Empty Spaces Fill Me Up With Holes...

I never thought I would blog again.

I never thought I had anything to write about.

Time and time, my overactive imagination proves me wrong and once again, here I sit with a flurry of words flowing through my mind. Kind of like Matrix.

There were times when I truly wanted to pick up where I left off with this blog but I let my head rule my heart. I've learned that sometimes, it was better that way. It was better to clamp down on emotions rather than express them.

To say that my 2009 sucked would be abhorring. I have never lived with regrets and I never will.

There is so much I have to say to get off my chest --or my head, depending on who's the more dominant at the moment.

I'll start with the obvious elephant in the room.

It may or may not be known that my grandmother left our family to be with the Almighty late last year. December 1, to be exact. I have two grandmothers. One, I'm not so cool with. Our relationship is like a piece of stale bread. Boring. She has so many grandkids and great-grandkids, she probably doesn't even care anymore.

I can't even say the same for the other. My grandmother --or Nanny, as we all call her-- was my world. You know how people would worship the ground one walks on?? I worship the food she cooks for me. Out-of-this-fuckin'-world delicious. The kind of food that would inspire one to talk to said food before devouring. "Ohh, hellooo there, you honest-to-goodness chicken wing, you. If I could swallow your bones, trust me, I would." It was insane.

Nanny was never like any other grandmother. She was a fierce matriarch of our family and there probably wasn't anyone who hadn't gotten some form of reprimand from her. I know I had my fair share of whiplash. I was her first grandchild. I was bound to get it some way or the other.

I tell you, that bond is some serious shit. It stays with you for life. For me, it, anyways. I always found myself returning to the place where I was born, where I grew up and where I would find comfort. It was my "running away" sanctuary. Running away from whatever ailed me into my grandmother's welcoming arms and open kitchen.

I can't begin to say how much of an amazing woman my grandmother was. I know people always say their grandparents were amazing people too, but Nanny was a different breed.

How amazing, you ask?? I'll tell you. She almost single-handedly raised all 8 of her children by herself while working full-time as a teacher. She bought her two-storey home --the house that's currently standing, after 40 plus years-- with her own hard-earned money. She had to deal with multitudes of setbacks when she wanted the place renovated in time for the family's triple wedding. Of course, you could count on her to sponsor part --or most-- of said wedding.

No, she wasn't rich. At least I never thought so. Because all I saw was, whatever she had, she gave. Do I think she's perfect?? No, of course not. I know she has flaws. I know. I don't see her in rose-tinted glasses. But I hope that in her afterlife state, her flaws will be smoothed over with the good she has given to us, insyaAllah.

The memory of her death is still fresh and raw in my mind. It has only been three months, after all.

I had suddenly awoken with the urge to pee badly. I got up and relieved myself and thought I heard the phone screaming into the silence of the night. I ignored it. But it wouldn't stop ringing. Fartz was still up from reading. I asked if she was heard what I did. She nodded. But she said she refused to pick it up because she was scared.

I thought, fuck, something's wrong. I could feel it. Because a phone call at 2a.m. in the morning could only mean one thing. Someone was dying or already dead. I sure as hell didn't want to answer it. Because in my gut, I somehow felt that the worst was about to come. And in waves.

Mom came by after the ringing had stopped and a long, heavy silence ensued. The whole phone call thing had ruined my mood for going back to sleep. Somehow I can't remember the exact words Mom said, but it was somewhere along the lines of Nanny, hospital, who's coming with me.

I couldn't, I've got work. So, Fartz went. It kinda sunk in, the gravity of the situation, but at the same time it didn't. I laid in bed for a long time with a blank mind. It was only until Adlonso came into the room and confirming Nanny's death that a spurt of reaction kicked into my system. Shit, she was really gone. I turned to my side, facing the wall and tears threatened to spill. I thought about how long it had been since I'd shed any eye juice of any kind. I predicted that the day was going to be an out-and-out bawlfest.

I remember sitting up and drafting an email to excuse myself from coming to work. Numbness began to set in as I readied myself. Fartz came home. Her eyes were red. She recounted on what she'd been told about Nanny's death. I have to be honest here. Until now, details of her death are blurry to me. And I would like to keep it that way.

Fartz couldn't her voice from cracking as she told me the story. I, on the other hand, wasn't listening. I couldn't seem to. I was operating on autopilot.

The drive to Nanny's seemed to take forever. You could scoop the tension in the car with a soup spoon. This was as real as it was ever going to get. Nanny had already been brought home because there was no need for an autopsy. Some relatives were already there, reciting prayers for her. Her entire body was covered in white cloth as she laid motionless on the bed.

Again, I refused to react. I didn't know how to.

We sat ourselves encircling the bed and started to recite our prayers. A few feet away from me, two relatives decided it was time for a chatchit. You're at a funeral and you've decided to play catch up?? If my grandmother's corpse could take one last breath just to see the two of you chittering away, she'd give the both of you one tight slap each.

Rude.

My breaking point couldn't arrive too soon. As Dad led our family into our prayer recital, his voice shook and he broke down. That one motion, that one choked sound was all it took for me to realize that she was really gone. My grandmother, the glue that held us together, the one force to be reckoned with had passed on. Nanny wasn't even Dad's mother. And yet, there he was, trying to carry on reading to complete the prayer book. I had never seen Dad in that state before.

Emotions bubbled out uncontrollably from my throat as I did nothing to fight my tears. Nothing to fight the extreme loss I felt from within. Years of swallowing all that bitter emotion came crashing down in buckets. I had made pushing away sadness and sorrow into an art form. And now, it all came back to haunt me.

My grandmother did not live to see any of her grandchildren get married. My grandmother did not live to see a fourth generation in the making. None of which she mentioned she wanted to see when she was alive. All she wanted to see was for me to lose weight. And she was more than willing to spend on me too. Only I wouldn't have it. Not because I was too proud to accept her money. It was more of too ashamed if all her money were to have gone to waste. Because God knows she had given more than enough to those who never returned.

I wasn't going to be any of those.

We managed to make it through our prayer book. I slogged through it in between bouts of relentless sobbing. I was chugging out years worth of tears; I wasn't going to stop anytime soon, I knew that.

Halfway through, an incident occurred. An elderly lady hobbled into Nanny's home with her walking stick, saw her body lying lifeless on the bed. She let out a despairing wail and collapsed into her son's arms. She was a fellow teacher and Nanny's best friend. Nanny and her were supposed to have tea together at the house and have a catch up session --like all best friends do, I suppose-- the day after. A day after just happened to be a day too late.

Everything after that moment is a blur to me now. Right up until they brought Nanny's body into the kitchen for her last bath, a must in every Muslim funeral. Well, except in Jihad warfare --and I mean the REAL Jihad warfare, not the nonsense they're spouting out these days-- where they bury the body just as it is.

When the time came to give Nanny her bath, it was an obvious and natural decision that I was one of the female family members to help. Not because of filial obligation or anything like that. No. It was because I wanted to. She was my grandmother and as a granddaughter, I would be honored to take my position beside her. Besides myself, Nanny's sister, Mom, my aunt and my two cousins worked alongside the professional corpse bather.

Actually, Nanny's sister was a wreck and had to drop out halfway. My aunt had pretty much let the rest of us handle whatever that was needed to be done.

And I have to say, bathing my grandmother was by far the hardest thing I had ever done in my entire life. I haven't lived a long life, but this already ranks up there and I think everything else pales in comparison.

First of all, it is heartbreaking that you are handling someone you love with so much care that you are so frickin' afraid they might break into a million pieces with one wrong touch. And yet, they're dead but you still feel that way.

Second, your mother beside you is a weeping wreck who's trying her hardest to pull through this entire misfortune and you don't think you can be strong enough for the both of you.

Third, everything is cold to the touch. And you can't help picturing that one fine day, this is going to be you.

Fourth, every other time you look into their cold, ashen faces, your eyes can't help but well up at the very notion that this was the very last time you were going to see their faces. That you can't believe they're no longer in your lives. They were such a big part of you that you can't imagine them not being there ever again.

Fifth, as you wrap them with white cloth from head to toe and the professional corpse bather asks you to kiss their hand for barakah --or blessings--, you gather all your willpower just to contain the tears that threaten to spill over your grandmother's cleansed body. And then you reach for her icy fingers and you press the gentlest of kisses, refusing to let go. Because when you do, who knows if that would be your last touch??

After the experience, I feel that you don't truly know what it's like to be in the presence of your dead loved one until you really get a hands-on opportunity and be at close proximity with a corpse for one and a half hours. Only the God Almighty would know.

Once Nanny had been wrapped and scented with jasmine water and flowers, it was time for us to pay our respects. My uncles took their turns sprinkling jasmine and orchids over her neck and bent down to kiss her. I awaited my turn and did the same. But I could not tear my lips away from Nanny's forehead. I felt a tug on my foot, someone was actually shooing me away. I think it was my uncle's wife. I wanted to take the nearly empty tray that was used for flower petals and boink her with said tray.

I thought, what, so now I can't pay my final respects and say goodbye to my grandmother?? Like you have more right than I do?? Ugh, in-laws.

My youngest uncle was the last to pay his respects and in his hands, he held his Netbook. My aunt from Cairo was on Skype. As he brought the compact device forward so my aunt could see her mother clearly for one last time, an audible cry of despair pierced from the laptop. My uncle brought his Netbook to my grandmother's ear so my aunt could say whatever she needed to say.

It was unbearable.

One thing was for sure, my grandmother's death attracted a huge turnout and my heart felt lighter than it did before to see all these people coming from God knows where!! I was sure somewhere around the house, Nanny could see all these people turning up to offer their prayers and condolences to her. She was truly well-loved.

My sisters and I were part of Nanny's entourage to her new home, the cemetery. Mom wasn't so fortunate because she had to stay at the house and deal with all the home affairs. We were there with Nanny until the end when the gravedigger piled up the final layer of sand and soil and we watered it down while sprinkling the remaining flowers.

One of the hardest parts for me to heal was how I wasn't able to tell anyone about my grandmother's departure. Aside from my family, no one in my circle of friends knew. First, because I didn't know who to tell. Second, I didn't know if I had anyone to tell it to. I didn't know if there was someone who would lend me a shoulder. I wasn't expecting anyone to do so. I was dealing with the pain myself and of course, I had to put up a strong front for my mother.

In the end, I told Lawra and Rosz but I didn't see the need for a shoulder.

Two weeks after her departure, I had a minor falling out with Mom while sitting in the train on the way home. I was so annoyed, I wanted to complain to my grandmother about her. Then I realized, I couldn't do so anymore. Because she wasn't there for me to complain to.

Without warning, I started to weep silently in the sardine-packed train. I jumped out at Simei and I dialed the next best thing. Lawra. When she finally answered, all my pent-up emotions just rolled off my shoulders in an outright bawl. Lawra thought I had just gotten beaten up by some thugs.

I kept apologizing. It was the first time since the funeral that I really let everything go. Like, EVERYTHING. All the silent tears became noisy sniffles. It was horrible.

Almost five months have passed since Nanny's departure from us. It is still raw, it is still painful. I never thought I would be rocked to the core that hard. I thought I had buried my emotions in so deep that I would be immune to this. I still cry at the mere thought of my grandmother and her fiery orange hair.

I don't think I could ever establish a relationship that had such meaning and significance such as the one I had with her. She understood me in every way imaginable. Even if she didn't, she would still be my silent pillar of support, or even humor me just because. Not even my mother could do that.

If there is one last thing that I could say to my grandmother now, it would be to tell her that if I have a daughter, I hope that the relationship she has with her grandmother a.k.a my mother, would be exactly like what I shared with mine. Or even deeper.

My grandmother is in a better place now. For all the times that I've missed her, I'm glad that she's there too. And I know that one day, we'll see each other again.

And You'll Never Get To See This In Soccer...

I can't think of another sport that actually allows opponents to have a go at each other with the referees as bystanders before being sent off to the Bad Boys Corner for a 3-5 minute time out period.

The raw physicality of ice hockey where the saying, "Boys will be boys" really comes into play and the gloves need to come off like a milisecond before the fists start flying. Well done, Ryan!!

Laterz...
Lenny

Hold Your Head High, Arms Open Wide...

It's out!!

Veronickah claims that he likes the song better after watching the video. My take is that it reminds me of Westlife's If I Let You Go as they stand at the top of the building with the helipad. The guys look good and thankfully Gary hasn't been eating a lot of Twinkie bars during the band's absence in the music scene.

One thing to look forward to: MTV Europe Awards 2008 in Liverpool!! They're performing!!

Laterz...
Lenny

Death By PSP...

In all that hype surround the PSP --yes that portable little contraption who's screen I am envious of-- I finally knew what it felt like to hold a PSP in the palms of my hand tonight.

Call me backdated but I seriously do not know what is so good about this mobile device that has got everyone caught not with their pants down --get it??-- but their heads, in bowed fashion. I've never touched a PSP before.

When kids visit my house for Raya and bring their PSPs along, it took my all not to snatch it out of their grubby hands and hurling it out from my mother's third-floor window. Hello?? Your PSP isn't going to get money from us, why the heck is your attention reverted to that little device from hell??

Normally, I wouldn't be tempted by such a thingamabob but tonight, while out visiting my young cousin's house, it was within my grasp and I found myself reaching out for it. In my defence, I AM a media student and SHOULD acquaint myself with various media devices just so I don't develop a bias for any.

My sisters and I were brought up in such a way that we had no passion for computer games, handheld games or whatever type of game that did not involve physicality. When I was younger, it was those Tamagochi and Digimon sets that cost an arm. Flash forward to ten years later and you can see that these toys are obsolete amongst society. So are Sega Saturn and GameBoy --color or otherwise.

True, technology was present in our house. But we're so tech-savvy that we didn't need LDs (remember Laser Discs and projector screens?) because by the time we wanted to buy them, the format had changed to VCD. Again, another obsolete item courtesy of technology.

So, how did it feel holding a PSP??

It was WEIRD.

I didn't know what to do with it save the power button.

And I began tapping buttons that went God-knows-where and well, thank goodness my cousin spotted my distress from afar and came forward to help. Either that or he was really afraid I was going to wreck his beloved PSP.

I asked him if his handheld had an automobile racing game --I digggggg Daytona-- and he gave me The Fast and The Furious. Not Daytona, but well, it had to do.

Being in a media course, I think I've been conditioned so badly that I am so aware of my every move with regards to media. It is especially so at this moment in time because my next essay that is due in two weeks has us revolving around mobile devices and before you snub me and tell me that a handphone is a mobile device, I already know. So is a PSP.

Because duhh, you can bring it wherever you go.

TV Mobile, however, is not. So don't try to get smart.

Anywayz, the weirdest thing happened. I don't know if it was just me or do first-timers experience this but the moment the car was on the move and my thumb began its new form of exercise by rolling the cursor around, I found myself moving my limbs in accordance to which direction I went.

Meaning to say, if I moved my thumb to steer right, I'd tilt the whole PSP to the right like as though the car would actually move in simulation with my actions. So if I steered left, then my whole self would tilt in that direction.

It was like as if I was on a motion simulator and my cousin could not fathom why I was doing so. Then I pretended to be interested when he flashed a screen filled with commands that corresponded with each button.

I've seen PSP users who would sit still and silent as death with just their fingers moving rapidly like a woodpecker trying to build a home in a redwood. I'm serious!!

And duhh, unlike winning on Daytona, I lost on TFATF. And they just HAD to emblazone the word FAIL and flaunt it in my face.

Laterz...
Lenny

Watch The World Come Alive Tonight...

The instrumental introduction sounds like a sample taken off Wooden Boat. It's got that Rule The World feel to it and the backing track is orchestrated similar to the sounds of Switchfoot.

Ironically, I thought it was Switchfoot's new single until I heard Gary sing and I got shivers at the back of my neck.

Inneresting.

Laterz...
Lenny

Extra, Extra; Read All About It...

Or not. Depending on the context taken.

Now, one of my modules I've been taking has been a challenge for me of late. In fact, this semester should have been labelled as LEVEL 5 CHALLENGE...TAKE AT OWN RISK.

Anywayz, Print News 1 is not a walk in the park as it had seemed back when Veronickah was taking it. I'm done with my photo story where I half-smoked my way through just to make it seem credible but, hah!! I just asked the questions that got me the answers that I wanted.

This current assignment however, is a whole different ball game. Photo Story was like, learning in depth how to play soccer and further defining your skills --not that I have much to begin with but you get my drift.

Feature Story is like learning to play hockey and skate all at the same time, trying your damnedest not to fall flat on the cold, hard ice.

I got the idea of my Feature Story through my lecturer who was just tossing us ideas on what to write and one of the better ones that she tossed --that was of my interest, of course-- was to do an interview. As she went deeper into the topic of interviews, something about a family of footballers came up.

And duhh, did I know a family of footballers.

So. Here I thought, okay, this was going to be a piece of strawberry cheesecake, right?? I mean, how hard could be it to be granted an at-home interview??

Rock hard.

Being a non-press member, I couldn't ring up my contacts from the Singapore Sports Council for me to get connected to the club who would then put me through to the general manager.

The best I could drum up was of course, the general manager's wife. When his wife came to pass me a casserole dish filled to the brim with kacang pool --and let me tell you, that is one of my weaknesses and it took my all not to lick that dish clean-- I mustered up enough steel to ask for an interview with the general manager and her boys. Then I proposed to her an idea by my lecturer of following her family around for a day just to get a feel of being in their shoes.

My God. The way she got all antsy and defensive.

You'd think I was a paparazzi with a dSLR strapped across my shoulder and would click at 50 frames per second at the sight of her used-to-be-or-maybe-not famous husband and four less-than-well-behaved brats and splash their pictures all over The New Paper.

Are you friggin' KIDDING me!?!?

Please, woman. I need a grade, okay?? Without this assignment hounding my ass, do you think I would actually give a tiny rat's ass to find out all the details about your high life?? You're shitting me, right?? I live right next door. I live it too. It's no big deal. Although sometimes I think it's more of a liability than an asset, but whatever, I've deviated.

And I think she insulted my intelligence by insinuating I write up about the general manager's wife being pregnant with her fifth child.

"But you're not pregnant," I pointed out, giving her flat stomach the evil eye.

She had the gall to suggest I strive for speculation.

"You mean like tabloids?? Sorry, I don't do trashy news," I gave my best disdain-tinted tone. Not that I don't appreciate a good sensationalized news piece every now and again but this wasn't about trying to dig up something that wasn't true. It was for a school paper, for God's sake.

That set her straight.

Even then, my interview with the general manager was not to be granted because Madam Control Freak Slash Manager said she'd give me whatever material needed --a.k.a through HER, not her husband, not her boys-- to ensure that I received a good grade.

She obviously didn't get it. It's not about the grade. It's about being a good news writer. One who can convey observations and pen it to paper so others can live that experience.

Well, fine. I've already typed down my questions for a supposed interview that obviously isn't going to happen. I'll just pass it to her and she can answer ALL of them. Sorry, though. None of the questions are about you.

If it boils down to it and I can't get the story that I want, I'm sorry. I'll have to smoke my way through. And trust me, that would go even worse than how a simple interview would.

Because of this whole shenanigan, I'm increasingly thinking Print News 1 is a bitch to deal with.

Talk about being anal.

BOLLOCKS!!

Laterz...
Lenny

Feelings Of Empathy Sold Separately...

It's been a few months since the start of something so big that boy, if you just open this can of worms, you'd probably get washed over by an avalance of those crawlies.

Actually, it's been slightly more than half a year since I first found out what I found out at the gym. Today, the dam that we'd tried so hard to hold up gave way. The floodgates burst open. And natural disaster ensued.

I wasn't there to witness it firsthand. It is a blessing and a curse in disguise. But I'm leaning towards the blessing. But I knew more than enough to foresee that simplicity would not be playing its part. There was nothing simple about this whole situation. Because if I were there, I wouldn't know what to do nor would I know what to say. What was there to say?? Everything was out in the open.

Should I cry?? Because you two did. And it is a known fact that I am not the best advice giver on the planet. No, wait. I suck. Jan is constantly bitching at me because Aunt Agony skills are below par. She's right.

Because the things I spout off might not be well taken by others and may seem like I'm condemning them. The fact of the matter is, I don't want to offer supportive advice neither do I want to seem like a cold bitch who doesn't give a damn.

I care. In my own twisted way that is only decipherable to me. You wouldn't understand and I don't expect you to understand. So it eats me inside because you got blindsided by someone you trusted more than you trusted us. Us, the people you've known for almost two years versus this one person you barely knew. I hate that I wasn't there together with the two of you. I might not have been much help, but at least there would've been one more person who was solid enough and not shedding tears. And especially because that bit of information that got this whole shebang going was provided by me. No, I didn't investigate. No, I didn't ask. I was told by obligation.

Why do you think I refused to listen to you all this while?? Because I didn't want to know. And even if I did, what did you want me to say?? To praise you for your behavior?? To tell you what a well-done job you did?? Or to criticize you for your actions??

Bottom line, I have no right. Neither am I in a position to tell you what to do.

I'm sorry if my general outlook radiated indifference. I'm not the person who would ask if you're all right. Why should I?? I already know you're not. But I'm also not the person who'd gloat in your face and snicker that you deserve it. Nobody deserves what you got. But it happened, it's done and you can't undo it.

I can't tell you, don't worry everything will be fine. Because it's not. Then I'd be a lying hypocrite. I'm not the person you go to for a shoulder to wipe your tears on. The most I can give you are my endless amounts of packet tissue stuffed in my bag.

I can't provide you with verbal support because ultimately, it wouldn't make you feel any better. There is no reason to sugarcoat my words, rub your back and tell you to move on.

How were you expecting me to react when you told me you were crying, broken and devastated?? Was I supposed to tell you not to cry?? Did you mean for me to drive straight to your house and offer you endless comfort??

If you were anticipating that from me, sorry to disappoint.

I'm not here to know how you're feeling. I already know. If it really were reciprocated, we wouldn't be in this position.

But know that I'm here to listen to your definitives. And know that even though I may remain silent or say things that are neither constructive nor destructive, you've already got my backing 100%, whatever you decide to do.

Laterz...
Lenny