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remembering you.
posted February 2, 2011 1:54 am
Exactly a year ago, on this day, I stood at the side of the road, watching cars zoom past me.
A red Saga blared its unforgiving horns at a careless motorcycle crossing into its path. Two middle aged ladies, clad in oversized working clothes, strolled across the road – chattering endlessly, exchanging cockamamie stories about their day.
The world went about with their business. The sun crawled its way down the skies. The motorists rush to where their hearts bring them. Shops closed. Plants wither. People aged.
Except one thing. The world which I lived in had come to a silent standstill.
Exactly a year ago, on this day, I stood at the side of the road, and cried my eyes out.
My grandmother died this day last year.
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Mom had buzzed me on MSN moments earlier.
“Ly, Popo passed away alr. I’m going over now. Can’t pick u, sorry.”
I froze, and almost instantaneously, I went on autopilot. I packed. I called. I packed some more, and I stood up to go. I scrambled on my way out of the office, and I found myself at the side of the road.
I had no car. I was turned down by a relative who was too busy to pick me up to rush to her side. There were no taxis. Buses were a mile away, and if any of them were heading towards where Popo’s house was, I sworn I would’ve walked.
My bestfriend came to my rescue. He rushed from across the city, picked me up, detoured to college to pick my brother up, and dropped both of us where my grandmother lived.
Something I will forever be grateful for.
Upon arriving at her bedside, brother and I fell by her bedside, and remained inconsolable for the rest of the week.
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One year later, I sit in my room, reading tweets about traffic jams on highways heading out of KL. I exchange words of mush with my favorite person on earth. John Mayer sings. The drizzle outside is kinder than it was two days ago.
CNY will never been the same without you. No more massive family gatherings. No more triple food helpings forced upon my plate, because you were worried your grandchildren were malnourished like other kids were during your time. No more angpaus with special handwritten messages in Chinese.
No more you.
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I will always, always hold fond memories of Popo.
And one day, when I go Home, I’ll sit down with her and hopefully, in a language we both understand, we’ll talk again.
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