Because You Matter

The goodbye we never said
bleeds into the cadaverous silence
There are no echoes...

When I was done fighting
with the voices in my head
I looked around for you
but you were gone.

You disappeared silently
and I didn't see
Where are you now?
I don't know.

So I look for you
but the road is dark
I listen for you
but the phone is silent
I reach for you
but my arms are empty.

So I'm writing this
because you matter
you've always mattered
because I care
I've always cared.

And I'm sorry
So sorry
I let you go
And I'm sorry
So sorry
I didn't say...

Goodbye.

Not Normal

If you ask me for something right now, it's possible I won't be able to give it to you. Truth is, I'm tired. Truth is, I'm so weary of pretending that I'm OK, that everything is OK, and this is how it should be and I couldn't care less. Maggot hasn't returned. And how is life supposed to continue as normal, when you don't know, when you can't see, when you didn't say goodbye?

Conspiracy theories

Are we the conspiracy theory generation? Is the stuff that appears to be happening all around us just as it is, or are there dark, hidden undercurrents to everything? I feel like I've been cursed with a lens that can only see drama and bad intentions and real, real evil.

I was once innocent. If you told me something, no matter how ridiculous or improbable, I would take it at face value, never sifting it to see if it actually could have happen, never noting timelines (well, actually I did note timelines, but if the timelines clashed, if your story didn't seem to work out, it didn't matter, I ignored the discrepancies).

And then she told me, he said, only Jenn would believe something ridiculous like that. She said it and I crumbled inside. First, at being so stupid. And second, at them laughing at me for being so stupid. And when I readjusted the lens, suddenly everything made sense. Looking at horrible people with the proper lens, you could see quite clearly, when they lied, why they lied, how everything was a performance, nothing was real.

It becomes difficult after a while, when you're surrounded by these liars, to know what to believe. The kindest you can be, is to to tell yourself that they don't mean to do it, they're simply lying to themselves. But the more sensible explanation would be, they're being manipulative because it is easy to manipulate you. Trusting shouldn't be blind. Not when you feel the contempt coming from the other side.

One of our dogs is missing. He ran away. Except that he doesn't run away. Not him. He pushed his way out just before a storm, another thing he doesn't do. And then he never came back. Him, who doesn't run very far. Who is too scared to go out when the sky lowers and starts to thunder.

Who did this to him? What call did he hear to force him out? Who is to blame?

We blame ourselves of course. We didn't love him enough. We didn't show him enough affection. He felt nobody wanted him. We all feel the guilt. And guilt does funny things. It makes you suspect things. It makes you create stories in your mind. It makes you look at people funny.

Under all that is the sheer heartbreak of thinking he may be somewhere, suffering, scared, lonely, in pain.

It's the uncertainty that kills you.

It's the uncertainty that always kills you.

I wish there were some way of knowing what happened.

I try to tell myself that I'm being ridiculous to suspect what I suspect.

But I still go on suspecting it.

In the meantime I won't waste my time or energy hating you. Every bit of intention is aimed at my dog. I'll go on praying for him and loving him.

Muslin Thoughts

It's been a long time, but I feel like updating this blog again. I guess it comes in waves, the blogs we update, especially when we've been polygamous blog-wise.

As my regular readers (all none of them) would note, from you I have been absent in the Spring. I don't know what that means, I just like saying it.

I am supposed to finish two stories now. I have transcribed both of them. Instead, I took off to Starbucks for a hot chocolate and muffin and a perusal of Woman In White by Wilkie Collins (I started, and you know when you start this, you cannot bear to put it down).

Among other things I have developed a taste for Pakeeza's fish curry. I stumbled upon it by accident as it's not one of the things I would normally get from there. Dadda asked me to bring him curry (sambar, yuck!) and there was a jam all the way to the Section 11 collection of Indian restaurants (OK, PJ Hills and Pandey's) and so I decided to go to Pakeeza instead. I got fish curry to go along with a dhal (the dhal was a bad idea) and when I came to eat my share of it with white rice, I was blown away. I mean it was so good, I could have gone on eating indefinitely. Instead, I left a portion for my father and finished my meal determining that this would not be the last time I went to Pakeeza to get fish curry. It wasn't. I bought the same thing, only a whole lot more of it, two days later.

I am still not recovered. My lungs feel like some ravelled sleave of care. Coughing interrupts my nights. I feel worn out in the mornings. And then I fall asleep and sleep soundly way past when. I'm at work now and I feel tired. It's like this illness has left its stamp on me, for better or worse.

Instead of finishing the two stories I am supposed to, I feel like going home, having some tea, having some rice and leftover fish curry, reading my book and going early to bed.

To sleep, perchance to cough.

Ay, there's the rub.

For in that cough of death, what dreams may come...

No Family

She's rocking her baby, crooning softly, bone tired but too wired to sleep. The cousin called again. Her mother is looking for her. Wants to see the baby. When he told her, she burst into imprecations.

No. Never! I told you. Never!

I think she wants to make up, Lynn, she just wants to know you're alright.

Yes, I'm sure she does. That's why she kicked me out when I was pregnant. What did she think? That I'd get rid of the baby? That I'd come crawling back? That I need her?

And she begins to cry.

Hush, says the cousin. Hush. I won't give her your number. Don't worry. I just thought you should know she was looking for you. She may show up at the hospital.

If she does, I'll know how to deal with her. And she hangs up.

She holds the precious bundle to her chest. This baby, hard won. This baby that she had alone. No father. He's married and he really didn't want to know. No grandmother. No grandfather (he's dead). No uncles and aunts. (They pulled away - sort out your own mess, we're so sick of this)

None of them thought she could do this. None of them.

You see baby, my mother never loved me. Not like she loved the other two. I was third. A spare. My father lost his money when I was born. In Indian families, they link one thing to another. So I was "bad luck". He was too proud to tell anyone, too proud to beg. So we starved. I was three and I still remember being hungry. Crying for food. My mother shutting me up. There was no food.

And then he died. I remember the house being full of people. I was excited. There was food. I ate. And suddenly everyone knew. Everyone knew just how poor we were. They came forward to help. The destitute widow and her three helpless children. They helped but they made us understand that we were supposed to be so grateful. I hated them. I hated her. If someone were to give me something she would stop them. She has enough, my mother would say. Don't spoil her, my mother would say.

My sister loved me. She tried to protect me. She would give me things, buy me food, clothes. But then she got married and disappeared into another family. And then I was alone again.

And baby, when I met your father, I thought he loved me. I was so empty inside. I didn't know what love was. You taught me that. You taught me what love is.

They wanted me to get rid of you. A married man, Lynn what were you thinking. You're a doctor, you don't know what happens when a man and a woman have sex without protection? Not even a condom?

But you see, it wasn't like that. It wasn't clinical. It was passionate and unplanned and I loved him and I thought he loved me. And you, I refused to let you go. I wanted you so much.

They thought you were dispensable.

And I could always have another.

And that's why baby, as far as you're concerned, in fact, as far as we're both concerned, I'm an orphan.

You'll never meet my family.

I have no family.

A Kind of Hush

It's late and I can't sleep. I stare at my body stretched out in front of me and think, strange, I don't fit this anymore. I clench my fists and feel my nails dig into my palms. It hurts but the pain doesn't make me real.

Nothing does.

I'm half in, half out.

I'm here and not here.

I breathe and don't breathe.

It's me.

Who's me?

And so I drop down, out of the bed, and stroke my little dog, curled up in his little pink bed. Arnold is asleep. He lifts his paw in supplication. Please let me sleep.Touching him doesn't make me real.

Tight curled ball. Asleep.

But I'm awake.

Wide awake.

Words swirl.

Like snow.

Everywhere.

Nowhere.

It's the silent watches of the night. (Hush) Heads on pillows.

 I've disappeared.

But I don't know where.

The body lies awake.

What body?

My Hand Closes Over Nothing

They say I've lost it, and I tell them, I know, I have. But we're talking about different things. I shuffle along the street, head bowed, as if in deep conversation, and people pass me on either side, stepping away because they think I look...my lips move, I'm forming words and I know you're walking beside me.

Sometimes the pain is quiet, and I just talk to you, tell you about my day and how it felt when they put the pickles in my sandwich, and what the floor feels like under my bare feet and why the dog looks at me and turns away.

I walk at night because there are less eyes. And I can talk to you without them staring, except that sometimes I forget, I'm too loud and they peep over their gates to listen.

I can't help it. I miss you. There is still so much I have to say to you.

Sometimes I feel you brush past and I reach out. But my hand closes over nothing.

It's these times that are the hardest. Just when I got used to not having you here, your shadow fell across my face and I reached out.

It's then, my darling, that my body screams. It pushes this broken voice through my throat, an animal pain, and it screams and screams until my throat is left in bloody tatters.

They come for me then. Closing in from all sides. I don't bother to run. I don't feel them shove me, hold me down, hold me to the ground.

The mad woman, they say. Can't we do something about her, they say.

And my body keeps screaming.

So I run away. I run. I keep on running. I reach out for you to hold my hand to pull me forward.

I reach out my hand but it closes over nothing.

You're still not there.

The other day, I saw something that reminded me of you. It was a puddle of water, floating over mud and I saw the moon's bright face reflected in it.

I couldn't help it. I knelt down and drank. I drank. I drank. Mud. Salt. Blood. I drank.

And they surrounded me again.

And a little child said, poor thing Mummy, the mad woman must be thirsty. Can we give her some water?

But then I didn't hear anything more, because my body started to scream.

Nobody can make out what I scream.

But it's your name, it's always your name.

It tears through my me like a siren and it keeps tearing through me until there's nothing left.

Death should not happen so slowly.

I keep waiting for you to take my hand. But you're still not there.

And so I keep walking, hoping that someday, I will reach out, my hand will close over something, and then I won't be there anymore.

The Rest Of My Life

Sometimes it is just a matter of getting over it. Retentive feelings are all very well for Anne Elliot and with her, they worked. If they hadn't she would have died alone. Sad and brokenhearted and half a person.

But tomorrows have been surprising me. I found that no matter how difficult, it is always possible to get through today. If you focus on just getting through this moment, this minute, the next five minutes, suddenly it's tomorrow.

And tomorrows can be surprising.

For years now, birthdays have been something to endure and get through.

This year, the year I turned 40, it was special. It was a conglomeration of things - the people, the presents, the effort behind it, the food. My sister Jackie coming here and doing her best. Also Simon. Also Ivan. Even Julie whom I no longer speak to, staying back in KL and taking care of the dogs.

Arnold is sick again. That wound by the side of his head acting up. She's taking him to the vet.

I've never fought for anything worth fighting for. I've never achieved anything I can look back and be proud of. And I don't want to be scared anymore. I want to work towards something, build something, be proud of something.

That's my wish.

For this year. And the rest of my life.