separation anxiety

the other day i had a quick lunch with c and when i mentioned that i was sad to leave NIE, he commented that i’m sad to leave everywhere anyway. and i realise that’s true. every time i find people i’m comfortable with, and have to leave them to move on, i get separation anxieties.

today is the last day i’m seeing my lit/lang bunch together, and after tomorrow’s last class we’ll be going for our 10 week practicum in various schools all over the island. right now even as i’m trying to finish up my second last assignment, i’m thinking to myself that i’m gonna be back here after the weekend and see these people i’ve become close to since last year, and it’ll all be familiar and comfortable. and i can’t believe i won’t!

doesn’t sound very mature i know. but anxiety is never a moment of maturity. it can sometimes make us see through a pinhole, and until we realise that there are many things in this turning world that are still still, that there is still our Rock in place, that we have an anchor to our soul, we may be thrown overboard.

too many things pulling in different directions, but then it’s the only way to make a masterpiece, and there are really many details in the fabric.

still much beauty over here

today i did something that i’ve often thought about doing, but never really. i packed my passport in my bag, and after my morning (and only) class today i went back to jb. got the whole route planned out in my head man..where to stop to drop off my overdue books. where to get some food stuff to bring back. how much to get. what sort to get. whether i should call mum and tell her. whether i should check if my sis wanted to come too. where to take the cab from on the msian side. what time i might make it back.

so i zipped off after class, and hopped back to see grandpa. it was only because i was there that my mum told me the truth about how grandpa had been over this week. when i last saw him he was still in good spirits, very lucid, and very hospitable (sigh). this time he was subdued, moody, and vacant. he barely said hi when he heard who i was, and then there were the usual “have you eaten?” “don’t you have school?” “why did you bother coming?” and then i watched as grandma fed him his porridge, with him lying down because it was too hard to sit up. apparently last week he had some days/nights of confusion, and thought he was at home, yelling out loud for grandma to get him his things, pulling his plug off, getting off the bed, telling mum stories that she knew could hardly be true, seeing things that he wouldn’t have been able to see, that were not there, his thoughts fumbling over strands of memory and versions of half-lies told him.

today he was in a bed with high railings on the side, and one side was put up. he was sleepy, but he couldn’t sleep well. his eyes kept trying to force themselves open, while his face drooped. his hands clasped across his chest as they usually do when he sleeps, but this time they move and they almost wave about as he awakens on and off from some distant unpleasant memory. when he wakes, he’s not fully awake, and his words are harsh and he tells me to go, to not talk anymore. he doesn’t hear me, and i have to change my words halfway through the sentence, to something he might understand, something more familiar, even if something less significant.

there were sores on his hands, and some bloated parts. in his sleepy stupor he scratched, and then he reached out in a daze and i took his hand. instinctively he took it, then he woke a little more, looked at me, dropped my hand and waved me away.

that’s not really the grandpa i know. but as i looked at him on the bed, shrivelled and inert, i remembered the stories he told me of his youth. the days he had 18 bowls of watery porridge for a meal and was still hungry; the time he was with the army in china and tried to mouth the words he couldn’t read; the time there was a misunderstanding and his good reputation cleared him of false accusations; the time he tried his hand at chap ji kee and won the first time, then rushed off to send the money back home so the family could claim their mortgaged land back from the people who gave them money for his ferry ticket; the days of long hot days in the sun, diving into the sea water to plant stakes that form kellongs, drinking coke in a hurry as a break treat…

then i remember that he is not only grandfather, great-grandfather, father, husband, but also brother, uncle, son…and i remember “even to your old age, I am He, and even to grey hairs I will carry you! I have made, and I will bear; even I will carry, and will deliver you.” (Isaiah 46:4) he is my 95 year old grandfather, but he is nevertheless a son of God. in his very essence he is like you and me. he is affectionate, he loves much, he gives generously, he’s been hurt, he’s retreating, he’s retaliating, he’s scared, he wants to be sure, he wants to be home.

(maybe from this distance it is easier to see…)

xin jia zu yi

新季如意

that’s roughly what it means i think. it’s the one most significant cny greeting i know in teochew, and it’s the one that i remind myself to say to my grandparents on the first day of the new year, just after i wash up but just before i change into my bright new clothes and check that everything is laid out for the guests to arrive.

this year i didn’t get to say that, because on the first day of cny i woke up in hospital after a night’s stay at the observation ward. it was a rather unusual cny, but it turned out to be good nonetheless. granted that my reunion dinner was saline solution through a tube, and my mum and sis had theirs at the NUH canteen, we had a make-up reunion lunch later on, albeit in the midst of some duress too.

this was the year i wanted to learn to see cny anew and to appreciate it again. along the way i forgot why i had developed such strong feelings against it, until i read an old blog post and realised that many things had happened over this period some years back before. but this year i also had many happy images of what this season could mean, from the happy memories a friend has of cny. this year, there was also the consciousness that there is a group of us who are eager to play our part in our family well, and who are all supporting one another in thoughts and prayers. this year’s cny was also very much about the bigger family i have, in bethany and more recently, in school. i was very drowsy while i was sick, very uncomfortable in part, very ashamed in part, very tired most parts. but in the midst of that came messages that sent the presence of people i love, and it was okay after all.

this year’s cny week also continued unusually. i missed the dreariness of returning to school early 初三 morning, because i was still on mc. when i got back the next day, i walked into a burst of very affectionate, very concerned, very lovable friends, and i was happy to be back. but after that was the news that ah gong has been admitted, because the bleeding had not stopped.

every year we count our ang pows after the second day, because that’s when most of the activity ends. people always give brand new notes over cny, sometimes even with running serial numbers. but every year, i get one ang pow that is most special to me. it’ll always come crumpled, like a lot of effort went into preparing and delivering it. there will be a fifty ringgit note inside, old and rumply, and it’ll be pushed barely folded into a red packet that looks used. i don’t always get it first hand, but i’ll know always that this is the ang pow from ah gong. i know he gives us more than he gives his other grandchildren, and i know he gives us generously, and i know he gives us deliberately, first tottering to his drawer, then feeling for his special box, undo the rubber band, feel for the few red packets he has there, then pick out the fifty ringgit notes he has specially set aside, and put one into each packet, three packets in all. then he keeps these three packets in his zipped pants pocket, so that whichever of us comes by his room first, he can call out to and pass all three packets to.

every year when we count our red packets, we decide what to do with the money, check that the packets are empty, then throw the packets away. every year i pick out the crumpled one that ah gong gives and secretly keep it, just like i used to secretly keep every scrap of memory that reminds me of what made me feel safe as a child.

but there are some things that just cannot be kept. squeezing into the lift to visit ah gong when visiting hours began, my handphone got pick-pocketed. it’s the first time i’ve ever lost anything valuable, and it’s the first time i’ve ever been pick-pocketed. i didn’t even realise it till later. with my phone i also lost my photographs, and many nice messages that i’d wanted to keep. some of the nicest messages that captured very precious moments.

maybe it’s okay. maybe there are other ways of remembering, other ways of keeping. maybe it’s even better not to rely on tangible things like that. maybe some things just cannot be captured. maybe some people leave in us (w)holes far deeper than words or pictures can trigger.

it has been an unusual new spring, new season. but to everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven. and He has made everything beautiful in its time.