Life Journal

Sunday, May 26, 2019

Death

On Sunday, we talk about Death.

Now, some of you may have already known that I lost my dad when I was six so the topic of “Death” is never really foreign to me. I mean, it is a weird if not a sensitive subject to talk about but it’s not new. I was taught what it meant at a young age and am constantly reminded of it by the deaths of other family members and relatives.

                Death came to visit when I was six

                He was a gentleman,

                Or so they said.

                He came knocking after midnight

                But no one heard him

                So He walked through the door

                And took what was his.

                I couldn’t resent Death

                For it was his duty

                After all,

                It was Life’s promised gift.

                I see Death again as I grow up

                Twice when I was ten

                Then again when I was seventeen

                I guess He really loved my family

                Or maybe He likes hanging around me.

                People keep telling me Death is mean

                But He couldn’t be, right?

                Because then it wouldn’t be fair

                He took away my dad.

That was actually the original version of My Best Friend. It is just me talking about how familiar and close the subject of Death is to me, eventhough I am not the best when it comes to handling it. I remember in primary school I didn’t have to go through the whole ‘what do your parents do for a living’ from teachers because my mum works there. People knew her, they knew the story, they knew not to ask and for some reason, so did my classmates. Or at least I don’t remember them asking.

But in secondary school, it was very normal for people to ask that when they first met you. I hated it. I hate having to tell people that I have lost my father because of that regretful look on their face, the pity, I hate having to be the cause of that. People don’t have to pity me, it’s not their fault for asking. It’s a very basic question, I get it. And I also get that I can’t stop people from feeling bad about it, it’s very natural but it’s just so uncomfortable to see that look on people’s face. Which was why I used to lie. I would answer the question in a very ‘as-a-matter-of-fact’ way, as if he was alive. And it was a lot easier in Malay because I don’t have to refer to him in past tense. But, down the line it got awkward having to explain everything when the cat’s out of the bag.

Anyways, I don’t do that anymore. People can feel however they want to feel about my answer but I hope they know they don’t have to feel sorry for asking. I’ve had thirteen years of practice, it’s not that big of a deal anymore to me.

Which is a very sad thing to say.

I’m not gonna lie, Death sucks. It changes a lot of things and for me, I didn’t realize it until I got older and am looking back at my life. I didn’t know what difference it makes to live without a father, until the difference is presented right in front of me. Needless to say, my mum did one hell of a job raising me and my brothers because it never felt like I lack something. I have enough food, enough money and more than enough love from a single mother.

But I, being the ungrateful brat that I am, sometimes wish that I have more. More time with my dad, more love, more memories of him.

                I have nothing

                But cold pictures

                Staring lifelessly at me.

                I have nothing

                But old stories

                They repeated to me.

                I lost you

                Completely

                When they took you away from me.

                I miss you

                With all I have

                Of your memories.

                And I have none.

                Why do I have none?

                I loved you

                That much is true

                But you’re too dead to me.

My favourite quote from Perks of being a Wallflower is “I wish I knew. It might make me miss him more clearly. It might have made sad sense,” because I felt that. I wish I knew my dad a little longer. It might make me miss him more clearly now that I know who he was. Now that I know how to miss him. It might have made sense where all of this sadness is coming from because how can I miss someone I never really knew?

Being that young when someone passes away does take a lot from you. Death does not only rip that person away from you, but it also rips away the memories, little by little, that by the time you are old enough to acknowledge the pain, you’re left with blurry anecdotes that you’ve been telling yourself and other people over and over again just to keep that tiniest little piece of that person alive. But love, by that time, he’s already too dead.

And that shit’s painful. Because it tastes like guilt and the after taste lingers around and haunts you like nothing else. I say I love my dad, but do I really? How can I? I barely knew him. I was a kid. I say I miss him, but how can I? What do I miss him by?

I know that it’s not my fault, or anybody’s for all that matters, and that it happens because of God’s Will. And I can’t blame God.

The point of this entry is not for pity. You know by now I don’t enjoy it. I just want to talk about something I don’t usually do because of how awfully it sits in my heart.

But I guess the whole point of writing everything down is to just give one advice; If you love someone, keep them alive in your heart. Because there will come a point when that is all you have of them and losing that is all too painful to bear.

-Nik.