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.