One thing that has never come up in my everyday ponderings is the prospect of my dad dying. I know it sounds terrible to think about my father's death, but let me just explain how my emotional system works.
I don't like watching people or hearing about people being stricken by tragedy. I don't like knowing people can feel devastated, or torn apart. Most of the time this happens, is when people get too used to taking life for granted. They take the people around them, they take the things they've got for granted, and it's only a matter of time before some unknown force takes it away, because the reality in this universe is nothing lasts forever.
Something as tragic as my father's death is undoubtedly going to affect me. I shouldn't even be allowed to blog if I thought his death wouldn't affect me, due to how disturbingly stoic and inhumane that kind of reaction would be. However, the one thing that I can reduce is the shock factor. The one thing I can control is whether I feel something has been taken away from me, or has merely been lost. I don't want to feel that God will have taken away my dad. Especially with the information I have, I shouldn't feel that way.
My dad takes drugs. My dad drinks. My dad smokes. One would normally take these facts, and say they worry about their father's health, and that would be the end of that train of thought. It would be a dark piece of information lodged in the back of their mind, and they wouldn't think of it any further because they would be afraid to think of that dreadful day. Everyone wants their parents to grow old, to watch our growth, and to live a long and prosperous life.
But being afraid to think of death is what causes that sense of surprise. Having faith in life lasting forever is what makes us overwhelmed by grief. Which brings me back to why I imagine how his death is going to go beforehand.
I picture myself in my bedroom, at my computer, in the five-person house I will rent with the English friends I've met at university. Or perhaps I will be walking out of a lecture, and as I do so, checking my phone for any missed calls. Any way it happens, it'll probably be my mother who tells me how, where and when my father happened to die in Hong Kong. I would be surprised by the news then, but I will not feel dismayed, shaken up, or awe-stricken.
I would tell my mother when I would fly back to Hong Kong as soon as possible. I would notify my housemates of what happened, and what will happen in the next few months, and will probably shed a bucketful of tears as I do so. I would fly back on the plane, quiet the whole time. On my arrival back in Hong Kong, many days will be spent organizing and discussing with my family what will be done with my father's body, and how we will commiserate him. Nobody will really care to ask me if I want to talk about what just happened. They will just assume I do, when really I don't. It'll be annoying, but I can't and won't blame them.
A couple weeks later, his funeral will happen, and I will be there in the front row, directly in front of a portrait picture of him, with his ashes or coffin situated behind it. The suit I will wear will be the most expensive outfit I will have ever purchased. Outside, it will not be sunny that day. It won't be cloudy either. It will just be normal weather conditions, semi-sunny, semi-overcast. I won't wear a tie. My face will be blank. Maybe I'll wear sunglasses, like how my father wore sunglasses at his dad's funeral. The church would be silent, just the way I like it, besides the words of the reverend that will perform the ceremony.
Standing behind and beside me will my three half-sisters of which my father also beared, my paternal grandmother, my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins on my father's side, as well as my father's co-workers, my father's friends, and three of my best friends and my mother who I invited for my own moral support.
I might speak about my father to the people who attend that day. After all, I am his son and I am a writer. I don't know what I will say, but I don't need to start writing that any time soon.
But that's already past the important part.
The important part will have been when I stand in front of his picture and say goodbye in my heart.
And as the days go by from now until that day, whatever may change externally will be countered by some change in this image that I have constructed, promptly and appropriately. Like if it turns out that I get an apartment by myself next school year, then I suppose I don't have to tell those housemates I originally planned to live with. That's how the grief reduction program works.
This system works every time. The system prevented anxiety attacks when it came to my final high school examinations, because I prepared myself mentally for glorious success and dismal failure. The system helped me face my summer job, knowing how to balancing inner confidence and the idea that I might get fired at any point I was working. The system saved me months of depression in the last few weeks I was in Hong Kong, on the plane ride to England, and for the past four months in university when I had perfectly good reason to feel weak and lonely.
Before I came to England, I imagined myself crying every night, missing home. And I now imagine crying every night after my father dies. In doing so, I live the experience once already in my head. There will be no heartbreak anymore because I've already had it broken. It's not to say I don't care about my father anymore. I'm not saying he's dead to me. I still care about him, my mother, and all of my family and friends. But I feel that I need to be strong, and I need to take care of myself. As people sometimes say, you can't look after others until you learn to look after yourself.
That's what I'm doing. That's what I just did, today. I went through the day my father dies. I will be fine on that day. They will say, "Wow, Michael. You're handling this incredibly well. I can't even begin to figure out how you do it."
And what you have just read is my explanation in full.
Showing posts with label crying. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crying. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Friday, December 18, 2009
111 - My maternal grandparents
Eighteen years and seven months ago, I was born in Hong Kong. My aunt accompanied my mother back to my grandparent's apartment, the 4th flat on the 7th floor. Our family has had 704 for over forty years. That place is not just home to them, but is home to all eight of their daughters too. After my parents got divorced, it became my home.
Somewhere along the way, I had the opportunity, or experience, of living with my father, which turned out to be rather awesome. While he was at work, I spent time with his personable wife and his three fun-loving, laid-back daughters. Dad's house (or Dad's houses as he always moved a lot) was home to me too.
Somewhere along the way, I attained, as lame as it sounds, what you could only describe as a 'best friend'. His parents know me, and trust me, his younger brother knows he can call me in times of trouble. I call their humble Filipino family my home as well.
Somewhere along the line, my mother moved out of my grandparents' apartment, in an act of great motherly sacrifice, to give me my own room - her room - as I was finally becoming a very demanding teenage boy. I've stayed at the place she now owns, and I also call it one of my homes.
Although I had all of these places for my choosing, the one place I always went back to at the end of the night, the home I yearned for when I had other obligations throughout the night, was always my grandparents' apartment. The sense of familiarity and familial attachment, I feel, was mutual. My grandparents wanted me at their place every night as well.
In the weeks leading up to my departure from Hong Kong, I could feel a general sense of internal struggle and hardship every time I was around them. I was working a bartending job too, that often meant I had to leave before lunch time and not return until late in the night. I barely even spoke to them for eighty percent of the summer holiday.
In the final two weeks I was in Hong Kong, I was often waiting for the moment when I would start crying like a baby, missing everything, wanting to stay, suddenly hating the idea of coming to England. I guess I built it up too much in my head that I had tired the emotions out. I remember I cried about leaving my mother's side, and as I sit here typing this, I actually cry. All the emotions that I had when I was alone in my room as I was still going to high school all come back to me the minute I think about it. I cried about my dad. I cried about leaving my 4-year-old cousin. I cried about leaving my job. I cried about leaving my best friend.
But when it finally came to the moment I had to take one last look at my room in 704, I didn't cry at all. I had already shared my final conversations with all of classmates, all of my friends, all of my coworkers, and pretty much all of my family.
And then as I was heading out the door, my grandparents were standing there in the corridor, waiting to send me off. And I could see the bittersweetness that rested in their eyes. I'm crying at the moment, because the love I get from them is so surreal to me, it's so incredible, it's so unbelievable. You would typically think there was a generation gap, and quite frankly there is, and we did not share anything much in terms of conversation or material gifts, but the one thing we did share was that apartment, and our time living together.
In the thirteen weeks I was having my summer break, I had not wept at all. But it was in that moment when my grandmother looked at me with teary eyes, telling me to study hard, make sure to eat healthy, and most important of all, be good, I finally found what what would strike my heart. My grandfather, at the door, told me to put in my best effort at university, and also, to be good.
The simplest lessons you learn in life are the least eloquently expressed, but are said by the wisest people. The words they share are like dying words to me, and it's so sad to think of it like that, but that's the truth. Both are over seventy years old, both have medical issues of their own.
And to hear them say things like that really touches my heart in a uniquely confusing way.
I took the elevator down from the 7th floor.
I put my luggage in the boot of the car and then got in.
I opened the window, and stuck my head out the window to get my last look at them. I waved goodbye until the car went round the bend and a building blocked them from view.
Today, I just received a box with Christmas presents from my 1st aunt, 4th aunt, 8th aunt, and my mother. I was grateful for the gifts, and I loved seeing my mother's handwriting on the cards explaining what everything was and who it was from.
At the bottom of the box, I found a jumper and a card next to it, and it turns out it was from my grandmother. She wrote 'Merry Christmas' in Chinese, and her traditional style of calligraphy was always so distinctive, and it made me picture her writing the card. That's what triggered the idea to talk about this here... I miss my home, so much. I miss my grandparents so much. I can talk to my parents and my friends whenever I want, but I can't talk to them because they don't know how, and it drives me crazy...
Ohh... let me get myself together...
Ahem. Well, my aunts are going to set up a webcam chat thing with them on Christmas Day, so I'll see my beloved grandparents then. It's just been a very hectic final week of university, and I reckon I'm a little stressed out. Good thing I get to sleep tonight without worrying about handing in any assignments.
Crying's good for the soul, it really is. When was the last time you cried?
Somewhere along the way, I had the opportunity, or experience, of living with my father, which turned out to be rather awesome. While he was at work, I spent time with his personable wife and his three fun-loving, laid-back daughters. Dad's house (or Dad's houses as he always moved a lot) was home to me too.
Somewhere along the way, I attained, as lame as it sounds, what you could only describe as a 'best friend'. His parents know me, and trust me, his younger brother knows he can call me in times of trouble. I call their humble Filipino family my home as well.
Somewhere along the line, my mother moved out of my grandparents' apartment, in an act of great motherly sacrifice, to give me my own room - her room - as I was finally becoming a very demanding teenage boy. I've stayed at the place she now owns, and I also call it one of my homes.
Although I had all of these places for my choosing, the one place I always went back to at the end of the night, the home I yearned for when I had other obligations throughout the night, was always my grandparents' apartment. The sense of familiarity and familial attachment, I feel, was mutual. My grandparents wanted me at their place every night as well.
In the weeks leading up to my departure from Hong Kong, I could feel a general sense of internal struggle and hardship every time I was around them. I was working a bartending job too, that often meant I had to leave before lunch time and not return until late in the night. I barely even spoke to them for eighty percent of the summer holiday.
In the final two weeks I was in Hong Kong, I was often waiting for the moment when I would start crying like a baby, missing everything, wanting to stay, suddenly hating the idea of coming to England. I guess I built it up too much in my head that I had tired the emotions out. I remember I cried about leaving my mother's side, and as I sit here typing this, I actually cry. All the emotions that I had when I was alone in my room as I was still going to high school all come back to me the minute I think about it. I cried about my dad. I cried about leaving my 4-year-old cousin. I cried about leaving my job. I cried about leaving my best friend.
But when it finally came to the moment I had to take one last look at my room in 704, I didn't cry at all. I had already shared my final conversations with all of classmates, all of my friends, all of my coworkers, and pretty much all of my family.
And then as I was heading out the door, my grandparents were standing there in the corridor, waiting to send me off. And I could see the bittersweetness that rested in their eyes. I'm crying at the moment, because the love I get from them is so surreal to me, it's so incredible, it's so unbelievable. You would typically think there was a generation gap, and quite frankly there is, and we did not share anything much in terms of conversation or material gifts, but the one thing we did share was that apartment, and our time living together.
In the thirteen weeks I was having my summer break, I had not wept at all. But it was in that moment when my grandmother looked at me with teary eyes, telling me to study hard, make sure to eat healthy, and most important of all, be good, I finally found what what would strike my heart. My grandfather, at the door, told me to put in my best effort at university, and also, to be good.
The simplest lessons you learn in life are the least eloquently expressed, but are said by the wisest people. The words they share are like dying words to me, and it's so sad to think of it like that, but that's the truth. Both are over seventy years old, both have medical issues of their own.
And to hear them say things like that really touches my heart in a uniquely confusing way.
I took the elevator down from the 7th floor.
I put my luggage in the boot of the car and then got in.
I opened the window, and stuck my head out the window to get my last look at them. I waved goodbye until the car went round the bend and a building blocked them from view.
Today, I just received a box with Christmas presents from my 1st aunt, 4th aunt, 8th aunt, and my mother. I was grateful for the gifts, and I loved seeing my mother's handwriting on the cards explaining what everything was and who it was from.
At the bottom of the box, I found a jumper and a card next to it, and it turns out it was from my grandmother. She wrote 'Merry Christmas' in Chinese, and her traditional style of calligraphy was always so distinctive, and it made me picture her writing the card. That's what triggered the idea to talk about this here... I miss my home, so much. I miss my grandparents so much. I can talk to my parents and my friends whenever I want, but I can't talk to them because they don't know how, and it drives me crazy...
Ohh... let me get myself together...
Ahem. Well, my aunts are going to set up a webcam chat thing with them on Christmas Day, so I'll see my beloved grandparents then. It's just been a very hectic final week of university, and I reckon I'm a little stressed out. Good thing I get to sleep tonight without worrying about handing in any assignments.
Crying's good for the soul, it really is. When was the last time you cried?
Saturday, May 9, 2009
75 - So happy to have friends like them.
Yesterday was a long day, but a good one. I had a maths exam, which was very difficult, and there were just some questions I knew I would never figure out how to solve in or for my life. What can I say - I gave it my best shot? Like I always say, I don't worry too much about my academics. I'm fine not being top of the class, so long as I manage to pass and move on to university. Uni's not even my goal, it's just another two or three years of education, around which I don't let my whole world revolve. I see the purpose of it, it's important. But all I'll ever be passionate about in the future is actually working, to help people via my future job. I don't want to take school so seriously, because this is only just the beginning.
----------------------------------------
So after the maths exam, I went to McDonald's with some friends for brunch, then went to play football. It was crazy hot and sunny, and even though I felt like shit kicking a ball around in the blazing heat after downing a big McDonald's breakfast, I loved the sun - it just makes me happy looking at my skin and noticing I'm a little darker. :)
We then went up to a friend's place, and we played games on his PS3 and his Wii. We had KFC for dinner, and by my friend's mother's insistence, pizza. We were too full to finish the pizza. All in all, it was a lot of fun to just relax for a day, to do some exercise, to get some sun, to spend time with people, to play some games. It's needed for me during exam period.
Anyway, soon after dinner, it was time to go home.
----------------------------------------
I got home, and talked to my best friend for over two hours. His phone ran out of battery, so I started watching my downloaded TV shows.
Ever watched Survivor?
It's a reality show, where sixteen to twenty, normal, everyday people, are sent to an isolated location (e.g., Brazilian highlands, Australian outback, Amazonian rainforest), to work with, and compete against, each other for cash and other prizes, most notably 1 million US dollars for the winner.
I've watched all 18 seasons of the American version, and it's the show I've been most dedicated to, one of my favorites. After thirty or so days of being outcasted, towards the end of every season, they like to reward the remaining four/five/six contestants, by bringing their loved ones into the game for just a day. It boosts their morale, it reminds the final four/fix/six of what they went to compete for, and most important of all, it creates some emotional reality TV.
I was watching this moment, when the outcasts reunited with their loved ones. One had his father emerge from the bushes, one had her husband, one had his brother... And I thought about what if I were there? Who would be there to emerge from behind the bushes to see me?
Hands down, my best friend, without a doubt. He knows every little thing about my life, he can handle all my different levels of character, there is nothing that means more to me than him. I paused Survivor, and as I sat there, I imagined not being able to talk to my best friend after thirty days in harsh conditions with nothing that reminds me home, and I just teared up at how emotional this hypothetical situation would be.
But then I realized that when I leave for university, when I leave Hong Kong, and he stays here, I won't have him to call up any time I want in London, and that this hypothetical situation bears some resemblance to a very real and near future for me. My best friend and I will have to start working out the time differences, while juggling my new life and his, our new schools, our new friends and love interests, everything, if we even still have time to and want to keep in touch with each other. It will never be the same, the same as it has been since I first met him.
I just cried at the idea, of losing the ability to do something that we've been doing for so long, losing the person I know now, the one I've had for so long. It's no tragedy, and I'm not sad. I wasn't feeling sad even as I was crying.
They're sort of like tears of joy, I'm very happy that I have him now, and I feel so fortunate. But leaving him is simply something that's going to be hard to do. Can you imagine having to leave the person that you are closest to... the person you speak with everyday... the person that knows you more than anyone, the person you know so well?
It's merely one of those things that will happen, and would've happened earlier or later anyway, and at least I have three or four months left. I'll just miss what I have now, you know? And he's just the first of things I'll miss when I leave.
----------------------------------------
So after the maths exam, I went to McDonald's with some friends for brunch, then went to play football. It was crazy hot and sunny, and even though I felt like shit kicking a ball around in the blazing heat after downing a big McDonald's breakfast, I loved the sun - it just makes me happy looking at my skin and noticing I'm a little darker. :)
We then went up to a friend's place, and we played games on his PS3 and his Wii. We had KFC for dinner, and by my friend's mother's insistence, pizza. We were too full to finish the pizza. All in all, it was a lot of fun to just relax for a day, to do some exercise, to get some sun, to spend time with people, to play some games. It's needed for me during exam period.
Anyway, soon after dinner, it was time to go home.
----------------------------------------
I got home, and talked to my best friend for over two hours. His phone ran out of battery, so I started watching my downloaded TV shows.
Ever watched Survivor?
It's a reality show, where sixteen to twenty, normal, everyday people, are sent to an isolated location (e.g., Brazilian highlands, Australian outback, Amazonian rainforest), to work with, and compete against, each other for cash and other prizes, most notably 1 million US dollars for the winner.
I've watched all 18 seasons of the American version, and it's the show I've been most dedicated to, one of my favorites. After thirty or so days of being outcasted, towards the end of every season, they like to reward the remaining four/five/six contestants, by bringing their loved ones into the game for just a day. It boosts their morale, it reminds the final four/fix/six of what they went to compete for, and most important of all, it creates some emotional reality TV.
I was watching this moment, when the outcasts reunited with their loved ones. One had his father emerge from the bushes, one had her husband, one had his brother... And I thought about what if I were there? Who would be there to emerge from behind the bushes to see me?
Hands down, my best friend, without a doubt. He knows every little thing about my life, he can handle all my different levels of character, there is nothing that means more to me than him. I paused Survivor, and as I sat there, I imagined not being able to talk to my best friend after thirty days in harsh conditions with nothing that reminds me home, and I just teared up at how emotional this hypothetical situation would be.
But then I realized that when I leave for university, when I leave Hong Kong, and he stays here, I won't have him to call up any time I want in London, and that this hypothetical situation bears some resemblance to a very real and near future for me. My best friend and I will have to start working out the time differences, while juggling my new life and his, our new schools, our new friends and love interests, everything, if we even still have time to and want to keep in touch with each other. It will never be the same, the same as it has been since I first met him.
I just cried at the idea, of losing the ability to do something that we've been doing for so long, losing the person I know now, the one I've had for so long. It's no tragedy, and I'm not sad. I wasn't feeling sad even as I was crying.
They're sort of like tears of joy, I'm very happy that I have him now, and I feel so fortunate. But leaving him is simply something that's going to be hard to do. Can you imagine having to leave the person that you are closest to... the person you speak with everyday... the person that knows you more than anyone, the person you know so well?
It's merely one of those things that will happen, and would've happened earlier or later anyway, and at least I have three or four months left. I'll just miss what I have now, you know? And he's just the first of things I'll miss when I leave.
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