I love the beach. I love it far more than the mountains. Please don’t get me wrong- I think the mountains are beautiful. However, for me, a beach holiday trumps everything!
I love the beach. There is something about being at the seaside that causes my body and mind to relax. I wonder if it is the air – the smell of the ocean, or the sight of it.
When we were little, my cousins and I got taken to the seaside a lot. It was such a lot of fun. Our parents would have packed all sorts of food for a picnic, but all we could think about was playing on the beach or swimming in the sea.
Till this day, when I go to the beach, I keep my eyes peeled for the first sight of the sea. That first glimpse of the turquoise, blueish-green shades of waves, never ceases to cause a sensory delight within me.
When I lost my mum in 2006, I was so brokenhearted. Some friends and I went to the seaside – I wanted the time to rest. A friend suggested that we each take time to write about something out in nature.
I remember composing a poem about the sea – about how its calm exterior didn’t always show the whirling undercurrents. It reflected how I felt when I lost my mum.
In 2023, less than a week and a half before he died, my dad convinced me to book a beach holiday. I booked it without knowing that I would be travelling there two weeks after he had passed.
Again, the silence of the beach broken by the occasional roar of the waves, voiced the sense of overwhelm that I was feeling inside. It felt to me like the sea was acting out the restless I felt.
In October 2025, a friend and I went for a beach holiday. It rained almost the entire time we were there, but we had a sea view room. It was amazing to wake up to the glistening sea, and watch how choppy it got because of the wind and the rain.
I was exhausted from a gruelling schedule, but just being by the beach, looking out at the sea, I felt a sense of calm and peace. It was like the tiredness was being washed away.
Whilst I do admire mountains and nature apart from the seaside, there is nothing like a beach holiday! I am so thankful to God for the many beach holidays I’ve been able to enjoy. I pray for more!
I literally just finished reading Irfan Ortega’s Portrait of a Turkish Family. It blew my mind!
I bought the book on 29 January 2025, from Galeri Kayseri English Bookshop, located in the Sultanahmet Fatih area of Istanbul. I remember the date very clearly because it was the day that I was leaving Istanbul. My friends and I stopped in at the bookshop, and lo, and behold, we each bought our own copy of the book. Such were the exhortations of the store keepers, and we believed that it was a good book.
I think whatever the store keeper said really made me want to find a moment to read the book in leisure. It has been anything but that, with the start of my business and the intensity of trying to make things work. I held off reading.
In October, a friend and I managed to make a short trip to Penang. Penang is lovely- it is a city island, and is popular for its local cuisine. Our plan was to rest and recuperate, as we’d both had a busy year. I decided to take the book with me.
The book was so easy to read, which sort of surprised me. I was almost expecting some stuffy sort of writing style, and have been pleasantly surprised at how wrong I was.
Right from the word go, Irfan Ortega, draws you into his world. The story is rich, almost as if its tapestry was weaved intricately by a master carpet maker. It is hard not to feel the pleasures of the author’s family at its height, and their decline into poverty and shambles.
I couldn’t put the book down. References to Istanbul made complete sense because some of the places were located in the Sultanahmet area – close by the Blue Mosque. Having visited the place, it brought the writing to life even more.
It isn’t possible to do justice to the story by trying to explain it here. The emotions that Irfan Ortega conveyed could only be told with the emotional weightage of the person who had lived through the events detailed. I felt so thoroughly invested in what would happen to each of the individuals because of how powerful the writing was.
This year, I have spent time reading books on business. I reread a couple of my long time favourites by Jane Austen, a book on the Ottomans, which I started before I went to Istanbul but only finished after I got home, and a few other books. I have been wanting to read more, and given how busy I’ve been, I am pleased that I have been able to do this much reading.
What I can say with absolute certainty is that I was incredibly moved by this narrative of Irfan Ortega‘s. I heartily recommend it as a must read!
If you’re like me and you like baking, it is likely you often have conversations about it. I love it when friends or family send me pics of what they’ve made and share the experience of how the baking process went. I like doing the same as well.
There are certain periods, such as the build-up to special celebrations or around Christmas, where conversations about baking and trialing become rife. Whilst it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, I absolutely love it.
A friend had popped into my mind as I put a Christmas fruitcake into the oven yesterday. Last year, she had made a fruitcake using a recipe of a friend of hers who had tragically passed away. So, I dropped her a note, and inevitably, we discussed making fruitcake.
She mentioned how she loved the smell of the house when something has been baking. At that moment, the thing that had been pressing on my mind was the quality of the fruit I’d got this year. The cake supply shop that I’ve been going to for slightly over two decades had shut.
There are some major baking franchise outlets in my town. They are well-known ones, but as I picked up dried fruit for the fruitcake, I couldn’t help but notice the difference. Even when I cut up the fruit, I couldn’t help but think that they were much dryer than what I was used to. This came up in my conversation with my friend. I told my friend how I had instinctively set aside a few more egg whites for whisking, in the event the batter was dryer than usual, as a result of the fruit.
She commended me on my quick-thinking and went on to tease me for being a perfectionist in my baking. It was such an innocent comment, but it brought a whole load of memories flooding back to my mind.
I saw it as clear as day as I typed out my response about the strength of the memory associations that I had related to the dried fruit. At the core of it was how much I am missing my mum and dad.
When I first started baking at 13 years of age, baking supplies like dried fruit, weren’t easily available in the town I lived in. My dad would have to drive me to the city to get them. I remember my mum making calls to ask an aunt where they could be got, and my father, diligently driving me to get them.
When I first started baking, my parents weren’t sure if my interest was just a fad or if it was something that was going to grow. My mum was never much of a cook or baker, and we didn’t have an oven. I used an ovenette, which was quite horrific because you couldn’t control the heat. Since fruitcakes took a long time to bake, my mum and dad would help me play around with the heat, by turning the ovenette off for a minute or two, just to make sure the cake wouldn’t burn.
They loved the fruitcake and other cakes that I made, and by the time I was 15, they decided to buy me one of those big gas stoves with an oven at the bottom. I used that stove till 2020, when the freak flood that impacted my home destroyed it! Even with my new oven (at the time), supplies weren’t so easily available. My parents supported my baking through this. My mum would help me calculate what was needed and write a list, and my dad would drive me to get all the stuff I needed.
Maybe when I was about 17, things started changing. More things were available in my town. Sometime after I got back from university, the cake supplies shop opened up in the housing estate next to mine. I could walk to it, but usually, I drove because it wasn’t easy carrying home stuff that I had bought.
That cake supplies shop wasn’t a fancy shop at all. It was small and friendly, which I loved. The couple that ran it used to import dehydrated fruit from a family-run business in the US. The quality of the fruit was so notably different, that the first time I bought it, even my parents commented on how fresh it all was. I think as a family, we appreciated the turn of events.
These memories are very strong for me. When mum died in 2006, I found it hard to think of baking or anything. It was papa who slowly encouraged me to get back to it. Until he passed away in 2023, he was always an eager volunteer for tasting anything that came out of my oven.
Remembering this has made me realize why I feel a sense of deep sadness when I bake. When mummy passed away, that sadness came to reside. It has never left. Now with papa’s passing, it has taken up more space within. Oddly enough, I don’t want it to leave. It connects me to papa and mummy.
This simple act of buying ingredients and baking, make me feel such a strong connection to the home I once knew. This memory makes me see that so clearly. This is the home that shaped me – from my faith, to every mistake I’ve made, and every success I’ve achieved. It is the home that both my dad, Stephen and my mum, Leela, with all their imperfections built for me. It is the home I miss dearly.
I am grateful to God for my friend’s comment that triggered this entire memory. I am thankful to Him for the parents He blessed me with. I cannot thank Him enough. One of the Psalms that I like is Psalm 34, which is a Psalm of my favourite king David. Some of the verses in this Psalm are astounding:
I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth (Psalm 34: 1)
My soul makes its boast in the LORD; let the humble hear and be glad (Psalm 34: 2)
Those who look to him (the LORD) are radiant, and their faces shall never be ashamed (Psalm 34: 5)
Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him! (Psalm 34: 8)
The LORD is near to the broken-hearted and saves the crushed in spirit (Psalm 34: 18)
There’s a lot more to this Psalm, but I like these verses because they are full of hope, and because they bless the LORD and recognize his goodness. The interesting thing about it all is that when David wrote this Psalm, his home at the palace was under threat because of king Saul.
David had fled into Philistine territory, which was enemy territory, and in order to survive this, he pretended to be out of his mind. It is hard to imagine how low one would have to be to act this way. It was an awful, awful time.
My life isn’t on the line like David’s was, and I am writing from far more comfortable settings than the Adullam caves, where he was likely hiding out. I know there is a debate on whether David sinned by feigning madness. Whilst I haven’t pretended to be mad (and let me just stop you right there, if you even think it’s because I don’t need to pretend!), I know that I have been called out for the sadness that I have felt.
I have spoken and written about this sadness. There have been times when I’ve been told that my faith is weak, and that I am not showing good Christian character when I express this sadness. I’ve been told that I am not showing strength.
It has been awful dealing with these. One of the comments after papa passed away was to the extent that since I had the experience of losing my mum, this wouldn’t be so hard to deal with. Who are they kidding? Do they know how present he was in my life?
I may be in my own version of the Adullam caves (with plumbing and without bats). My home as I knew and loved it, is no more. It is hard to explain this feeling to many people. I don’t have brothers or sisters who grew up alongside me. The only two people who shared in the most significant parts of my history, are no longer here. There’s so much of me that they knew, which no one else knew. There are elements of me that they brought out, which no one else can. Their absence as individuals and as a unit in my life is something I feel so keenly.
Yet, I hope that it is clear that despite this feeling of sadness, I have such a strong sense of thankfulness and gratefulness to God. He has given me so much for which I can only be thankful. When I look back at my parents and process our ups and downs, I can only say that I have been extraordinarily blessed.
I don’t need to prove the strength of my faith or character to anyone. This isn’t a dance that I’ll be doing. I miss my mum and dad so very much. I miss them unashamedly.
Papa and mummy, thank you for teaching me this faith. Thank you for growing me in Christ, and for helping me see that there is so much more ahead because of Jesus. I thank God for this blessing He gave me through you both. I thank Him for this memory that has triggered such a strong feeling of connection to you. Bless the Lord, indeed!
It’s such a wet Sunday as I write this. It stopped raining a short while ago, but you can see large droplets of water on the plants and puddles all over out on the road. The rain that came was heavy. I like the rain because of how it cools things down for us. If it’s not heavy enough, there’s a kind of mugginess that envelopes us within minutes of it stopping, so I’m glad that this was good rainfall.
I didn’t go to church this morning. I’m a little tired and am managing levels of pain that are coming up for me. Whenever my body is pushed to more exertion these days, the lovely disease that’s an occupying force within me reminds me that it holds the keys. In many senses, it keeps me in check. I need to make sure I have downtime. I don’t think it is a bad thing, except I don’t like the feeling of unwellness that it makes me feel and the heightening of pain levels. It makes me walk funny – or should I say funnier? It makes me trip, slip, roll my ankle, or step a little wrongly as I move about.
Pain is an interesting thing. It makes me miss my mum and dad a lot. My dad, most recently, would ensure that I was fed or had a supply of hot tea coming my way. It would make me feel like I didn’t need to worry too much. Without his presence, it is different, as I still need to get things done. I have to make my own cuppa!
When I feel pain coming up in my body, I often wish I had a full -time butler like Jeeves. At times like this, when even my thoughts feel like they hurt, I think it’d be a good idea to outsource my thoughts to an intelligent being, like Jeeves. There’s character there, unlike the AI that I’m trying to get used to working with. At present, it lacks humour, discretion, and physical appearance. Who knows? This might change in the not-too-distant future!
For now, I have a little ball of fur right next to me. This little one, if I’m honest, even Jeeves has nothing on her! My darling girl, Gamora. Gamora isn’t human, and delightfully so. Her puppy-ness is what I find fascinating and most amusing. There are times, I find it moving. She’s able to relate. She reads situations well and she responds. This challenges me to do the same. A puppy teaching me about my humanity! This is why I’m certain she is such a blessing from God. It is why I feel like He sees me.
When the rain stopped this morning, Gamora and I were napping on the sofa. It’s bliss, I tell you. My housing area is quiet and the stillness is therapeutic. Gamora tends to love these moments when she’s cuddled right by me, and she doesn’t give them up easily, which is why I was surprised to see her suddenly fly off the couch and make urgent noises to want to go out. I let her outside and she flew out to the porch in such haste and started barking rather ferociously.
Recognizing the urgency in her bark, I walked over to her, only to see a large monitor lizard not too far from our front gate. Gamora’s radar for monitor lizards is impeccable. She seems to be able to sniff them out even at a distance. Sometimes in the park, she will spot one that’s having a swim. Even at that point, her little body goes into a ready-to-defend-warrior pose. I do not want her engaging in battle with monitor lizards. As smart as she is, I worry about the reach of their tails, which can hurt her.
I immediately sprang into action and ran to get a long, sturdy spade-like tool I have at the back of the house. Whether it’s a monitor lizard, frog, or cockroach that I encounter, I fervently start whispering prayers. I have such an intense dislike that springs from fear, towards these creatures, but living in a house, you inevitably have to deal with them. I could hear Gamora still letting out her warning barks and I tried as quickly as I could despite the pain my body was in to get back to her, and I did.
There was no more monitor lizard. I stood for a moment blinking, wondering if I’d dreamt the whole thing, when a neighbour who was walking his dog called out to me. ‘Your dog just made that big monitor lizard run!’ He had seen the whole thing unfold. My little Gamora was as proud as could be. She strutted back into our house and settled by me with a sense of satisfaction.
In these moments, I feel a sense of grace. I feel seen by my God. Why? Because I was dreading having to deal with that monitor lizard. I was dreading having to call the authorities for help because I am tired and am in pain. I didn’t want to spend time dealing with this. It is hard to explain the tiredness. I just want the quiet right now.
Thankfully, because of this little four-legged creature He put in my life, quietness is restored. She has been such a blessing, and I am thankful to God for her.
I never thought I’d have another dog. Not after how Loki died. Having to put him down at the tender age of three because of all sorts of trauma related issues, which were making it impossible for him to eat and drink or be around people, was such an awful experience. I didn’t want another pooch.
In February 2023, I was asked if I’d have a look at a litter of pups. The breeder lived nearby. Their intention was to breed pugs and dachshunds, but they hadn’t counted on Gamora’s pug daddy and dachshund mum to fall in love and somehow get together! The litter was adorable and there was ‘happy family’ written all over the pics and vids I saw.
I went to have a look at Gamora’s brother. I’d only ever had male pooches and I thought I’d get another male if at all I got one. I did catch a glimpse of Gamora when I went but she was kept away from her brother and me during my visit. Her brother was adorable, and as much as I enjoyed carrying him, I couldn’t get rid of the feeling that something wasn’t right.
I didn’t take Gamora’s brother and I thought maybe I should just not have a pup. Then, an uncle died and as my dad and I got back after the wake, I said how I missed the greeting that only a pup can give. My dad asked me to rethink getting a pup and the week after the funeral, I went back to the breeder.
This time, Gamora was in the pen. There had been a potential booking for her brother and the breeder decided that I should consider taking Gamora. When I went to the pen, Gamora’s brother, recognised me and started to run towards me.
I hadn’t counted on Gamora recognising me too! She did something remarkable. She started running, building up as much speed as her little legs and puppyish clumsiness would allow, and pushed her brother out of the way. She continued another full circle as her brother tried to get up and continue his progress towards me, and knocked him off again. It was fascinating! She then came full charge at me, jumped up with her paws on my shins and waited to be carried.
That was the first time Gamora brought tears of joy to me. There have been many instances since.
Her love of gardening, which is perhaps not conducive to my gardening hopes, just makes me smile. When she sees me admiring flowers, she tries to add to the joy by biting off the flowers and laying them on the ground! She does this with great skill for even the pots are bigger than she is!
Her love for cuddles and spending time splooting in bed as she cosies up to me, or snuggling in what seem like the most uncomfortable positions often make me tear up!
Lately, she’s taken to wanting back rubs- and she holds you fast in her gaze. That gaze of hers almost always brings tears to my eyes. It reminds me of her focus, her observation, and her uncompromising ‘you’re going to love me as much as I love you’ attitude. I find myself brining up with joy over this four-legged, barrel-bellied, floppy eared pup!
Interview someone — a friend, another blogger, your mother, the mailman — and write a post based on their responses.
All of August 2025, I have been busy working on my upcoming podcast, Pathways to Thriving. The idea for my podcast is to interview people who are thriving in their work, but whose voices aren’t usually heard.
My hope is that a truly diverse picture will emerge through the contributions from my podcast. Thriving looks different for every single person. And that is okay! In fact, it is beautiful.
I started off the interviews by interviewing a friend of mine, Daniel. There is something very modest about Daniel and it comes across only to magnify the importance of what it is he has to say! His prowess in legal education and his love for it, showed up during the interview. I loved it.
Another interview was with a really good girlfriend of mine, Rajash. It has been a joy seeing Rajash navigate her own law firm. She’s been one busy bunny, and the kind of things she’s been involved in from a legal standpoint, has been nothing but spectacular. I’m inspired by her!
The third person I interviewed was someone I met on LinkedIn. She was incredibly fascinating. It was so gratifying to see a Chief Human Resource Officer really bring people into the heart of leadership. I had goosebumps during the interview!
The fourth but not the last, is an old friend, Bassl. I met Bassl in 2008 when I was teaching English! He came to Malaysia as a student and I have to say he was one of the most hardworking people I ever met! I’m a few years older and we got on well. Over the years, I’ve got to know his wife and kids. While Bassl was in Malaysia on holiday, I snatched a moment to interview him. I had a sense of pride listening to him answer questions. He has grown a business and is doing well. His family is being cared for and loved. The challenges he faced to get there- he just overcame by sheer persistence.
I’ve been buzzing since starting these interviews. The joy, inspiration, and pride that I feel from these individuals – I cannot speak enough of! I’ve got more interviews lined up.
If you enjoy the interview – I am so nervous in the first one, but it gets better in the second and so on (I think!), please help me grow this initiative by liking and subscribing to the channel. There should also be an opportunity to put forward suggestions of people I can interview (am happy to interview them via Zoom as well!).
Tune in to the first interview with Daniel being launched on 2 September 2025!
What was the last thing you searched for online? Why were you looking for it?
It’s amusing me that I’ve literally just placed an order for groceries to be delivered and I see today’s prompt. I was shopping for a little gathering I’m hosting for some friends, to celebrate having finished writing a book.
My book will only be published next August. At the moment, it’s me waiting for the editors to come back to me with their comments. It’s a little nerve-wracking, if I’m honest, but also very exciting!
My book is on kindness in leadership and at the workplace. It feels like a commitment to what I’m doing for work in coaching and people development. I want to make the workplace better!
I’m not sure if I’m being idealistic, but as I’ve spent time thinking, I realise I love working. I love work – there, I’ve said it again! The times I’ve loved working have been when I’ve had good leaders and wonderful workplaces. Kindness was key.
If you’d asked me even in March this year, before I set up my coaching consultancy, I’d probably have told you that I wanted to write a book but was having trouble narrowing down what to write about. I pinned myself down for fiction. Never thought I had the chops for anything nonfiction.
The kind of clarity I had at the point of setting up the consultancy, was astounding. I felt like God kept extending me grace after grace to make decisions and do things. Once the launch and the paperwork for setting up were done, I thought I’d take a moment to reflect.
Time wise, this was about five weeks after the launch. I had also started speaking to clients and trying to get myself going a wee bit more on LinkedIn. That’s when the writing started.
I didn’t even think I was going to write on such and such a topic. The words flowed and I faithfully typed them into my MacBook. This is why it feels like God guided me through this. Before I knew it, in May, I had almost 30,000 words.
At that point, I took the chance and wrote in to a publisher. Their automated response was heartbreaking. It said they’d respond in six months and if you didn’t hear from them by then, to take it as they weren’t interested. It was a cruel reality. But still I kept writing.
Three or four days later, there was a response. One thing led to another, and I was offered a publishing contract. I boldly set my deadline as 31 July. Boy, did it feel overwhelming at points!
I wrote and wrote and wrote. God just kept pouring out grace. People understood when I couldn’t meet up, I could focus, and the words just kept coming. I couldn’t believe how memories of all sorts of incidents became alive in my mind. It was sheer grace.
What has all this got to do with why I was looking at a savoury cheese muffin recipe? Well, I’m celebrating! On 30 August, a few friends are coming by for dinner. It’s just a handful of us and I want to cook. They’re celebrating the fact that the book got written, with me! I’m planning to try these savoury cheese muffins as little starter bites. If they work well and don’t take too long, I may think about making them for 5 September, when my family comes over for a potluck gathering, to celebrate with me.
I wish that my dad was around to see this. He knew I’d wanted to write but I couldn’t say what. I wish my mum could see this. She always said I had a book in me. As I celebrate with family and friends, I’ll be holding my dad and mum close to my heart.
So now that I’ve answered this, it’s back to studying the recipe so that I can make it work!
I’m quite sure that I don’t have a fixed time of the day that I enjoy most. I’m neither a morning person nor a night owl. I can be either when the situation calls for it. There doesn’t feel like a particular effort for either!
I know from observation of self that I do have times when I feel a deep sense of joy. I can broadly categorise these as follows:
When I feel a sense of oneness with myself. This can happen at any time of the day. Often it happens when I’m out for a walk with my pooch, Gamora. Gamora is delightful. When we go to the park, she becomes a burst of energy. Initially, I feel like I need to manage that and get her calm. But once we hit that calm and our walk is in stride, then it’s perfection. I feel that I can take in all the colours of nature within the park. It tends to feel like all the flowers pop, and even the sounds of squirrels and whatnots are pleasantly playing in the background. I don’t have any outside noise in my mind, and I love the focus on what matters most to me- usually it’s remembering God’s goodness, the calmness of my breathing, the joyfulness in Gamora’s step, and our glorious park coming alive.
When I’m anticipating the arrival of family or friends into my home. When my parents were alive, I especially enjoyed the times we had get togethers in our home with family and friends. This feels like a big part of my DNA. Even a friend saying they’re dropping in for a coffee, makes the time feel special and fulfilling. It doesn’t have to be a grand celebration. These days, my parents are no longer with me, and home feels so quiet every single day. That is until I know someone’s popping by. Then it feels like my home feels a sense of joy once again. I love welcoming my family and friends. The build up to their arrival is wonderful and is always a good time.
When I’m in my garden with Gamora. Little Gamora features again. After my dad’s passing in 2023, I started doing a bit more gardening. He was always the one who managed the garden, and I never felt inclined. Now, I enjoy the times I go into the garden just to water the plants and throw the ball around for Gamora. She’s so silly. All I need to say is ‘Will you help me?’ And she’s off! She’s ready to do whatever- and as I water the plants, her help includes bringing me the ball to throw for her to chase, and barking at pigeons or any other pest that tries to come into our garden. Sometimes, she stops and smells the flowers, though I worry about that one. When she does that, she also has the tendency of biting off every flower and laying it by the pot. She makes me laugh when she does that because she seems so pleased by her efforts.
When I’m working on something and it’s all coming together. This is one of the best feelings ever! When I was in legal practice, it would be when the research showed me something I needed or when an argument started to form clearly in my mind. When I taught English, it was when I fell in love with the lesson I was prepping. When I moved into corporate training, it was a similar feeling – I get so pleased with something I’ve prepped. When I’m coaching, it’s when I’m reading up on how to be a better coach or finding that I’ve been truly present with a client. That gives me such joy!
My favourite times of the day don’t depend on clocks. They depend on the heart!
23 August 2025, will be exactly two years to the day that I found my dad unresponsive. Whilst I knew instantaneously that he was gone, simply because of how cold he was to my touch, my mind kept telling me that there was faint breathing. All I needed to do was to get the ambulance in quickly and they would revive him.
None of that happened. I mean, the ambulance arrived quickly, but the paramedics pronounced his passing. The chill that I felt at that point is something I vividly remember.
Things needed to be done. A funeral had to be organised. Over here, we do it all quite quickly. Family and friends had started turning up. It was happening. My dad had passed away.
It still feels unreal. I come home from a work meeting, the park, or from just having been out, fully expectant to see him at home, probably with his nose buried in one of his Extreme Sudoku books. It would be great to just have the summary of news given to me, with the perfect amount of detail. I miss all this a lot. Every time I realise that he’s really not around, my heart breaks.
This time, there is a difference in how I’m grieving. When I lost mum, I didn’t even realise that grief had hit me that hard. I didn’t know what I was going through. I knew I was sad, but I thought it’d be a few months and I’d be over it.
I never expected the other effects alongside the grief to take hold either. Suppressed grief isn’t healthy.
Seventeen years and seven months after losing my mum, losing my dad shocked me. I didn’t expect to ever feel such pain again. I never considered that my heart could be broken that badly again.
Yet, this time, it is different. This time, I know what I’m going through. I’ve been able to get the help I need and I do exactly what I need to whenever a wave of emotions come over me. This time, my grief has a voice.
What does this mean for me? It means I’m able to show up and be present. I’ve set up a business and have been busy with that. I’ve even managed to write a book! Am waiting for the editors now. It’s so much more activity than I could previously manage.
It’s not that I miss my dad less. Not at all. I feel a deep pain when I think about him and often I have to take little moments to shed tears or sit with the pain. It hurts so much not having him here. The devastation in my home caused by his absence is obvious to me. The struggle I face planning my ins and outs with all that I need to manage is tough to deal with. Celebrations with the extended family reminds me of what I’ve lost. The coming together of friends reveals to me another change in what I shared with papa. It hurts so much. It hurts so badly.
What is different this time is that I’ve been fully aware of how present God has been with me, helping me process the implications of my loss and what they mean for me. God’s good with grief. He never rushes us through it. He lets me have my moment, and I tend to remember how Jesus wept in the times I cry.
This is a pain we were never meant to be okay with. This is a pain that God never intended for us. My thoughts inevitably go to Jesus’ death and resurrection. I believe He was the perfect sacrifice and atonement for sin. My parents believed this too. So I know I will see them again.
Taking the moments the way I have been, have helped me remember these truths. They have been so helpful. They don’t numb the pain. Rather they help me channel it through the lens of God’s sacrificial love and mercy for us.
This is why I am calmer, more accepting, and am not spiralling from this pain. The way I eventually learnt to grieve my mum, has really helped me with the loss of my dad.
Sometimes, though, as I think back, I remember too how much my dad tried to prepare me for his passing. I’d never want to discuss it, but he kept speaking about it and reminding me not to stop living. He reminded me too that one day we would all be reunited. It brings tears to my eyes as I remember him doing this.
I think my father would be proud of me – especially with the business and the book. I remember how excited he was when I first told him I wanted to write a book – just that I didn’t know what to write about! He reminded me that my mum always said I’d be able to write one.
Two years later- and the rhythm in my home is still unsettled. Gamora doesn’t have her granddad to help out when her mama needs to go out for the day. Others come to the rescue -and we are grateful. However, it is a reminder that our home is not as it was.
Two years down the road, my Lombok creeper flowers magnificently. I feel God communicating with me through this – perhaps a response to many whispered prayers about how I’ll know He’s there since papa’s not here anymore – if He lets it flower. It flowers constantly. I hold to this like a child- it’s not what is promised!
Two years ago today, I lost my entire home. My broken heart broke all over again. Thankfully, this time, I’ve been able to keep my voice. I’m thankful to God for the father He blessed me with. I will always speak of my God and the many blessings He bestowed upon me.
The sensation within was inescapable. Beads of sweat were forming on the temples of her forehead and she distinctly felt the chill of cold sweat running down her back. What could she do in this moment? Her father wasn’t breathing, or maybe it was that his breath was so faint. Of course, it was faint. Nothing else.
She grabbed her phone and called 911. The operator sounded calm and she could feel the contrast in her voice when asking for help, which was shrill and stressed. ‘My dad’s not breathing. Please send an ambulance- quickly!’ By this time, she felt her hands and feet going ice cold. Odd to be feeling cold in the middle of the heat in the tropics.
She ran back to her dad. ‘Papa, wake up!’ As she pleaded with him urgently to please wake up, she couldn’t help but notice that even with her cold hands, she could feel the iciness of his. Not a good sign.
She had called her aunt. ‘Come quick!’ She had also somehow sent out a few WhatsApp messages to her pastor and to some other friends and family. She needed someone else to come and help her. ‘Please God, please God…’ she heard herself saying as the heat from her tears stung her eyes. ‘Please God, don’t let this be happening.’ She felt exhausted and beaten. ‘Come on, papa! Come on!’
She was losing her father.’ There it was again, a distinct chill, gripping her. She was furious with herself. The stupid RA that she struggled with meant she couldn’t kneel. She needed to kneel. She knew if she attempted it, she would suffer a fall. It wasn’t the time for a taking attention away from papa. She had to be okay to do anything that was needed.
She hovered over her dad and tried to feel his breath. Nothing, but if she could only kneel, she was sure she would catch the faintness of his breath. ‘Hold on, papa. The ambulance is on its way. Hold on… please. Oh God, oh God…’ She felt the need to do more. Maybe she should rub papa’s hands. Yes. The warmth would help make him feel better. She took his hand in hers, noticing again the icy feel to them. She would warm them. She rubbed his hands with all the energy she could muster. That would definitely help.
Her pastor called. She answered his call. ‘Can you get a pulse?’ She tried to get a pulse again. ‘I can’t feel anything,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘It’s too faint. Even his breathing is very faith.’ She couldn’t hear his reply because her voice kept repeating in her head – ‘it’s faint, it’s faint. oh God, please let it be faint.’ She couldn’t remember how the call ended.
She knew she wanted to keep the line free in case the ambulance drivers needed directions. A momentary stress hit her. The recent changes in road names and how areas were being reassigned meant that her address wasn’t always clearly picked up by the GPS. ‘Oh God, please let that not happen. If they get here early, they can revive him.
Why is he so cold?’ She resumed the rubbing of his hands and moved to his feet as well. He was ice cold, and his skin refused to warm up. ‘Come on papa… come on…hold on.’
She kept beating down the rising dread. No, she wouldn’t give in. The ambulance guys would revive him They would revive him. Surely, they would. They would come and they would make it okay. He may need to be in hospital for oxygen. ‘Oh God, oh God…help.’ She knew she would do whatever it took to nurse him back to health.
Just two months prior, they’d celebrated his nineth birthday. It’d all been so wonderful and beautiful. They were surrounded by family and friends. He’d been so happy. He’d felt loved and there was a sense of satisfaction being celebrated that way. ‘Oh papa, please don’t do this. Just open your eyes a little, please!’ She almost screamed that out.
The tension in her voice was clear. She called 911 again. ‘The ambulance is on its way, miss. Can you get a pulse?’ Why did everyone keep asking her about a pulse? She only knew how the pulse was taken from watching TV. Half the time those types of things weren’t accurate.
‘Papa is breathing faintly. Faint – but breathing. That became her mantra. He was breathing. He was. They will revive him. Oh God. oh God…help. I better open the gate so they can come in.’ Yes, she needed to have everything in place so that there’d be no hurdles for the paramedics.
She loathed to leave her dad even for a second, but she needed to be brave and do this. No delays for the ambulance guys. Smooth the way. She opened the gate and left everything wide open. They knew to come in straight away.
As she turned to walk in, she could see her aunt and some neighbours arriving. ‘I think he’s breathing but very faint. Very faint.’ Her voice sounded unconvincing to her. Never mind, they would see what she meant. They would confirm that the paramedics would revive him.
If only she had heard him go down. If only she had been there at that moment, his breathing wouldn’t have got so faint. ‘Oh God… please, help. Let him be okay.’
The ambulance arrived as she was walking back into the house with her aunt and neighbours. She saw them jump out of the ambulance with a few things in hand. ‘Good,’ she thought. They would revive him. ‘Bapa di dalam bilik. Masuk terus, cepat, cepat.’ She heard herself calling out to the guys in Malay, just in case they didn’t speak English well. ‘My dad’s in the room. Just go inside, quick, quick.’ She ran in behind them. They were going to revive him.
She felt a sense of relief that they’d got there so quickly. She’d need to go with them in the ambulance. She wanted to be with papa all the way. Instinctively, she grabbed her purse and phone. She would need that. ‘Thank you, God. They’re going to revive him. They’re going to …’
She noticed her neighbour shaking his head. Why? They were going to revive papa. She felt the chill return. A strong dread gripped her. Her hands were so cold and she was alive. Papa’s breathing was faint. They would revive him. Surely. ‘Oh God, oh God, help.’ Why was there no rush. The paramedics should be dashing out with him. They needed to get him to the hospital.
Another chill came over her body. Her knees felt weak and she was desperate to sit down. She looked over at her aunt, a sense of confusion, worry, and pain hitting her at once. Why were there tears running down her aunt’s face? What was going on? Why weren’t the ambulance guys rushing papa to the hospital? ‘I’m so sorry…,’ and with that her aunt burst into sobs.
Her neighbour stood by papa and put his hand on papa’s hands. Finally, someone was trying to warm papa’s hands! Finally. ‘I’m sorry for you…,’ her neighbour had turned his face towards her. She couldn’t understand all that was being said to her. What was with all the hushed tones?
The chill she felt intensified. The paramedic walked up to her. He was saying something but she couldn’t understand. She took the pen he handed her and signed the document he placed before her. Her world had just crashed.
Grace for the soul 