The Thawing of a Frozen Heart

I lost my grandfather almost half a year ago. I was not home. I knew about it by a text from my mom. She said, don't worry, we've had it all covered. Your dad is fine. I wanted to go back home almost immediately; to be there for my dad. In all honestly, I don't remember shedding tears upon the news. I just know its a sad thing; and I should feel sad but I just don't. Tears don't fall and my head is as clear as water in a pond. Its like hearing a stranger's death news. I am not affected, I have no affliction whatsoever. I even googled on why didn't I feel sad, and how wrong it is to not feel sad over the death of family members. I feel so dehumanized. So, I finished all of my final projects and settle everything at my school; and went back home.

It was the second day of the "Kenduri Arwah" (funeral reception) when I got home. It was the first time ever that I saw my dad looking so extremely sombre; and yet trying his best to talk to everyone who came. Afterall, dad is the first male son of the family; he should somehow lead the occasion on behalf of the rest of his siblings. I was in awe, perhaps raising us his children and plenty of life experiences makes him so strong and reliable. At this moment, he is the person my grandma needed most.

I spent time with my grandma. She was sobbing uncontrollably when I sat next to her; reciting prayers and guiding younger cousins reciting Quran. Then I hugged her, and my mom reprimanded me for crying in front of grandmother. "She's cried enough. Why did you cry in front of her? Why do you have to make her cry again? What if she fall ill?". I didn't say anything; I didn't even correct her. I was just there to pat on grandma's  back and hug her, I didn't cry, not even a little bit, not even at all. I'm not even sure if I actually feel sad or pensive at that moment.

After the ordeal with my grandmother; theres a "Tahlil" (Reading of Quranic verses and prayers) which was lead by the village's head (He also is the Imam at our Village's Mosque). We all say the prayer together and then I felt that something is amiss. I couldn't hear my granddad's voice anymore. Normally his voice would be the loudest, and echoes around the house but that day; there's no more. My tears fell, but I didn't even sob. The water just fell out of my eyes, and my nose become watery as well. I have no idea why these fluids keep coming out of my eyes and nose without my heart's consent.

I couldn't explain the numb feelings I felt; and it just felt like something's missing, and a space empty. Some part of me refuse to stop crying so that the tears can become a show to the rest of the family; a sign that I do felt remorse since I didn't actually show my grievance at all since I arrived home and the fact that I didn't rush home the moment I heard the news doesn't make my position seems better. Let them see me cry. It also helps that my face naturally look sad. Apparently, I am one of the 3 grandchildren who didn't say our last farewell to him on his final day before his departure to afterlife. So, crying makes up for it, I guess, since people stop giving me glances of disapproval.

It is true that I was not very close to my grandfather; and that I can barely remember moments that I have with him. There were so many of us; his grandchildren and I can vouch that I'm not his favourite. The one and only memory that I have is when I was in standard 6 and waiting for the bus from cram school. I saw him. He was there with his bike and cigarette; and we sat near each other, but not acknowledging each other's existence at the bus stop right after I salam (shook his hand) once. Then he got up, bought Orange flavoured drink and Pisang Goreng (Its like Banana Tempura); and handed them over to me. I said thanks, and the stall owner said from afar, "Aww, your granddad's buying".

Its a small village, so its no secret as which little kids belongs to which clan. I smiled. He did too. I remembered feeling tremendously happy because for once, I have a moment that my other cousins didn't.  We actually talked; and eventhough it was just a "How was school?", "Are you behaving well to your teacher?", "Are you having fun in school?", and "Where's your dad, why didn't he pick you up?". He stayed with me until the bus came and I went home. I didn't say anthing about this event to anyone; not even my dad because it was such a small, insignificant occurence. Ironically, I remembered this so called insignificant moment to this very day. Perhaps it is significant after all, for that was the only time that I remember us having sincerely smiled and actually were having conversation with one another. I rarely met him after I started secondary school, maybe around 10 times a year, I guess? The number of time I met him didn't even increase through the years. I grow up, and he grew older.

I somehow know that I'm blocking off my emotion to feel anything; I didn't let myself feel anything because I know if I let that feeling sink in, I'll have a major breakdown. I will lose control of myself and I don't like that feeling. I don't want to break down over a person who barely acknowledged my existence in his life. I was always envious of my friends whenever they speak about how close they are to their grandparents; because I simply don't have a close relationship with my grandparents. We just meet once in a while and that's that. "Since our contact is minimum; lets just keep the mourning minimized too" I thought to myself.So, I compartmentalized my feelings. I recovered pretty fast, probably because there was nothing to recover from; and goes on with life as if nothing ever happened. Time passess and I rarely ever remembered him. Like he was never there on the first place.

We were so distant; I knew he was family and family should feel love for each other but I guess I stopped trying to try loving him. I stopped trying to impress; I stopped trying to get his attention; I stopped trying to care. I have always, however, play the role of filial granddaughter for my parents at home. I may not do it out of goodwill, but at least I know I did it for my parents. I can smile and laugh and behave according to the societal norms, but none of it was real, I guess. I've been trying my best to convince "me" that I am in fact, okay. So, why did I write about it today?

Simple answer. As Beyonce said it in Halo: "Remember those walls I built? They're tumbling down. They didn't even put up a fight, they didn't even make a sound" . My cover is blown. I break down.

That one fine morning, I was doing my cleaning routine when I saw a male elderly was trying to walk down a narrow staircase. He was holding a cane and staggering. Out of intuition I rushed towards him and extend my arm. He accepted my help and held my hand as he ascends from the stairs. He looked at me straight in the eyes, grace me with a gentle smile and left. He said nothing. He was a stranger with no connection whatsoever to me, but something tugged my heart and the moment I turn around; the sudden surge of emotion makes my tears fall and for the first time ever, in 6 months after he left us, I truly cried. No one was there to judge me, there's no family members around to put a show on, I have no one around me to please, only my heart alone to console. That stranger made me feel a doleful void that I didn't feel before. The touch makes me remember that my gradfather is no longer physically here. I can no longer hold his hand. I can no longer call his name and he can never answer. Ever. The thoughts of having to visit his grave, reciting prayers for him in years to come makes me feel despair and I finally admitted to myself that I am feeling his loss. At the age of 25, I no longer have a Grandfather.

I don't remember a lot about us, in fact I even doubted if I ever actually loved you, as in truly loved you. But right now, at this moment; I miss you, Aki.

Confessions of an Eccentric Drama Queen

I should try to understand and accept people's differences and not be too judgmental. I am to a certain degree and it ticks me off a little bit. Its because deep down I knew it wasn't right for me to have the same reaction like most people; given the fact that I am a piece of work myself when it comes to individuality and degree of weirdness. I am aware of individual's differences, its just that...I can't accept everything.

I know, I mean, if I can be eccentric; why can't other people be eccentric too? They have every single rights to do so. I may be disappointed and baffled as hell; but I should have tried to understand better. Afterall, people have tried their best to understand my qualities and bizarre antics. Why can't I do the same?

The world does not revolve around me and I am just a pebble; okay, a tiny organism living this world so I shouldn't hold my head so high and stop looking down and evaluate myself. I am maybe better at certain things, but there are millions of other people who can do a lot better in other fields than me. I don't want to be a drama queen who is pompous and demanded everything to fall in lines as I please and people must follow what I say.

Instead I want to become a good leader; the one who can see the flaws in herself and accept others' flaw, see the good qualities and fortes in the crowd she mingles in and not think of herself high above the rest of the people.

Random Act of Kindness

One day I was feeling so depressed over something I can't quite place. (Its a mixture of everything, really) and I rode a bus and that day, I was pretty lucky to have secured a seat. I will definitely feel crappier if I had to stand all the way home through the ride and I get to sit. So, cool. I'm okay.

Then there was a guy wearing a snowcap and carries a slingbag fully decorated with badges of his favorite band I think; and he was holding a guitar in his hand. The bus driver apparently was also having a bad day judging from he way he drove the bus; really fast, and I know it didn't slow down at any turn, execept when the bus is dropping and picking people. The guy holding the guitar looked slightly unbalanced but I noticed that even when he's about to lose control of his footing; he always keep his guitar safe from falling or getting hit by other standing people.

Without saying a word I extend my hand, and gesture a "let me hold the guitar for you" with a smile and anod (facial expression language much?). He apparently understood that and hand it over to me. I hold it in my grip and he finally can use his free hand to get the nearby pole to keep his balance. At that moment, all that I could ever think of was "The hell did I just do? He's a complete stranger. Why did I do that? Its so awkward!" I have no idea. I just did. He's also something; handing it over to me when we absolutely not know each other.

I didn't even utter a word to him and when I reached my stop, I returned it to him and I can hear a faint "Thanks" coming out of his mouth. I smiled and nodded (I don't know why it was so difficult for me to speak that day. Oh, yes. I was in bad mood and I haven't spoken to anyone that day. Silly me, of course I won't speak to him.). I got out of the bus; and I can totally hear another passenger saying something like "Oy, give her your number, dude". I guess we've been observed by the rest of the people. Ha.

Anyways, I sort of forgot that I was feeling down earlier; and I was left with a fuzzy and contented feelings afterwards. I guess thats why people say we have to do good in order to feel good. Indeed, doing good is a good thing. I'm happy. And to guy with guitar; thanks, you made my day.

The Punching Bag

This is the second time that I had to take the fall just to cater to everyone else's need. Its irritating in a way, because the first time I did it was already burdening enough. The second time, I'm already at my limit. I don't feel that its okay to dump everything on others for your own benefit. The first time is fine, but twice is not okay~

Pen is a lot sharper than tongue

 Since tongue is said to be sharper than sword; so pen is the sharpest item of them all~

I admit that I am not a person who can immediately rebutt in any arguments; its just not my forte. Thus, I always listen, accept and absorb everything that is said to me diligently. Of course I will feel bad if the said words were unkind but I'll get over it as time passes by. Which is really depressing.

So, I would write. I feel safe in writing; and I can unleash every words I wish to utter verbally. The best part about it is that it works; and the effect lasts longer. I remembered Shakespeare's sonnet 18; the beauty is everlasting as long as people can read. So, yeah. definitely better than voices; unless its recorded and plastered all over the web, because internet is forever too.

Every Freaking Time

I planned to relief some of my fatigue by sleeping for a couple hours; and wake up at 3 am to resume whatever thats left of my paper to be completed.

Guess what?

I woke up at 7. Hmmm~ My plan has gone with the dream. Btw, I know I dreamt of something special. The dream was sort of good because I wake as a happy person; not the usual cranky "why am I waking up when I should be sleeping, its Sunday..." kind of human.

Either way. I'm so not gonna trust myself with sleeping again. Like, ever.

StATisTiCs

Statistically speaking, there has got to be a correlation between test anxiety and the number of times we've done revision, right?