teaching. The conversation went like this:-


David: We cannot come back already...(noisy interference) ...pass...Taiping...
Jean : Huh? Not coming back? Why? Father couldn't move?
David : No, he can't move anymore...(his voice cracked) he's passed away...
Jean   : (shocked in disbelief)... What?...(burst out crying)


The dam broke and couldn't stop. It was totally unexpected that Chong Kim Chew, my late father-in-law, would leave us in the car that was going to fetch him home to Kajang. 


Although I was not there to witness the incident, I could see it vividly before my eyes:


David and Peter (David's 3rd younger brother) would cry his name, pat his face in the attempt to wake him, feel his heartbeat and his breath. 


Tan Siang Eng, my mother-in-law, would shout his name and warn him not to scare her, rub eucalyptus oil on his temples to revive him, recite 'Amithaba' to summon strengths to infuse life back in his already limped body. 


I could feel the chaos and panic and fear in everyone who was there at the scene, 
I could feel the searing pain and utter disbelief that swell in everyone's heart,
I could feel the looming cold and trembles that envelope everyone,
I could feel the tight grip of clenched fists, fingernails digging deep into the flesh of David's palms, 
I could feel the excruciating pain of my mother-in-law's heart,
I could feel her heart being lacerated, all blood drained away, 
I could feel the unbearable suffocation that depresses their lungs,
I could feel every single emotion they are feeling. 


During the phone conversation with David, I was sucked into the scene through the windows of his pupils. I witnessed everything.


I saw him, my father-in-law, so small and helpless in the car seat. He was asleep, contentedly waiting to be driven home by his beloved wife and sons. But...
Wasn't he talking to us on his way out of the temple?
Wasn't he reassuring us he was alright?
Wasn't he looking forward to coming back?


He just shut his eyes. He just stopped breathing. He just ceased talking. Without any signs of leaving, he left. Just like that. Simple and brief.


So, this is life. From its very beginning to its very end, one will never really know when, where and how they will leave. One just lives, from Day One to Day End. Period. 


I can't continue for now. My heart feels like it's being kneaded, twisted and slashed over and over again. 


Amithaba. To my beloved father-in-law, Amithaba. 


With lots of love and respect
Jean

Facing the feats

How long has it been? Ten years, fifteen years?
Well, long enough to loose my guard. Long enough that I should forget what it's been like when life is at stake. Long enough that my heart continues to beat in its regular common time, my breathing long and deep.


I shook my head in disbelief when I thought I saw a figure, distant yet familiar. My eyes locked at the target, as if it was my prey. Yes, I had to be a predator, THE predator to end it, once and forever. Money was all I needed. Thus, a hole lacerated deep into my lungs, suffocating me. Strange as it may seem, a stack of notes was all it took to settle an issue, a troublesome, disgusting issue. I had mulled over it, over the day and over the night, I had to give the green light before it suddenly turned blood red. 

Exhausted, I needed to quench my thirst. Needed to rejuvenate my body, needed to cleanse my stained soul. Unknown of the amount of cool, sweet water that went down my throat, I kept the opening of the bottle in between my trembling lips. Streams of water trickled down the sides of my mouth. How beaten I must have looked. Then, my vision was blurred. Finally, they came. They just welled up and gushed out of the windows as if the panes were missing. No, they were broken. They had to be. After all these years. 


Sitting by the window, I gazed at the night sky. The air outside was no cooler than the air inside the room. Sucking in a deep breath, I asked myself or maybe I asked God:


                               "Dear God, who exactly am I ?"

If God really exists, He would surely have an answer to my question. Or, would He just smile at me like these figurines?