Anatomy Of A Stupid.

The motorcade

Ironic how I am about to shape this awkward post. Truth be told, referring to my previous post, I was actually about to head out for a midnight journey to Seremban where I would have seen my ill grandmother for the very last time. Unfortunately even that didn’t happen, for as you know, referring to my previous post, a scouring cat and angst stopped me. In other words, the stray cats stopped me from going out of the house, eventually making me lose initiative to visit my grandma.

The blaring hot Saturday afternoon presented itself as rude and unfriendly. I was late for my meeting with the group for our French assignment filming. Took a warm shower and headed out to Signal (the car) and checked for my props. Checked. Prior to leaving a short arguement presented itself in the form of me blaming my dad for not allowing me to go to Seremban the night before. Yes, this was before the cats stopped me. Double whammy.

Just when I hit reverse my phone rang. It’s my dad. What on earth could he want from me on the phone when I’m barely 20 feet away from him outside?

Me : *picks up* What? (yea, rather rudely, I am quite aware and noted of it)

Dad : Where are you?

Me : Outside in the car la. What is it?

Dad : Masuk sekejap. I want to tell you something.

Me : What is it??

Dad : Just come in a while, need to tell you something.

If I can be an honest prick with you, I actually already picked up the hint and was in extreme denial in the walk towards the door where I saw my dad standing there in shock.

Dad : Your guai ma is no more.

Perhaps a redundant amount of reminders hit me then that my grandmother just passed away prior to mother’s day but I couldn’t help but feel more furious at my dad and that damned cat.

Me : I’m going to Seremban first, I’ll see you there..

I don’t know am I illustrating this in a drama queen or truthful way but my style of writing can often be rather plasticky and cliche as Maynard would call it. I can’t help but feel so disappointed that the last words I told my grandmother was “I’ll be back to see you again” and I never managed to fulfill that promise. Damn it.

If you were one of the few that knew directly what was happening, you know who you are, you’d know that I’m closer to my mother’s mother more than my father’s mother. Actually I should rephrase that. I’m closest to my mom, then my dad, then my grandma followed by my aunties and uncles. My dad’s side unfortunately I am not so close with due to many many reasons.

To lose this person was a bit harder to accept when I look back at my close friend Adrian and the loss of his good father. From a distance all’s well but now I know just how hard was it to deny the evident around me. Breaking down was out of the question but the pinch got a little bit more firm this time around compared to the loss of my grandfather when I was 13.

Her contributions are more than duly noted for a person that always hisses words of advice into ears of grandchildren and children alike. How she would tell the table full of high rolling, gambling uncles to go slow and don’t waste money; how she would just remind and not scold the little kids of the family when they refused to do their homework; and how she would always remind the teenagers to study hard while they’re busy texting their friends or on their Nintendos and about to leave the house.

I can’t speak Chinese, and she can barely understand my Malay, but we still click because of her patience. I know a couple of cousins from my “holy side” that couldn’t give two hoots about me and I have my Chinese grandmother who would always know what I am up to because she’s patient enough to take note of what’s happening to her grandchildren, and even great grandchildren (two of them, actually).

So after two days of travelling up and down, many apologies to my friends whom I was forced to cancel appointments with, doing all that I can to contribute anything she would need in her afterlife from a Buddhist’s belief (everything except for the joss stick) it was then the very last time we would see the image of her ever.

Cremation has never been my choice of incineration but it appears to be a well accepted practice in the family so I will just accept it where I have no authority. Rest assured that I will never allow anyone to be cremated if they never asked for it, and if I had the resources to accomodate a proper grave for the deceased.

The casket is nailed. Tears are everywhere. Tears are on my face.

The motorcade’s journey inbound for a local crematory took place after the mandatory walk lead by the sons-in-laws. I think this is a Hokkien practice as I’ve rarely seen this anywhere else. It was a slow and heavy 10 kilometers I assure you. The distance has never felt so lengthy before coming from a now regular 160km/h go-er.

When we arrived at the crematory I had to bare that same sight I absolutely hate to the guts. The sight of the casket facing a huge gas furnace only meant for reducing remains of a human to bones and ashes. Call me paranoid, but burning and bodies don’t match at all from my point of view. Please remind me again why do we practice such, to me, cruelty. We watched as the conveyor slowly brought her close and closer to the end.

The doors closed. This crematory has a different policy, one that guarantees the operator does not allow the family and friends to observe the loading process of the coffin into the furnace. Pure genius I must say. I can never bear the sight of a loved one going into an oven, really.

On the way out, it was almost like it was planned. The chimney starter producing black smoke, and I can say I curiously smiled knowing that she is now on her way there the way she wanted to go. Now we’re toning back to normal. The mourning is over but the damage so severe it’s here to stay. She made us, and now we’ve lost. I’ve lost a grandmother, a mother at times and an adviser. What fears me is that the family has lost the last bonding unit. I can only hope for the best in the Lee family.

I hope we folded enough money for you to pass that toll Mummy told me about. I made sure the gold coins I folded got even nicer in shape the more I progressed. I’ve prayed more than more than enough for you but I doubt it’s what you deserve. Of course you deserved more than a cancer like this and suffering for that whole period, entering and exiting the hospital. That doctor deserves a good knucle to his nose for implying we pull the plug on you, just so you thought otherwise. I’ll always remember to study hard because you told me to, and no matter what ridiculous things she will say, I will work hard to take care of Mummy.

Drive that car carefully, just like how you told me to. Eventhough I often disobey.

Eu Tew Choon
1938 - 2009

Bismillah.

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