5' Thoughts About 6' Under

There is something about deaths that just silence me. News of so many of them just seem to creep up on you all at once that it begs you to think you must have crossed that minefield of time. Unrelated deaths of three, four or five people just seem to breeze by you one day at a time, overwhelming you with the reality of it all. 

The reality is that people die, every single day, every single minute. With every sneeze that you take, you escape death, but death preys on some other person, at another place in the world. 

This academic quarter I received heavy news of the passing of both my late grandfather's brothers, Aki Chu and Aki Dea; my grandmother's sister-in-law, Wan Dea; an Uncle Julian (an aunt's uncle who died of cancer), and the tragic death of a first year Malaysian from Pennsylvania State University.

The last and most recent (May 25, to be exact), gripped me senseless particularly because he passed away from a drowning incident while camping at a National Park in Tennessee. All my life, I have been indignant about having to produce permission letters from parents before a field trip, and scoffed at unfortunate events chaperons pull out of thin air to scare us schoolkids at campgrounds. Evidently, shit happens and I un-rest my case.

And old age? Old age strikes. It strikes us in the face, hard. Last summer I had "that" conversation with my aunt, Tam, who out of the blue adviced that I be strong and understand that my loved ones are aged and time will take its toll. She ranted on and on about having to let go, especially since I am studying thousands of miles across the seas from home.

Considering the weakling that I am and  the close call we had last year, naturally I burst into tears. Secretly, and away from her eyes of course (I looked out the window throughout the uncomfortable 15 minute car drive). I was disgruntled and upset that she chose to give me such a peptalk at an occassion I am most happy--driving to a bazar ramadhan. To me, these things should be unspoken of. I will pretend to be strong when the time comes, because I know I will have to.

Perhaps it is unkind for me to confess that the deaths I mentioned did not particularly break my heart. Instead, the corporeality that it could be my grandmother(s) devastates me. And this is why the home bells are ringing. I do not regret for a second that I booked the next flight home once I received the ultimate rejection. 

In a month's time, I will be home. I will be home for Nenek, whom has been ill for so long now. And Wan, I will be home to take you to the grocery store, to drive you around (with the exception of the city centre and Bangsar due to obvious reasons for a girly manual car driver like me), to demand good food and fatten myself up, to tumbuk-tumbuk your legs, and to literally sleep under your ketiak at night. 

I will be home. Unless home means the eternal hereafter, I will be home, I promise.

Ops Pancit Sifar dan Perut Kempis

Memorial Day Weekend is looming near, and the Malaysian diaspora in the United States have but one common thing in mind: Midwest Games 2009. To Urbana Champaign, Illinois, from May 22nd to 24th, we come.

We come from as near as Chicago and as far as Toronto, to convene, play sports, chit chat and participate in the all-time favorite: boy/girl watching. For newly single, not-quite-single and taken people alike, Midwest Games provides the platform for one to sharpen their observational and networking skills.

Of course, for the more hardcore sports enthusiast, sporting events are focal. They are never mere friendly matches or fun tournaments. Rather, MWG is a once-a-year opportunity to put forth one's awesomeness and dexterity in the court. It is time to mesmerize idolizing fans with your toned biceps and graceful moves while brushing that wet hair out of your eyes as you get ready to kick/throw/spike/catch the ball, whatever the game.

For the females, it is time to establish the truth: that you are not as cewi as people deem you to be. This is your chance to scream insults at your opponents, sweat, toil, stink but still emerge as heroines as you bring your university to the winning ranks. Of course, during the Malaysian Night you then redeem your status as a demure goddess as you strut into the halls, dressed to the nines in the baju kebaya you forced your sister to mail from home.

As for me, MWG heightens my despair over my prolonged sedentary condition. It is the time of the year when my brain and heart colludes with agreement that "Shit, I shouldn't have NOT exercised for a whole year". It is times like these I panic and formulate crash jogging and soccer training, and don't follow it. This month of May, may I say, is when I wished I kicked and played more with balls.

Playing with a team made up of young aunties and a handful of imported players from all over the country, it is an understatement to say that we don't get enough practice. It's just really kick and play for us, as we touchdown at the field from our separate lives, meeting for the very first time in no time.

Last year ChiTown Warriors (I cringe at this chosen title) went against all odds and emerged as champions, thanks to Kak Maria, mother to three year old Adam, who defines fantastico soccer mom. This superwoman is staying off the field this year as she has a junior coming, and we wish her all the best! But now, nak harapkan Nurjannah, silap lah.

A moral dilemma is at hand.

How do I go from this

to this?

I think it's time to launch Ops Pancit Sifar dan Perut Kempis. Nothing more, nothing less.

Hakuna Matata

Hakuna matata. There is no problem. Especially if you really want something and you work for it. Sometimes in life, you just gotta do, pursue, harass, try, as hard as you can. God willing, all will come your way!

For example, you may just get a postcard if you harass hard enough for it, kan kan? (If you're reading this, you know who you are=p)

But now my latest obsession comes in the form of a Zimbabwean. Hah! Who would've guess? And if you didn't know, Cape Town is right next to Zimbabwe. So if you know what I'm talking about, you do the math. *Mischievous grin*

Jambo bwana. Nope, it's Swahili, not Shona. But I should pick up Shona, don't ya'll think so? (",)