I've got this urge to write again. It's 6:38 am and a couple of minutes from now I'm expecting Pam to be saying "Have you been up all night Nong?" Like clock work I would smile and say no I just woke up from my nap(fingers crossed at the back). A 5 minute one.
Is there a possibility that somewhere inside me resides a great book that is waiting to be written? I pray to God there is. Retracing back time where I would have those exercise books and pens on my bed and my late mother would always get worried that I would stab myself one day, I believe there is a book, nay, books waiting to be written. I just don't have the motivation to do it.
I find no motivation to do anything but lie on my mattress sprawled on the floor, playing catan, updating my blog, looking for part time jobs whilst I figure out my direction in life.
I'm a big dreamer and usually have the ability to materialize my dreams. I just lost the zest after my mother passed away. People might think well, it's time to move on. One thing I have learnt when tending to someone's wounds, don't say something will be alright when you yourself have never gone through the grief.
I guess I need to talk about it. Write about it. One last time, to really deal with it.
I remember that day like no other. I was at work in Terengganu and it was around 7pm at night when I heard the news. Through sms because the reception was very poor. It felt like a ton of bricks fell on my body and someone just ripped my heart out of its cavaties and left me to bleed. And this wasn't even an ounce of the pain I was feeling.
My good friend in the universe Bryan and Sargent Roslan drove me back to Kuala Lumpur where I was to catch a flight back to Kota Kinabalu. Grief stricken, I remembered closing my eyes, but my heart was bleeding and my tears were streaming down my face.
On the way my former boss Hafiz (God bless his soul) offered his condolences. I was all ears because I knew he lost his mother too. I believed that if anyone were to offer me condolences and would understand my pain, it would be Hafiz.
As we reached KLIA, I dreaded having to see my nieces, cousin and aunt. I didn't want to be reminded of her death. At that point, I just wanted to go back to KK, pay my respects, and get it over and done with. But fate has it that my eyes would remain bloodshot red for the remainder of the trip.
When I reached home, the mood was sombre. The look on my family's faces say it all. And some people I didn't know were looking at me with God knows what were going through their heads. A lot of things started to run through my mind at that point.
There my mother was, listless, a batik sarong covering her face. "This can't be happening." It hurt so bad that the only thing to do was to cry. She was there motionless. It was just a couple of days ago that I picked up the phone and called her.
I was telling her about the arguments I kept having with my co-workers. It was unbearable. She just told me that treat them like brothers and sisters. Whatever fights that you have, always remember the greater cause of why you are there. For the kids. For the country.
I cried, told her I loved her and hung up. That was the last time I spoke to her.
All this while I was blocking the memory of what happened. The memory of her death. Kept questioning my lethargy and my unmotivated self. My heart was tried too much and tired.
She was all I had really come to think of it. Growing up just the two of us, my other siblings out in boarding school and my father would be off on his business trips while the two of us would discover the world through Tell Me How books. I was so addicted to knowledge from then on.
The piano lessons, swimming lessons. I was well cultured by the forms of the arts. And I loved it so.
What I saw in the mirror was a freak of nature, size, height, overdosed facial hair and all my mother saw potential. She would often say how pretty I was and encouraged that I be the best in whatever I did. Sure we'd have our misunderstandings. Which mother and child wouldn't have.
We would always pull through.
Thick or thin she was there for me.
There I said it.
WHAT I LIVE BY
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine as children do. It's not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own lights shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.