Shiver me timbers

A new-born child do not know what Fear is until it is properly introduced by the parents. Once acquainted, Fear had a death grip on you, letting go occasionally but never completely. It lurked at the back of your mind, always ready to pounce into your imagination.

And so it was, that Fear gripped me once again last night when my pooch barked suddenly at the empty space before her. It was an extraordinary bark, a soft growling bark, if you will. Urban legend had it that the spirit of the dead wandered our world for 100 days before it leaves and that during this time, it goes where it will. It was never proven to be true but it was enough to give me the jitters. I was not afraid of the old man and we did have a good relationship but the spooky shift in the status quo changed everything. The fact that I was all alone at home when the barking began did not help. This was further compounded by the growing darkness outside as the evening progressed into twilight.

The first Death I remembered was when my grandmother passed away. She was seated in the lotus position right next to me, on my left. Her head hung low and her eyes were wide open. She was lifted and propped upon a chair whereupon strange rituals began. I knew something dreadful had happened to her although I did not know what it was. It was the looks on the adult's faces which set the first alarm. Something scary was about to happen.

See? My sister once took me (when I was this high) to the movies to watch a flick where a dead man stood up from his coffin. He swirled like a dervish and with each swirl, he transformed into something ghastlier eventually turning into a grotesquely sallow  zombie . I was too young at the time to watch horror movies. It left a lasting impression on me. I half expected my grandma to stand up on her feet and scare the daylights out of everyone. Obviously that did not happen. Fear is irrational.

Take thunderstorms for instance. Some mothers gripped their children tight and clamp their ears shut during a thunderstorm, thereby giving the impression that thunderstorms are to be feared. The same pattern can be seen in canines. My first Chihuahua (Poppy) feared fireworks and thunders. Venus - picture here was 8 months old when the chihuahua joined our household. An impressionable dog, Venus emulated the chihuahua's habits.  She was prancing playfully in the rain one day before she stopped in mid action to watch the trembling chihuahua during a light thunderstorm. Soon she picked up the impression that thunderstorms are to be feared, a position she maintained to this day. Her "protege" (Xena - picture here )  picked this up recently so I now have two trembling dogs trying to outdo each other every time it pours. Ginger (my indoor chihuahua) is now 7 years old. She was separated from the outdoor dogs so she never picked up their fear.

My point? If you wish to bring up a thinking child, don't scare your kids until they're ready to be scared.

Reminiscence

FLASHBACK (More Here)

Two months after his wife died, I visited the man. He looked frail.

"How are you?" I had to ask.

"It's our 44th wedding anniversary today."

I did not know what to say so I held my tongue.

"We've been celebrating our wedding anniversary for 43 years. She loved seafood and although I don't care much for them, I loved to watch her eat," he continued.

I nod silently.

"I kept asking. Why is this happening to me?"

I managed a quizzical smile, not the brightest of ideas but I wasn't sure where to take this.

"I've lost an old friend and a soul-mate. Can you see her? She is sitting right next to me."

My skin crawled. "So how are you spending this day?" (I thought that was a brilliant deviation.)

"I dined alone at the restaurant this afternoon and swallowed each morsel with tears. There's this dull ache in my chest and I haven't felt well since."

This isn't helping.  I couldn't think of anything to say but to share the ensuing silence. I was planning to take him out to dinner but that didn't sound like a good idea anymore. His grief was so thick you could cut it with a knife.

Oh yes! I said something pretty smart after a respectable silence. I said, "I'm sorry bro, but Time does heal all pain."

The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing... not healing, not curing... that is a friend who cares. - Henri Nouwen

* That was the last time I saw him. He died a few months later at the tail end of my chemotherapy.

Mr Ng

"Mornings became darker after the Winter Solstice. Have you noticed that?" My buddy, Hui (not her real name) remarked not two days ago.

I couldn't sleep but the solstice had nothing to do with it. This morning, I rose at o-dark thirty and rocked in the garden with a cup of coffee and some biscuits. A light rain softened the crisp morning air and birds were chirping merrily despite the dismal drizzle.

Life is good, I thought as my mind meandered in the darkness, turning this way and that, until it found Mr Ng. (Not his real name.) It was only yesterday when I told his story.

Mr Ng was a cook at an obscure restaurant downtown but that was long before I entered his story. He was married with four kids. They occupied a modest home in the suburbs. Mr Ng was thin, agile and unassuming. His file described him as hardworking and honest. Business was brisk. He was earning good money and then some.

Someone taught him about the quick bucks to be made at the Stock Exchange. Big dreams required lofty plans. Margin trading was inevitable. He bought a better house on a bank credit.

The stock market crashed. Unable to meet margin calls, he had to sell his business. His loan turned bad. The property bubble burst. His house was foreclosed under unfavorable terms. The proceed wasn't enough to cover his loan. Legal proceedings for bankruptcy was initiated. His wife left him and his children joined foster homes. He found another job dish-washing and boarded with his new employer. His loan was restructured and he began the long arduous repayment scheme.

It was a couple of years before he came to me. By this time, he had nasal cancer.

I was touched by his plight and felt a strong compulsion to highlight his case. Spending a little more time than I normally would considering my work load, I sat down to dissect his story. It culminated in a status report subtly crafted to draw empathy.

The NPL Committee wrote off Mr Ng's loan. I never got the chance to tell him. I left before the written approval came.

I shall never know what compelled me to write that report. Suffice to say, all of us played a tiny role in the grand scheme of things. When we are called for a purpose, we obey. Everything happened for a reason.

"Bluarrgggh!"

Yesterday was weird. Venus made the "Bluarrgggh!" sound all morning. It wasn't like her to act this way. Nothing came out of her throat, and nothing was wrong with her. (If her wagging tail was any indication.)

When anything bizarre happens, I usually put two and two together to get my customary five, if not more. This time, in view of this singularly distinctive sound effect, I thought of The Old Tin-Miner. He was the regular bluarrggghy man in my neck of the woods.

Yesterday was the 21st day after his death and some sort of ritual had been planned. We did not attend said ritual.

This reminded me of another dog's unprovoked attack at the funeral of my late uncle. The victim was a relative who was at odds with the deceased. I'll just ... umm... let you connect the dots, if you're into such things.

Gosh! Will you just look at her fur? They're turning white. She's getting to look a lot more like the old man!

Lighten up, will ya? I was just kidding ...

Elevated Liver Enzyme

I was a bundle of nerves on the Monday preceding my appointment with the Gastro-Enterology Clinic. The hour seemed to crawl ever so slowly and as it crept nearer, my anxiety grew. By the time Thursday came, butterflies were virtually fluttering ferociously inside my tummy. My heart was palpitating and I could have sworn my blood pressure shot up by a notch or two.

The clinic was packed. I managed to find a vacant seat whereupon I whipped out my tablet and commenced this nasty business of gaming. Only, it did not avert my restlessness. My heart wasn't in the game. There was a good mix of patients waiting for their number to be called. Most received free treatment so they had to be civil servants, some looking as distinguished as you please. The old man on my left was looking with some interest at a young girl standing on his left. Following his eyes, mine stopped when I found the object of his interest. It was the young girl's pair of very short shorts. No sense of propriety, I muttered to myself as I pooh-poohed at the inappropriateness of it all. (*grins* ~~~ I sounded like an old dowager chaperoning a debutante to her first social presentation, don't I?)  Somewhere behind me, an old lady suddenly burst out in lamentation. "Why are the doctors not back yet?", she moaned. Nobody saw fit to answer her.

Two young ladies stood at a corner with the nurse from reception. They were well dressed and well heeled, one could see. One of them lowered her voice in a whisper. The nurse listened, smiled and said "I'm afraid I cannot do that. There are a lot of patients today."

It was about an hour before my number was finally called. I went in to see the young doctor. She was pleasantly attentive and listened carefully while I explained the nature of my complaint. I showed her my tabulated enzyme statistics which showed the fluctuation over a stipulated period, the actions taken and the consequences thereof. She took my chart to her mentor as they discussed my case. Both were impressed with my record keeping which pleased me immensely for I had taken trouble to track same in order to ease the four doctors attending to me.

Eventually, Dr Lim advised me not to be unduly anxious over my condition. The liver enzymes are in the thousands when the fatality factor kicked in. More blood tests were required before they could ascertain the cause of my elevated enzyme. They have to first rule out the possibility that antibodies were attacking my liver. (Now, why would my antibodies want to do something like that?)  If that proved negative, a liver biopsy will be the next course of action. 

The Funeral

According to the man at the funeral home, this was their peak season. 

"Old folks rarely get past the DongZhi Festival and if they do, the next hurdle is the Chinese New Year. If they survived both, they'll persevere."

The parlor was fully occupied so we had to wait for the "occupant" to check out at the appropriate time. The old man spent his next few hours in the Cold Room where he was embalmed and prepared for his next journey.

Since he was 92 when he died, he was entitled to a "Red Funeral", which basically means that it was a happy occasion since he had lived beyond 90. (i.e. a ripe old age) Even the lantern outside his room was written in red ink. They added 3 years to his age so the red lantern broadcast his age as 95.

Why did they add a further 3 years to the age of the Deceased, you asked?

Well, allow me.

I first heard about the additional 3 years when my Ma died way back when. She was 59 so the lantern displayed 62 as her age. Curious as I was and am, I asked everything that moved.

"Why the additional three years?"

"Oh, its symbolic." answered one of them.

"What did it symbolize?" 

"Three years. One for the Heavens, one for the Earth, and one for the Deceased." 

"Ahh...." 

It did not satisfy my curiosity but heck, you don't blame ignoramuses for your own ignorance. Those who ask questions ultimately get answers and I'm a goodly person so I'll share this knowledge with you.

i.e. the real reason ... why they added 3 years to the age of the Deceased.

See ... 

The Chinese calendar features 12 months. However, an extra month is inserted in the calendar when a leap year occurs. Therefore, leap years in the Chinese calendar have 13 months, unlike leap years in the Gregorian calendar in which an extra day is included. A leap month is added to the Chinese calendar about once every three years. A leap year in the Chinese calendar does not necessarily fall at the same time a leap year occurs in the Gregorian calendar.

The long and short of this leap month sequence is that by the time you're 60 years old, you are in reality already 63. (That is why some old folks celebrate their 60th birthday with some gusto, by the way.) This explained why they added 3 years to the Deceased if he/she is 60 years or above. However, the ignoramuses added three years to all Deceased regardless of their age, which is of course wrong. So in my Ma's case, her lantern should have read 59 instead of 62.

Get it?

AN OLD STORY
This kinda reminded me of an old story my late aunt used to tell about an Emperor who stumbled upon a signage hanging over the front entrance of an ancient home. The signage said "XXXXX" ("The World's First Family", or something to that effect. My umm ... command of the language isn't quite there...) The Emperor was perplexed. He wanted to know why the household had the audacity to flaunt this title. By and by, a little kid appeared at the front door.

"What is the meaning of the XXXXX hanging over your front entrance?"

"I don't know but you can ask my father. He is inside."

The little kid took the  Emperor to see his father.

"What is the meaning of the XXXXX hanging over your front entrance?"

"I don't know but you can ask my father. He is inside."

They entered an inner room where the Emperor met a middle-aged man.

"What is the meaning of the XXXXX hanging over your front entrance?"

"I don't know but you can ask my father. He is inside."

They entered another room where the Emperor met an elderly man.

"What is the meaning of the XXXXX hanging over your front entrance?"

"I don't know but you can ask my father. He is inside."

They entered another room where the Emperor met a very old man. By then, the Emperor understood what XXXXX meant. Five generations living under one roof, which was as lofty a stature as it gets.

But no, we do not have XXXXX hanging over our front entrance. My father-in-law left behind only four generations to mourn for him.

THE ANOMALY
The Funeral Home was bustling with people, both moving and still. Peak season, remember? All the rooms were occupied. Some did not display the big lantern. (Meaning: Deceased is not married.) Apart from the big lanterns, my father in law was entitled to eight ceramic bowls which hung at the entrance to the room. It symbolized the fullness of the season. (Ripe old age?) Mourners tied a red ribbon around their waists and even wreaths had to include a dash of red.

It is also no longer trendy to offer joss-sticks to the Deceased. Flowers are now offered instead.

Nothing untoward happened. We did what we were compelled to do so it was not tainted by any unhappy incidences.

Except for this little anomaly...

The Old Man had six grandchildren. His eldest paternal grandson reported a peculiarity.

Now the Funeral Home was air-conditioned and exceptionally cold so most attendees wore jackets or shawls. Just as the prayer ritual was drawing to a conclusion on the first night, the grandson experienced a sudden burst of energy and body heat which left him feeling spooked and restless. When he reached home, an unpleasant odor exuded from certain parts of the house. (He was the only one to detect this odor.) This continued on the following two days. On the third day (last) everything returned to normal after the coffin was sealed. He started feeling cold again just like every other attendees and the odor in the house disappeared.

Believe it ... or not. Some things cannot be explained.

PEAK SEASON

I was at the bank the other day. While waiting for my number to be called, I overheard one man telling another man.

"It's really weird. Four of my friends died on the same week."

Peak season, remember? (I counted about twelve deaths in my immediate circle of friends, by the way.)

The Old Tin-Miner

I was tossing and turning in my bed. Sleep was going to be evasive again as it had been for the past few nights. Just as the clock on my wall hit midnight, fireworks filled the sky. Someone was playing online games downstairs in the study.

About an hour's drive away, two men kept vigil at the bedside of their father, The Old Tin-Miner. His breathing was labored and he was exhausted. It had been a difficult fortnight. The treatment had not gone well. The bronchopneumonia had worsen. Both lungs were infected. He was frail for his heart was weak and he threw out everything he swallowed.

Earlier in the day, he had written down on a piece of paper two words; "Death" and "Suffering." It wasn't clear if he knew his time had come for he could no longer speak. Those who took care of him stood silently by him anticipating his needs and fulfilling them. He too, could not sleep as the day drew to a close. His eyes were shut as he waited. As the clock hit midnight, the night sky was filled with fireworks. The countdown began as revelers welcomed the new year. 2015 entered and took away The Old Tin-Miner.

He was 92. 

He was my father-in-law.

When he first came to live with us, (after his wife died) I had difficulty communicating with him. Yet we grew to respect and honor each other through the following five years. I shall never forget his kindness and concern during my illness. He was always watching out for me when I was weak; (during my chemotherapy treatment) quick to assist me in my daily chore and just as quick to arrange for his daughters to help me out.

I had two fathers and two mothers but none. My childhood and youth had been emotionally arid. Yet God, in His Mercy blessed me with the finest Father and Mother-in-law in the world. They left behind a legacy of love, kindness and thoughtfulness. They gave me a sense of belonging and taught me what it was like to care. I did not know what paternal love was. I do now. In counting my blessing today, I thank you, Lord for that and for them.

My Fathers

People looked at me funny when I told them I had two Dads. After I added that I had two Moms too, they still looked at me funny, that is, until I finally clarified that I was adopted. I have two Dads but none played a pivotal role in my life. One of them died when I was this high. The other (my biological Dad) died when I was seventeen.

He was a quiet man. (The one who died when I was seventeen.) A man of few words, he often stared vacantly into the distance, his mind deeply troubled by a forgotten past, grasping at fleeting shadows and imaginary taunts. There were conspired whispers among the elders about a blood oath which went awry and woe betide those involved in such unwholesome pursuit. Still, none who claimed to know could offer any logical explanation for the troubled melancholy of this man. He died as he lived, in silence.

I was seventeen and preparing for college when it happened. There was no grief to begin with, for I hardly knew the man, much less speak to him, of him or with him. He kept his distance. I kept mine. When circumstances arranged a meeting, he stared at me in silence while I stole curious glances.

At his funeral, I was filled with guilt and remorse for I felt no grief or loss. It felt like I was witnessing the passing of a stranger. As the cortege left for the cemetery, I remembered the one tear I shed for the man.

For duty, duty must be done; 

The rule applies to every one, 

And painful though that duty be, 

To shirk the task were fiddle-de-dee!

-  W.S. GILBERT, Ruddigore

After the funeral, I returned to my daily routine and thought no further of the Deceased.

... until a week later.

I woke up hot and sweaty in the middle of the night. My perspiring forehead was strangely cold and clammy. I had awaken from a strange dream, one that I had never experienced before or since. Here is an account of what happened in this dream.

The room was small. On my right was a window which opened into the garden. A sealed coffin stood at the far end of the garden. I was shaken by its presence and thought of my biological Dad inside. Two other person were with me and as they spoke, I looked up at the ceiling. The room was brightly lit by two fluorescent tube. A butterfly and a moth circled the fluorescent tube. The moth landed on my left shoulder and a voice thundered.

Do not be afraid, my child

for life will be good to you

Romance and marriage

will come easily to you

yada-yada-yada

so do not be afraid

yada-yada-yada

yada-yada-yada

more yada-yada-yada

... yada ...

... yada ...

whatever you wished to do in life

go ahead and do it

do not be afraid

yada-yada-yada

more yada-yada-yada

I was seventeen, for crying out loud. Romance and marriage couldn't be further from my mind. The raging hormones were taking its toll on my emotional state of mind. Embittered by my circumstances, I was seeking answers for the destiny which brought me where I was.

Yet, the voice thundered on while the moth rested on my shoulder and the butterfly circled the lights endlessly. The words were structured in a poetic form. It brought comfort and a sense of peace. Forcing myself out of this dream, I fumbled to my desk, pulled out a paper and pen to jot down the words, and immediately forgot all but the precious few written above.

It was believed that the Deceased returned seven days after Death to visit their loved ones and that they were in limbo for the next 49 or 100 days so I thought those words must have come from my biological Dad. There was only one thing wrong with this theory.  I don't count as one of his loved ones.

I consulted my aunt who had an answer for every dream. She listened carefully and concluded that the spirit of my dead Dad came to me in my dream and uttered those words.

"It wasn't my father's voice."

"Death have not been fully understood."

"But my father could not speak English."

"After you're dead, you can speak all languages."

"How?"

"Don't ask!"

"Poetry?  My Father?"

It did not make sense but I held my tongue.  I let it go.

Ten years went by. I left college, found a job and got married. Christ was already a part of my life. One afternoon on a Saturday (Back then, Saturdays were a 9am - 1pm working day.) I was lying on the couch and reading a book. "Murdered Heiress" by Dr Olive Peet Wagner.

The writer gave an interesting account of how she was kidnapped and murdered by her abductors.

I came back into my body with the sheet over my head. Suddenly the room was full of a voice as if it went from the ceiling to the floor, from every corner of the room. This big voice said, 'I am the Lord your God, I am here to help you and not to hurt you. Do not be afraid.'  - Murdered Heiress, Dr Olive Peet Wagner

It was an epiphany of sorts. The passage described the voice I heard in my dream. It was a voice which thundered with authority. The voice said "Do not be afraid." Those were the exact four words which brought me comfort in later years in times of dubiety and dread.

In retrospect, I wasn't wrong. My aunt wasn't wrong. The voice I heard was that of my Father, my Heavenly Father. I knocked. He answered. I did not know it at the time. I do now. As for why it happened the way it did, who knows? They say God worked in mysteriously ways. Why am I convinced?

Well ... listen to my story. There is more to come.

Nieces

I was getting a tad emotional when my niece told me something I hadn't quite expected last year by way of encouragement. She told me that her brother and her held me in high esteem. She spoke of the time when they were kids growing up in unhappy circumstances, how kind I was to them.  She told me how they wept in the toilet each time we parted, the stories I told and the games we played. I remembered nothing.

Nieces are a blessing and I'll tell you why. They remembered good stuff about you even when you don't. One niece by herself is a huge blessing. Multiply that by four and you're basically there.  So today, I shall thank God for the four nieces I had.

Like I said before, when you don''t have daughters, nieces are the next best thing. In counting my blessing today, I shall end with Maria's song.

♪ ♫ ..... Somewhere in my youth or childhood
I must have done something good. .... ♪ ♫