When someone gives us something,
- whether it is a gift, their time,
their support, or anything else -
more often than not we tend to
want to give even more in return.
We may think we do that
because we are generous.
We are – that’s a human trait.
But it’s not the reason for why
we overcompensate so often.
More likely it is because we
don’t like feeling vulnerable,
or feel like we owe anyone.
We want to stand alone.
Walking to tarawikh prayers tonight
with my sister in the balmy night air,
I felt calm for the first time in months.
I’ve missed this feeling.
x
Last night I packed up a boxful of
letters from the heart. Read through
each one before putting them away.
After I was done, the box went right
to the bottom of our family trunk.
It’ll stay there for a while.
Notes like these will be the first
and the last. People don’t deserve
to know that much anymore.
Never again.
Sometimes I think that our ability
to communicate is no longer there.
It often results in misunderstanding.
And sometimes it feels like the
more I try to explain what the
intention was, the harder it is
for the other person to want
to listen or understand.
It’s frustrating for us both.
There is this preconceived
notion we may have about
each other that, rightfully,
should not even be there.
Because the truth is that
we do understand. It’s just
that somehow it is harder to
make each other see that now.
I always hope to be wrong about
this. That I can chalk it down to
bad choice of timing to bring up
certain things, or lack of subtlety.
But if what it really is, is that we
just don’t get each other anymore -
I am sorry that it has come to this.
Truly, terribly, sorry.
xx
On a less emotive note, today’s physio
saw such shit motor coordination on
my end. Leah tried to get me to do
this impossible …thing that I suppose
only contortionists are able to pull off.
On my last fall off the medicine ball
I looked up at her from the floor
and huffed, “Fuck it. Let’s just let
my bones stay the way they are.”
She nudged my leg with her foot.
“Come on, Neena. Let’s not give up.”
Right on, Dr. Kieffer.
My Captain turned 64 today.
Still a healthy, strapping (but older)
man, very much like the younger one
in the above picture with Nain and Taid.
I sneaked this one out from his study
tonight, to take back to the studio and
have it blown up. My artistry skills are
close to none, but I’m going to wing it
and try to paint over the larger version.
I’ll trust myself enough not to screw it
up so I can have it framed for his room.
“Why would you do that?” a friend asked.
Because he misses them.
xx
At the junction on the way down from
20 Trees, Abang almost had a heart
attack when a familiar vehicle took
a tight turn close to his car. “Holy shit
that was too close for comfort, man.”
I turned to look and saw the carplates.
Didn’t offer to say anything else.
Too close for comfort indeed.
xx
Governors convened for a meeting in
Bank Negara this weekend, which also
translates to this being a non-weekend.
I was attached to Governor Kim of Korea.
His officers called around 11pm tonight
from the airport before boarding the
flight home to bid me goodbye.
In halting English, they said:
“You must come to Korea and visit.”
“…So we can take you to our Bank and
you can help translate in your free time.”
Efficient terlebih, these Koreans.
Maybe I’ll pass, good sir.
Thank you anyway.
Nain passed away in her sleep in
the early hours of Thursday morning.
I hugged Papa as soon as I saw him.
For a man who is normally so stoic,
he looked at me with forlorn eyes
and said, “It’s not a good day, is it?”
No, dad. It’s not.
xx
Papa has always been secretive about
his feelings for the kindly Welsh couple
that took him in as a young 13-year old.
We catch glimpses of it, sometimes; the
depth of his love and affection for them.
It is apparent in the way he makes
quiet trips back to Wales with mum
three to four times a year;
from the stack of postcards on his
desk, all addressed to a retirement
home in Cardiff and dated weekly;
from the random emails he sends,
asking for recent pictures or new
stories to share with Nain in his
next care package or phonecall;
in the way he smiles so fondly
when recounting stories of the
summers of his youth spent
fixing Taid’s garage or helping
Nain plant a tree in her garden;
in his resolve to cross oceans
at the drop of a hat so he can
be present for Nain, even in
death, to pallbear at her funeral
just because she wished him to.
xx
I love Nain and Taid for being
the only grandparents I have
ever known, but I love them
most for having loved my dad.
Thank you, Nain, for giving a
young Malaysian boy a chance
all those decades ago. He would
not have turned out to be the man
he is today, if not for your kindness.
We miss and love you so much,
but take comfort in knowing your
suffering is over and that you are
home with Iori, just as you wanted.
Gorffwys mewn hedd,
Glanys Wynn Jones.
Sleep well.
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