two nights ago, i dreamt my brother died. and i was filled with a deep sadness. i only wept a little but i felt the loss deep in my heart.
last night, i dreamt my grandfather died. and i remember thinking, didn’t he just die recently? in any case, i was hysterical in my dream. i was sobbing uncontrollably and i just couldn’t get a grip on myself.
this morning, i woke up and concluded, something’s definitely changing… change is in the air… things are moving… you get the idea.
i used to dabble in the occult. *gasp* that almost sounds ‘cool’. no, i’m kidding. i never did unless you consider playing with tarot cards dabbling in the occult.
but i was highly fascinated with everything occultish. in fact, ‘empath’ is wiccan (think witches… not the black-dressed, black-hatted, riding on broomstick with long, twisted nose kind. think… CHARMED. *giggles* those who use magical energies to do good! *aahhhh…..*)
i got a pack of lovely illustrated Tarot cards when i was 15. it seems a lot happened that year. a lot sure did. just note future blog entries that delves into the past. you’ll see a lot of changes happened to me that year.
i loved my Tarot deck. i used to play with them just to improve on the way i read the cards. also because the deck is so fresh and feels so smooth to the touch. just to clear up any stereotyped misunderstandings, Tarot cards do not “tell the future”. they merely reflect what you are thinking or feeling that may possibly be hidden beneath your consciousness.
that is, when you ask a question and you turn to your deck to ‘answer’ those questions, the cards don’t predict the future. rather, YOU are the ones to choose the cards, all the while, with the question on your mind. it is your subconscious that leads you to pick the cards you choose. you are really tapping into your subconsciousness to bring to light what you ALREADY know or feel but are unable to confront or accept. the next step to so-called ‘divination’ lies in reading the cards right.
imagine, you are troubled by a failing relationship and you want to find out if you will pull through with your loved one. you start reading.
an example:
What am i really troubled by? (picked card “Death”)
How should i go about resolving this problem? (picked card “Temperance”)
significance:
Death symbolises the end of something, a change.
Temperance talks about self-control.
what does it mean?
i am troubled by a change in the relationship, possibly of something ending and i am not prepared for such changes or endings. death is seldom, if ever, about a physical death. most likely, it speaks of separation.
and what i should do to resolve my troubles is to adopt a spirit of temperance… keep myself in check, and take steps to just move forward without losing a grip on myself.
THERE! to tell the truth, i was never very good with the Tarot cards. possibly because i could never keep my emotions in check. so i always ended up getting conflicting results.
but i remember that sensation of running my fingers through the deck of faced down cards. there is a tingling at the tip of my fingers and when it’s ‘unbearable’, i pick the card. believe it or not, sometimes, i spy one card that i want to pick out but when i reach for it, i pick a different one. it’s not magic. it’s not the devil. it’s just the power of the mind.
and it was fun while it lasted. i still have that deck. haven’t touched it since 2004.
so… Death. yes… Change is in the air. it’s obvious! and i don’t need a Freudian type or a Tarot card to tell me that. something’s moving along… not necessarily a bad thing. i hope and i’m quite determined to ensure, that what’s dying are all the negativity within me.
i’m laying to rest my Anxieties.
Rest in peace then, you Cursed Worries and Damn Insecurities!
one night, many months later, i was on the computer, possibly on ICQ, chatting away and the television was turned on. those were the days when they still played MTVs on Channel 5. and “Casper the Friendly Ghost” was a recent release.
the song, “Remember Me This Way” came on. i remember vividly. i was alone in the living room, typing away… when i heard the song, i started to sing along and then suddenly, i started sobbing so heavily. big, fat tears were just rolling down my face.
i stumbled out on the balcony. stumbled because my vision was blurred and there were so many tears. i looked up at the night sky and as far as i remember, it was the first time i didn’t believe in God at all. i didn’t ‘have’ a religion but all my life, i had believed in God. it was only a matter of finding out who He is.
but that night, i lost faith. and that was frightening for me then. i felt so alone and i had never felt so frightened. it was as if, life didn’t matter. why should it if there was no God?
i remember thinking, “what if Science is right and Religion is bullshit? what if people die and all they become is ashes and dust?”
i said out loud to the sky with no trace of faith at all, “if YOU exist, if YOU’RE there, PROVE IT. i don’t believe in you anymore. i need a SIGN. PROVE IT TO ME.” now, i don’t ask for signs. if you believe, you believe. there’s no need for concrete evidence or signs to prove anything. but that was how desperate i was.
after spewing those angry words out, i wiped the tears away and i went back to the computer. i was angry because i felt that He didn’t exist at all. not only Him but there was just no God. no buddha, no krishna, no Allah, no nothing.
for the next 2 weeks, life went on but there was a part of me that was empty inside. i felt like a shell. or i was just dead inside. i still went to school. i still laughed and chatted but… it wasn’t the same. i was just going through the motions.
and even on our visits to Auntie D then, i felt empty. i didn’t even feel sad anymore. i only played a part i had to because i know not everyone else didn’t feel sad too. back then, there were 4 of us who very close to Auntie D. we visited her at least 3 times in a week. initially, we were a source of support for her but she gradually started to treat us like her own children.
on this one particular visit 2 weeks later, she was happier than usual and she said she dreamt of Sarah. i remember acting out the “oh!!! tell us!!!” but inside, i was still angry and thought, “so? it’s not real. nothing is.” i was munching impassively on the snacks she prepared as she related the story.
here it goes:
she had gone into Sarah’s room as she did everyday, and sat on the floor to ‘talk’ to Sarah. she told her that her grandmother was in hospital and that if she was able to, go ‘visit’ her grandmother at this hospital in this ward. that was that.
a few days later, Robin Hood came rushing over to the house. he rushed in happily, telling Auntie D he had dreamt of Sarah. he dreamt that as he got off his bike at home (he cycled everywhere then), his cousin came running out of the house to demand to know where he’s been because Sarah was in the house waiting for him. so Robin Hood ran into the house and she was gone. he turned to ask his cousin where did Sarah go and his cousin replied, “she said she was going to visit her grandmother in the hospital”.
+++++
i cried when Auntie D finished her story. that was all the sign i needed. it might have been some sort of weird coincidence. or who knows? perhaps Auntie D had unknowingly mentioned something about Sarah’s grandmother being in the hospital to Robin Hood. or he had picked up the information somehow. but it didn’t matter.
because that was God’s answer to me. i FELT it. because as the story concluded, the peace i felt was unmistakable. i KNEW it was the sign i needed. it was enough.
i have never questioned if God exists since.
i remember getting into an argument with Queen Vic when we were in Secondary 3. Sarah stepped in to mediate. and we became friends, and closer still when we started exchanging stories of who we had crushes on – Mr Animal Rights for me, and Robin Hood for Sarah. Mr Animal Rights and Robin Hood were from the same school, you see.
Sarah and i lived very near each other so we started going home together, sharing even more of our lives. and then she stopped coming to school one day and we learnt that she was sick. but i don’t think any of us understood just how.
one afternoon, having just returned from school, the class monitress called. she whispered something about Sarah which i didn’t catch. i made her repeat herself twice more before i heard the words, “Sarah passed away this morning.”
i went cold and for the first time in my life, i understood the sepration that stands between life and death.
i remember the last time i visited her in the hospital… i left to meet my cousins so we could go out… if i had known, i would have stayed with her all the way. but that’s exactly it – we never know when it will be the last time we are with someone.
she was 15. she had been in and out of hospital for so long… had bruises where needles had been inserted to draw blood out for tests.
she was due to be discharged the morning of March 20, 1995. in the wee hours of that morning, the pain started in her abdomen. doctors gave her morphine but it didn’t work anymore. she was crying at 2 plus in the morning and she begged her mum for a knife so she could cut out her stomach.
then she slipped into half-consciousness. her dad was rushing home. he was a sailor. finally, her mum whispered in her ear, “if you see the light, go towards it.” she nodded weakly and she died.
she was a beautiful girl who had the most powerful voice. Robin Hood was faithful throughout but Sarah cut him off when she fell sick. Queen Vic related to us after, that Sarah had told her once, “Queen Vic, i’m dying.” but she didn’t think she was serious.
Robin Hood was always chased away whenever he went to visit her. even for Christmas and the New Year. he stood outside her house in the rain to hand her a Christmas present but Sarah refused to let her mum let him in.
he visited her at Mt Vernon everyday with a flower. Auntie D, Sarah’s mum, finally had to have a heart to heart talk with him, asking him to move on. he was 16. he would move on in time to come but he needed to learn how to. he cried and said he was afraid he would forget her.
Blue Caps (also from the same school as Mr Animal Rights and Robin Hood) told me when we were together, that he finally understood why there was a period of time when Robin Hood used to sit at the school’s rooftop.
3rd night of my grandpa’s wake… am sitting at an empty table typing this out.
i had wanted to do some work, that is, finish an article on the Prisons Ministry but unfortunately, no information came in yet from my contacts. i’m getting worried because time is running short, i’m exhausted and the next 2 days will be even more hectic than the last 6 days because it’s the last day for the wake tomorrow (and i’ve been told many, many people will suddenly show up because it’s their last chance to bid their farewells to my grandpa) and the funeral’s on Friday… gosh, i dread Friday…
i still remember my gramma’s funeral just one and a half years ago. was sad man. and the last day was the worst. when they took the coffin away to make its way to the crematorium, we had to follow behind while she was loaded into the hearst. i felt like they were really tearing her away from us, taking her away for good. i’m very accepting of death as a result of old age but i guess i couldn’t reconcile with losing a beloved in a very human way.
gramma’s family on my mum’s side is a big one. we have 2 uncles (the adopted one being the most filial and her flesh and blood, eldest child being a callous bastard), 4 aunties and all their spouses are absolutely wonderful, loving people. i have so many, many cousins on that side and most of us grew up together in Kim Hock Guan, my great-grandfather’s bak kwa shop, that he set up, the pioneer in the bak kwa industry in singapore! we grew up together there, when our mothers used to work there, from the time we were babies. we saw one another get caned. we went through our most humiliating times together. 
my grandpa on my dad’s side though, is different. there is only my dad and his elder brother and younger sister. i have one cousin only. so we, this small family, are absolutely short-handed when a crisis arises, as we just learnt. plus the fact that my uncle and his wife don’t do late nights, the night shifts that last till the next day are shared between my parents, aunt and me. *FAINTS*
so here i am, at the void deck, in the tentage and i am tired. i have remembered so much of my grandparents. but NOT ENOUGH. i have spent so little time with them, the less the more i grow up.
gramma had a very hard life. she was married to my grandpa (who died one year before i was born) at a very young age and suffered with him. he didn’t treat her very well. and though she is the eldest wife, she was mistreated by the concubines. he died early and she had to take care of the shop and eventually get turned out by her eldest son. she was so well-to-do with my grandpa’s family but when she died, she had absolutely nothing. she cried when she couldn’t give me and my cousin money to buy some snacks. i worried for her when she passed on. she didn’t know her parents… my grandpa didn’t care for her, her in-laws didn’t care… who’s she going to turn to ‘on the other side’? i know i’m being silly cos God is there but i couldn’t reconcile the image in my head… it’s like, how is she going to speak to God in hokkien? hahaha…
grandpa on the other hand, led a very simple life. he used to be a bus conductor and the family was so poor that only on occasion can he buy a packet of food, say, char kuay tiao home, late at night after work. the whole family will wake up hungry and eager to share that one packet of food. but he was contented and he was happy. he loved life. that’s why he could not understand why his body broke down. because his spirit was intact and he luuuurrrrved to live.
my most vivid memories of my grandparents are mostly of the times when i was a kid.
my gramma bought me a pair of clogs cos i used to love those (and still do!) and my mum refused to buy me any. everyday when i reach Kim Hock Guan, i would run to our box of toys and dig for my clogs. every night, my only other female cousin (then) and i would have to sing a performance for our family before our dads picked us up.
my grandpa took me on many walks at Toa Payoh Garden. he nursed me when i cut my feet with each pair of new slippers i have. he was the one who introduced me to ‘mee hoon kuay’, one of my favourites dishes now.
i had come home from school one day to see him peeling dough into little thin slices. i asked him what he was doing and he gave a shout and laughed at me for not knowing what it is and he promised i would definitely enjoy it when he cooked it for me later. i did.
he had come to our house the day after we got our little kitty. she was so small then and she was kept in this HUGE box we made into a home for her. my grandpa is deaf so he was standing right there, with her yelping sharply (yes, cats yelp when they’re kittens and very loudly) without hearing her cries. we pointed her out to him and he said in hokkien, “what is this? a rat?”
because of his deafness, he used to call our names so loudly each time we met him to go out. we would arrange to meet at an MRT station or a specific place and we would try to be there early so he wouldn’t be there first and shout our names so loudly when he sees us. we were not ashamed of him, but at that young age, we were self-conscious and easily embarrassed. how i wish to just hear him shout my name once more…
i opened his wallet once and saw 3 mug-shots of my brother, cousin and me. that broke my heart cos i felt his love for us so strongly
then more than 10 years passed by and my next memories of my grandparents are of their hospital stays. staying over with them is always tiring but those experiences have become just the very least i can do for them.
holding their hands and helping them along when we meet… i love them so dearly. it just wasn’t expressed enough.
my Catholic faith has helped me to accept death more readily and easily. it’s nothing bad, it’s just going home, returning to God. yet, it’s still hard. especially when they’ve been the sweetest grandparents i have… had… i won’t say the regret is deep that i didn’t spend enough time with them. i tried, with the crazy schedules i had… and a life i chased after. for myself. and i didn’t try hard enough for them.
i have one surviving gramma but truth be told, i feel like i have no more grandparents left. i wish… so much… that she had left first and then my grandpa could’ve spent his remaining time enjoying his freedom. i’ve lost the only two who ever sincerely, truly loved the people around them enough to help us to love and appreciate them in return.
ah gong… ah ma, rest in peace. i love you both. i will see you again… rest in peace.
echo’s dad passed away.
the funeral is today and i guess it is after the funeral and when things settle back down, that they’ll have to come face to face with the empty space where he used to sit, the loss where previously his existence was.
we are growing up… i used to only hear about people attending wakes and it’s never someone we know or even someone within our family.
i remember, several years ago, when chinny’s grandad passed on, that it occured to me it is our turn to deal with these losses. and as the years go by, the wakes we attend are those who inch closer and closer to our hearts.
well, there’s no escaping it, i guess. we won’t suddenly wake up, as when we were young, and be able to still our racing hearts when we realise our parents are still around and it was just a bad dream.
there’s really little we can do but to wave our goodbyes, kiss them a last farewell as they make their crossing and acknowledge that little voice in our hearts that want to speak out and say to them, “Take care. Godspeed. We’ll see you soon.”
May you be with God.
Rest in peace, uncle…
We’ll see you soon!
my job required me to attend Caleb Van’s funeral mass a couple of months ago in 2005. he was 25 and i was 26. it was not the first funeral mass i attended and i am sure it won’t be the last.
he was a Cambodian, arrested in Singapore 2-3 years ago while he was on transit. he had held drugs that he planned to traffick for his twin brother. in the course of his time in prison, he found God, was baptised, and went on to meet God way ahead of his time when his fate was sealed with the Death Penalty.
i had refrained from reading the generously distributed articles about him from various sources of both secular newspapers and Catholic ones. reason being that i felt strongly that there was too much political debate surrounding his case, none of which were really concerned about his situation.
so it was that i had to cover this story out of sheer coincidence and off i went to Marymount Convent Chapel, armed with my notepad, a camera that i did not plan to use for i was not about to aggravate the grieving family and friends just to get a story, and a baggage of fear and trepidation.
i don’t take well to Death, despite my having come face to face with God’s assurance many times. there is still a fear that i might fall over the edge in my bid to grasp this unfathomable concept of what-happens-after?
to say that the Funeral Mass was sorrowful is to put it mildly. i arrived at a scene where reporters and camera crew were not allowed to enter the gates of the Convent. there were australians (i presume they were Van’s friends or fellow countrymen) waiting by the gates to greet him when his casket arrives. i hesitated, knowing that it will be great if i can get some comments from them but which my conscience prevents me from pursuing. well, i don’t think the good angel won the bad one. more likely, my Devil Survival Instinct took over and i didn’t approach any of them because i didn’t want to be embroiled in a situation where i have to listen to angry lamentations or embittered emotions that i have no way of putting right.
i trudged my way up to the gate and explained where i came from. naturally, my paper is sympathetic to Van’s plight and they quietly acknowledged that as they admitted me and kindly pointed out where i should head.
that in itself, was humbling. i had come on a job and the guardians of that gate had extended their hand to me. in that one gesture, i was bonded in unity with the rest of my Catholic family, those whom i know and those whom i know not of their existence.
i stepped into such an emotionally-charged atmosphere that i instantly felt like breaking into tears. there was so much grief. above all, there was so much solidarity in the people who knew him personally and those who knew him only from the many reports in the news, but who all had come to stand in support for his family and to bid him a final farewell.
his mum arrived hugging her stomach as she prepared to say another goodbye. to leave the memories of when she cradled him in her arms as he was born, the memories of his first crawl, first word, first walk, first fall… their first fight, first tears… so many firsts that she had to let go of in the same way that she let go of him.
does that remind you of anyone else?
Father Paul Pang did remind her and the congregation that Mary would understand, having stood at the foot of the cross and watched her son’s life snuffed out… and for what? for a whole world of sinners that was and is to come. little sense that made and much pain it caused. who, other than her, would be able to understand that piercing sorrow?
i cried many tears throughout the mass. every kind word that was uttered was like a soft tissue being tenderly rubbed against an open wound. yes, it was a caress but painful nevertheless. every song that was sung just brought a giant lump into my throat that i had to ease by letting the tears flow.
Caleb Van’s favourite song is “Better Man” by Robbie Williams. the significance was not lost on me and i hope, on others as well. as the words echoed through the hall, “send someone to love me, i need to rest in arms… Lord, i’m doing all i can to be a better man…” the sobs came heavy. yes Lord, your servant had done all he could to be a better man. he did not resist the Death Penalty in the end. rather, he embraced it as a just punishment and he walked to the gallows as you did to your cross, with surrender to the Father’s will and with the glowing face of a man who knows he is soon to receive his reward just by being with your Father.
as i made my way to bid him farewell and i saw him lying there in the coffin, it hit me that this man was one year younger than me. a handsome, young man whose life isn’t to be anymore. if i were in his position, would i have done the same? most of all, i knew, with twinges of regret for him, that he never had the opportunities i have in my life and he never will have them ever again.
so goodbye, Brother Caleb… i hope to see you sometime in our Father’s house. and then, we can spend part of eternity sharing our life stories and you can tell me all about your life that i never got to know about.
to hell with politicians. to hell with them using your life as a means for them to attain their personal ambitions. to hell with the endless debates on the Death Penalty that stemmed from selfish desires to pit one government against another.
but thank you for giving us this story to share with others, for bringing to light the debate on the Death Penalty that Catholics will begin to arrive at a just stand.
Father Paul said that it is a mystery of our faith that we can mourn and rejoice at the same time. we mourn in the flesh at our brother’s departure and we rejoice that he has gone home. indeed, indeed.
i left that funeral mass with swollen eyes and a throbbing head, with unresolved questions and more that had arisen. at the same time, i left with a feeling that the world is as it should be, that there can be beauty amidst ugliness and light radiating through the shadows.
and i thank God that i felt as much as i did. and i prayed that never will a day come when i attend a funeral mass and come out with dry eyes and an unfeeling heart.
