Therapy?

This is the entry I’ve always wanted to write, but have procrastinated for the better part of the year. For quite some time this entry was the sole reason I wanted to start a blog at all. I waited for Mother’s day to begin writing, but that day came and went. Thought the perfect day came on Ma’s birthday at September 24th, well that day came and went too.

Better late than never, procrastinator. Sorry for making the first few entries so dark… quite a number of people asked if I was alright… but I am, I assure you. Sometimes I just need an outlet, that’s all. Hopefully there will be some happy posts coming soon.

The previous entry talked about moments… a defining event which you remember a person for, for as long as you live. This is about my mom.

My house had an extra room which we fashioned into a guest room for whoever might be staying over… it would sometimes be for my grandma, relatives from abroad, family friends. And this room would normally be occupied during big events: Cheng Beng, grandparents’ birthdays, and Chinese New Year. But for most of the year it would stay empty… and otherwise be known as the quarantine room.

Back in the day, my sister and I shared a room. And when either one of us fell ill one of us would be sent to the quarantine room… most times the ill one. Sometime in the mid-90’s, in my teenage years, while I was in secondary school… this was one of those nights.

I was a difficult teenager. We all remember those days. Finding our own identities, hanging out with our newfound friends, distancing ourselves from our parents for fear of embarassment, a temper tantrum now and again because we were always always right about everything… wanting to find our niche in society I guess. I was seldom on the same page as my parents, needless to say.

One fine day in 1996, I fell tremendously ill and weak and helpless. Asking help from either parents was never an option because that would make me look weak. But they knew better, and after giving me a couple Panadols, it was off to the quarantine room for me to spend the night.

I was never used to sleeping there. It was a stuffy room with little ventilation and residual smell of the previous occupants whoever they may be. It almost seemed like punishment… and if it was I felt defeated. That night I tossed and turned in bed, trying hard to fall asleep as seconds bled into minutes and minutes bled into hours. The cuckoo clock audible from the living room would remind me every half hour how much sleep I was missing.

3am… I felt terrible.

And all of a sudden, I heard a door creak. From my parents’ room… someone was walking out. I heard soft footsteps, closer, closer… it sounded like Ma. She opened my door and came in. For whatever reason I pretended to be asleep, and closed my eyes tight hoping I really did fall asleep. What does she want now, I kept thinking.

With her gentle hands, she felt my forehead, brushed my hair back, and pulled up my blankets. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel her warm gaze, her smile, and her reassuring touch… almost like she was saying "everything will be alright soon".

A mother’s love.

Softly she left me, and I fell asleep soonafter, feeling safe in knowing that she is close to me.

I have never felt so loved in my life… and wonder to this day what I did to deserve this. A mother’s love, undemanding, unwavering… unconditional. I never told her about that night 9 years ago… but sometimes I wish I did, if only to make her feel happy and appreciated. Every mother’s day I think about this night… at first it would make me feel a bit down, not being with her, but then… knowing that even someone like me is deserving of all her love, I soldier on, hoping that with each passing day I would learn to love like my mom.

Undemanding, unwavering, unconditional.

I’m learning still, Ma.

A moment to savour
A moment to cherish
A moment forever
One that won’t perish

Not a tie that binds
Nor a promise to keep
For a moment in time
Is all that we need

Moments… we all need them. I always like to think if I ever had Alzheimer’s and lose all memory of ever knowing any of you, our moments would still be left intact, and I would work my way from there. So what constitutes a moment? Again, a million different meanings to a million different people. I do think that a moment we have is more than special… it’s an ethereal, almost supernatural connection we have and it only has to last a few seconds.

When your eyes lock and you have that tingle in your spine, and they have it too… and it’s suddenly so quiet but you don’t want to break the silence because you want to prolong the magic, this moment you’re having, the both of you… and when it’s over you just want to ask them "My God, did we just have a moment?" but you don’t really need to because you know it and they know it. And that’s a moment.

And that is all you need.

Of course that’s just an example. To me it’s simply… the one thing you want to remember from a person. A single moment in time that defines that person, and what that person means to you. I try to catch these moments consciously, because they can hit you anyway, at anyday, and when you least expect it. So even when… things can go wrong, you still have that moment to hold on to, and no one can take away from. Gives meaning to life, my friends. Maybe I’ve already had a moment with you, and maybe, just maybe… you know it too.

PRAYER

Ma,

Wonder how you are doing, wherever you are. Haven’t talked to you for a long time… but you’re always in my thoughts everyday. I’m doing good here so far, no need to worry about me. I have good friends around me, and everyday I’m kept busy with things… all is good. Sis is still working in Ipoh, she’s getting a lot of promotions and is doing fine… hope you’re proud of her. I miss you so much. You’ve always held the family together and it came so naturally from you we never noticed it. When times are trying you are especially missed Ma. I will try with all I have to be the good son I always said I’ll be but never showed you enough. I will grow up someday, and many things might change in me and the things around me, but one thing I know is eternal. I will love you always and keep you close to my heart, in everything I do.

I will be good.

Ba,

I have not forgotten all the advice you have given me. You have always inspired me to be strong, not for yourself but for others, and to always give help to those who need it… I don’t think I can ever fill your shoes. Medicine is tough… now I know how trying is must have been for you back then… I often wonder how you made it through so effortlessly. Sometimes I really wish you are here with me, guiding me, helping me through hard times… you have always been my pillar of strength and continue to be. One day I hope to become the man you’ve always envisioned me to be. Until then, I will do everything in my power to honour your name. You are still fondly remembered by your old colleagues, friends and patients. They speak so highly of you still. All this time growing up I never realised you’ve left behind a legacy of such magnitude. What can I do but try to live up to it? You will always live forever in my heart and mind. I love you Ba.

I will be good.

God,

With your grace, please watch over my parents as they have watched over me: with unconditional love, unparalleled wisdom, and always with a touch of humour ("what, no wings?!")… they deserve the very best. Please protect my sister, as sometimes I feel she is all the family I have left. Please let her know she is not alone in this, and that I am always thinking of her no matter how busy I am. Please look after my relatives, teachers and elders. They have taught me well and remind me never to sway from the path that I have chosen. Please protect, too, all my friends, as they make life worth living. And lastly, please grant me the strength to get by each day, the wisdom to cherish everything I am thankful for, and the perseverance to overcome any obstacle. I wish only to make my parents proud. Thanks for listening.

I will be good.

AFTER

Signs of life: little kicks from a baby, a blip in the heart monitor, the first breath of fresh air after a dive, a pianist on a crescendo, standing up before the ten-count, the first yawn after a peaceful night’s rest… a million different meanings to a million different people, as long as it motivates and perpetuates… positive thinking at its best.

In early 2002, while awaiting the STPM results, like anyone I know in my batch we took jobs for experience, to kill time, and just to know the feeling of having an income. I became a substitute teacher in a primary school, rationalising… good hours, okay pay and weekends off. What I did not bargain for were pestering kids, a syllabus much tougher than my own when I was in primary school, and how lacking I actaully was in Mandarin, but well… we live, we learn. Thinking positive and having "This One’s For The Children" running in my mind helped. Marginally.

My STPM result hit me like a nail in the eye: I was not good enough, by a long shot, to qualify for medicine in any local university… I would have to dig deep for private institutions. My students noticed a change in rhythm in me that day… and my goodness, what they did totally astounded me until today. 11-year-old kids, pure and inexperienced in life, telling me to keep my head up and look forward to a better day… that everything would be all right soon. I could adopt all of them, I swear. I left the teaching profession 3 months later with a heavy heart, not knowing whether I taught my students well enough… but they taught me one of the most important lessons in life I have almost forgotten.

Happiness comes from within.

I found my smile again.

May 2002. I packed my bags and left for UPM in Serdang to pursue the only course the good ol’ government considered me qualified for: Biotechnology. A good course in any case… just not for me. I could not imagine myself working in a lab environment. So it was that I would apply for medicine elsewhere while I studied (half-heartedly admittedly) in UPM.

This was the first time I left home, and I did it with the optimism of finally moving on, the dread of unfamiliarity, of not being "home", and with a tinge of guilt… "why do I feel so good leaving home?" Que sera sera. I remember meeting my roommate, Han Chung, for the very first time in our hostel room, he looked as nervous as I did. I prayed for someone "friendly and unintrusive" and he just wanted someone to get along. Thankfully we clicked rather quickly. My biotechnology coursemates were unbelievable… nearly all of them were "friendly and unintrusive" and I might as well have been roommates with any of them.

I was in the good company of either my coursemates or my ex-schoolmates from Sam Tet… there was never a dull moment and I remembered thinking "this could be home". Through orientation, sleepy lectures, laboratory mishaps, mad bus rides, diarrhoea-inducing canteen food, trips to Mines shopping centre, free tennis lessons, last-minute cramming for exams, late-night sneaking out of rooms to look for friends, avoiding security along the way and back, and even a Faculty Night where we all looked like proper adults for a change… life in UPM was fun and unforgettable, and I made a few life-long friends along the way.

Meanwhile, after having sent application forms to medical institutions in Penang, Alor Setar, KL, my hometown and even India, my work is done and all I had to do was wait with fingers crossed. I had been accepted in Penang and India, but I was gunning to stay in KL. The waiting and worrying ended on a sunny afternoon at a commuter station when the admissions officer called… I was accepted into IMU, the KL university. I remember the first person I called, amidst the sounds of passing trains and loud banter, was Chee Siu (cheese you, hmm…), an old friend most concerned with where I ended up. That was our moment in heaven.

The rest, as they say, is history. Saying goodbye to my UPM coursemates was sad but we held on to the fact that our fates crossed anyhow… I still keep close contact with some of them to this day. Some things, and people, are so hard to let go of. In September 2002, starting afresh again in IMU with new coursemates, new hopes, new ambitions… life is certainly never boring. And in the months to come I would come to this resolution… like the old Boyzone song, this is where I belong. Finally.

The first stage of my life I would gladly say that "Life is Easy", being looked after and protected by my parents. The blanket of security that I so miss. Then it would seem that "Life is Difficult", but even in the darkest hours I had all the help and support in the world… all I needed to do was ask. And now, living a third life in a sense, I would conclude, simply, with the well-worn cliche… "Life is Beautiful". Going through life as swift as we do, it’s good to just stop and reflect on the positives, the beauty of life, to look forward to each day and not take things for granted… and never never to forget your roots, where you come from… for without your yesterdays, there would not even be today. We live, we learn.

Life is beautiful.

It most certainly is.

THE PURGATORY

(noun) 1. The place where people suffer after they die for the wrong things they have done before they can go to heaven. 2. An unpleasant place or experience.

I have done nothing wrong.
No, I have, otherwise I shouldn’t be made to suffer.
It’s all my fault.
I don’t know.
God help me.

September 3rd, 2000. The day I lost my smile. The day a part of me died.

My parents were taken away from me that day. While it seemed so long ago, to me what occured that day might as well happened yesterday… every little detail I still remember vividly to this day. You try to repress it, it comes back with a vengeance. You try to forget it, you can’t. You try to preoccupy yourself, the flashbacks still come, no matter how hard you try. Might as well live with it.

Psychiatry textbooks often mention the 5 stages of grief. 5 simple words so accurate in predicting how a person might feel, yet I was mad at it the first time I saw it because they explained it so devoid of empathy, so lacking of emotion. But then that’s what they tell you in the medical line… not to get emotionally involved. A hard lesson I have yet to learn.

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. 5 words describe everything and nothing. As yet I am not ready to share this moment in time fully, as it would take everything out of me right now. Try to understand.

The months that follow were a quick blur. Friends looking at me with sympathetic eyes, relatives and teachers looking awkward and uneasy, my sister going off to Adelaide to resume studies, leaving me alone to my own devices at home… waking up at 5am to catch a bus to school, staying until 10pm at the school library everyday because I dreaded going home to find myself alone again, doing badly in exams, becoming overly dependent on others, trying to keep a once-filled home alive… praying and hoping to God all this would be over soon.

"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. And no good thing ever dies." Morgan Freeman in The Shawshank Redemption. Through the worst of times, living on a prayer, hope prevails. God answered. Through this I saw who my true friends are, who have been walking with me through the pain, who have been quietly cheering me on, who have been helping me through all the way, from paying the bills, which chapters to study for exams, to bearing my relapses. Best of all, and simplest of all, they were just there. I felt loved again… and was ready to pick up the pieces once more. I wanted to do everything in my parents’ wishes… I wanted to make them proud wherever they may be.

I remembered my parents once more… so respected and loved by the people around them, a wide network of friends, lives filled with achievements… so full of life and love and happiness. I wanted to emulate that, and worked towards that. All my life I’ve been told to be a doctor I didn’t know what lay beyond. But as I grew so did the interest, and the heart, and the passion… and I could think of no other career option. For myself, my parents, and the people I love most… I chose medicine.

The purgatory ended as well as Form 6, and I was ready to move on with my life.

With hope.
With hope.

Humour is good. Silence is easy. Honesty is exalted.

Three lessons in life I’ve learnt early on. Humour for easing unease, breaking the ice and laughing at yourself once in a while. Silence for when you know you’re wrong, and when you have the urge to talk bad about people because nobody’s perfect. Honesty… speaks for itself. The basis of my very existance… imprinted onto my name by my father. The virtue of kings, he would say.

My parents taught me well.

Even now I feel my life is divided into 3 stages. Before, The Purgatory, and After. Do other people’s lives also revolve around a single event? By fate, by chance, by whatever… a certain event becomes the centre of the universe and everything that happens before and after revolves around it?

This is my life, and I’m forever bound by it.

BEFORE

"Relatively perfect" was how I would describe my childehood. My first memory would be growing up upstairs of a shophouse, above my parents’ clinic, in Ipoh. Half of the house didn’t have proper roofing, and that was where we planted our flowers and cacti. When it rained I used to marvel at them dancing and swaying, on my mother’s lap, hands cupped over my ears as thunder approached. On sunny days, the sunbeams would shine through our orange curtains, creating a magnificent glow. Old faded photographs reminded me of that era. I was quietly aware that my parents were of some stature… as a lot of people would come visiting them everyday and that would keep them busy… until night came and I would return into my parents’ arms.

Schooling days came soon enough. I was enrolled into Sam Tet Primary, and was told it was quite a big deal to be such a prestigous school. Tell a 7-year-old that, he’d believe anything. Primary 1 was a distant but vivid memory of when father would comb my hair and drive me to school everyday. But not like most parents there, he would park the car, alight with me, choose a shady spot and read the textbooks with me. I often wondered if he did the same for my sister, who always left for school before I woke up.

On weekends my family would have our outings, be it a shopping mall trip or to visit relatives. Mother loved shopping, father had a curious eye and loved browsing… I inherited both of their traits. Sunday evenings would always be the time when I get nagged for still not completing my homework… if they were completed soon enough it would be TV or Lat comics for me then. Life was simple and sweet.

I did well in school. A top-ten student, teachers’ pet, winner of numerous calligrapy and speech competitions, while outside I was taking piano and art lessons. I did not appreciate all these privileges then. It’s only when you reflect that you remember how lucky you’ve been all along. This has been a testament to how much my parents liked to see me excel.

The only major turning point in my life then was post-UPSR when father asked whether I wanted to continue secondary school in Sam Tet or enrol in a private school with better facilities and opportunities overseas. I remembered two things… that if I chose the private school, I would be away from home five days a week, and that father had to pay hefty tuition fees for me there. Back then anything with more than 2 zeros sounded hefty. The short-term realist, easily-homesick me chose to stay in Sam Tet. I do think back now and again what might have happened if I went the opposite direction. My friends who went there went on to get ASEAN scholarships and are currently pursuing Masters in Singapore universities. Que sera sera.

Secondary school and I was quite the rebel. A temper flare arose around once a week… the hotheaded Arien in me manifesting to its full ugliness often in the company of family, but never in the company of friends. I made some good friends who even now I stick to… probably the achievement I value most of all that time. I grew up in the Smash Hits era… we believed anything the magazine told us from what’s good to what’s bad to which idol you should worship. Naturally I despised anything Asian at that time. No Cantonese serials or Canto-pop for me, sir, give me Take That and Spice Girls or else! The secondary school years was dominated by the entertainment pages, loitering in shopping malls after school and studying enough just to pass.

The rift grew between my parents and me, because they taught me acceptance, but I was practicing none of it. I found solace in my friends instead, and the rebellious streak stayed on. It was not easy talking to them when everything they said would be interpreted as embarrassing to you. But it was not easy, too, being bad to them… they brought me up so well I had guilt trips everytime I directed my anger towards them. Thinking back I did not know where in the world did they find the patience to tolerate my teenage years.

Of course, every phase had to end, and by the time I turned 18, studying in Form 6, it was time to mend the bridges. I learnt how to cook from mother, and driving tips from father… it was time to learn how to be independent. Mother had a fantastic ribs dish that I wanted to learn badly, and she said she’d help me out in that someday. One time I remember looking at father working on his beloved Volvo, and I asked him how he kept the thing running for 15 good years. he promised he’d teach me how. Things were back to normal again, I hoped.

"Hope, is a dangerous thing. Hope can drive a man insane." Quoted by Tim Robbins’ character in the Shawshank Redemption. My parents never held on to their promises. They never had a chance to. They were never given a choice to. On September 3, 2000, this stage of my life ended.

My life has never been the same again.