Saying Goodbye...

I know that death is a part of life; it comes to greet us unexpectedly; that unless you've found a substance that will give you immortality, it is inevitable that one day, God will come knocking and tell you 'this is it! Ready or not, you're coming with me... NOW!'

I guess, throughout growing up, having experienced the first death in my family in the form of an ailing grandmother, in which the last... 18-24 months of her seventy-fifth year of her life confined in firstly a hospital bed, and then in her own bed, battling cancer, I always thought that the kind of death that would greet each and every one of us was one that came when our hairs had gone all grey or white; when all our skins had wrinkled, showing both wisdom gained from old age and life experienced to the fullest; when time had slowed and dragged you were at the point of waiting for your life on earth to end and another kind of life to begin.

I guess it hit me hard and raw then, to find that a close family friend was called to join God in Heaven when she was in mid-fifty of age, after a very short battle of pancreatic cancer. She was a loving Mother, a doting wife, and the kind of friend who would welcome your visit with open arms no matter the hour. She had an infectious giggle, and one in which I could still hear, so very clearly, from time to time, in my mind.

Not long after that, a friend of mine I met online passed away from a bad case of multiple sclerosis; she was a few months short of her 31st birthday! In the course of less than three weeks, I have had to say goodbye to two dear friends, neither of which I was prepared to let go just yet.

Last year came, and the shock of losing my Director, the man whom, to this day, I regard very highly of, rocked me to the very core. I can't tell you how much my heart sank, lower than the ground my feet stood upon. I can't tell you how many times I've cried myself to sleep, and in the briefest of moments when I opened my eyes, believed that what had happened had been nothing but a bad dream, a cruel joke of my subconscious, until reality sank in and wrenched my heart six feet under once more. I can't tell you how many mornings I've had to control myself from breaking down and become a blubbering mess, my eyes filled with tears I had to wipe away so that I could still see the road whilst I drove myself to work. I can't tell you how many times I've subconsciously looked for any sign of my Director to waltz in through the front door, wishing for the kind of miracle you've read in the Bible, of someone being resurrected from death, to come true. Of all the deaths I've had to deal with in my life, his was, in my honest opinion, the most tragic, the saddest, and one that made me question my beliefs in God.

I woke up on Tuesday, 22 February, at a relatively early hour; so uncharacteristically of me. I spent the hour before I had to go down and have breakfast at this hotel/conference venue bawling my eyes out, remembering that this time last year, my life was about to change forever; that what I thought was another ordinary work day, ready to see the down-to-earth, compassionate Director we have all come to know and love, was going to turn out to be one of the saddest day of my life to date. The more I conjured up images and memories of this man whom, to his final hour, remained optimistic and empowering to those who knew him, the more tears flowed down my cheeks uncontrollably at the unfairness of his passing, taken away from us way too soon.

Eight-twenty that morning, almost exactly at the same time the news of his passing was broken so gently to me, I received another phone call; one that would make me relive this painful memory once more. A dear work colleague of mine, a PA to the company's Deputy Executive Director, whom had been diagnosed with inoperable brain tumour in September last year, passed away at 1:30AM the same morning.

I was inconsolable; two tragic deaths in exactly one year, to me, was just that little bit unbearable. I roamed around for a whole day in a daze, trying my best to converse and function, when all I wanted to do was curl myself up in a hole, closed my eyes, and pretended that this day, last year and this year, never happened.

And so I found myself attending yet another funeral service, saying goodbye to a wonderful friend whose life had been cut way too short; another beacon of hope in our lives; a wonderful, lighthouse-like presence; a wonderful, 47-year-old who had lived to the fullest and never once complained about the injustice of the fate she had been dealt with (unlike the host of family/friends/colleagues who had raged about such cruelty).

Perhaps I will become more accustomed to this as I grow older; as I am more exposed to more deaths, in whatever shapes and forms God call one's soul to join Him. But for now... it really is impossibly hard to say goodbye to the people you don't want to let go just yet, and I can't help but feel just a tad bitter at the unfairness of it all...

Heat and I...

Are like oil and water - we just don't play nice together. To quote one of my favourite fictional characters, I hate heat. I detest heat. I view heat with the most abhorrence. Granted, he was talking about boats, but you get my drift.

People think it strange since I was born and raised in the tropics, where it was summer almost three-quarter of the year and the country's version of 'winter' was rainy season. But I sincerely dislike heat. How much I hate thee, let me count the ways:

1. I hate hate HATE the way it struck me in the face, first thing in the morning, when I walk to the garage to get into the car. It's stifling, like getting into a sauna when wearing three layers of clothing.

2. I hate the fact that the car gets heated up within MINUTES of being parked outside, and when you get into the car... see point above.

3. I detest the fact that I perspire heavily within a few minutes of walking under the blazing sun. Good if I'm wearing sports gear, but with a nice work dress and heels - TORTURE!

4. Whilst we're still on the subject of attire, let me point out that summer restricts my work clothing choices. One of my... aim (because putting this as a New Year's resolution is a bit lame, I think) this year is to accessorise more, and to have a more polished appearance. For this purpose, I have bought those chunky belts I can wrap around a nice work dress to give said dress a different, chic look; I have bought some dangling necklaces I can wrap around my neck; I have even replenished my supply of pantyhoses. Wearing these in summer, with the sweat trapped on the places you've put additional layers, give me rashes in the most uncomfortable places.

5. Being in the sun, even for a short period of time, put me in danger of nursing one hell of pounding headache. No, I would go one step further and say that driving with my eyes squinting against the mid-afternoon sun would put me in danger of having a pounding headache.

6. The sun saps all my energy. I feel more lethargic in summer, despite being couped up in an air-conditioning building all day. I feel doggedly tired, almost unable to face the day as soon as I woke up. For this reason, I avoid doing any strenuous activities, or even doing chores around the house, until the sun goes down. I have even gone as far as avoiding being in direct contact with the sun in any way possible, including galavanting to the nearest shopping centre during my lunch break, even though I know that such change in scenery is good for the mind.

7. The sun also plays a big part in stalling my inspiration. Somehow, making cards when the late afternoon sun is shining so brightly through the window of my arts and crafts room is less-than-appealing. Writing with the sun coming through the glass of the front door is distracting rather than comforting.

8. The summer sun doesn't go down until 6:30 in the evening. What the hell? Come on now - it's 6:30PM - it's NIGHT TIME. Night time DOESN'T have sun!

Perhaps the only thing I like about summer is the opportunity to go for a swim, though even then, I instinctively look for the shade, not wanting to get sunburnt...