My life has not been quite the same since 26^th April. Not since my Sinnavan passed.

Yes, I’m still here. Alive. Carrying on with whatever I do every day. Planning. Scheduling. Going places. Doing stuff. Keeping busy. All of that.

I know I must live my life the best I can with and for the people I love and care for. I also know I’m not getting any younger (big sigh only because of my increasingly achy, creaky bones) so I should remember to appreciate and enjoy the here and now, just in case there’s not much remaining of the ‘there and the not-so thereafter.’

I’ve been told and advised that I need to look forward, think about the living and learn to be less attached. I agree and I’m trying.  

But it just doesn’t feel the same anymore. I’m not, not happy. I’m not, not sad either. If that makes much sense. There is an underlying feeling of melancholy that I find hard to shake off. Trust me when I say, I don’t want to feel this way. It’s not nice. And, I’m trying.

I felt like this when my mum passed. My heart was broken. At the time, I remember my Sinnavan telling me that she was told, rather matter-of-factly, that hearts don’t break. Not physically, yes.

However, the despair, devastation and pain I felt in my heart felt like it was breaking/broken. I made light of the comment by saying that my heart was like Humpty Dumpty. There’s no putting me together again. Humpty Dumpty is back with my Sinnavan gone.

The point is I felt the way I did, and feel the way I do because of the closeness and depth of the relationships. With my mum, I’ve known her all my life, and I’ve loved her all my life. There was no question about my feelings for her. It was simple and straightforward. And, I was with her, practically all the time, particularly in her latter years.

With my Sinnavan, there was a bond between her and me from the time I was young that carried through our adult lives. Although only nine years older than me, she took care of me when I was very little.

I have many fond memories of her. Of her feeding me, while we sat on the steps of our house in Alor Setar. Of her taking me to the dentist on her bicycle, and me getting my foot caught in the wheel. Of her defending me. Of the two us watching ‘Sound of Music’, and eating ourselves silly.

Of her buying ‘Nyonya kueh’ or cakes very early in the morning from a mobile cake vendor, who used to bang on the backdoor to get her attention. Of her giving tuition to earn pocket money. Of her driving my dad’s Peugeot. Of her in her two braided pigtails when she was very young.

Of her when she was working at St Barts in London. Of us when we revisited the hospital during one of my recent visits. It rained and the wind blew up both our umbrellas. Of her when she came to care for our mum. Of her and her food-laden shopping bags. Of her genuine enthusiasm and her quick-draw cooking abilities.

Of her riding a bicycle when we went to Mangala Resort, and commenting she hadn’t ridden one in many years. Of her and my mum wearing Santa hats for Christmas 2021. Of us both lying side by side with brother number 1 at his home, shortly before he passed.

Of her watching ‘kuppa’ or rubbish Tamil movies. Of her at brother number 2’s birthday with all the family. Of us playing games and having a really happy time despite a power failure.  

Thinking, remembering, writing. Things I see and associate with her. Conversations I have about her. Relevant, irrelevant, consequential, inconsequential things that trigger and make me sad and tearful.

I’m making a real effort to not get drawn or consumed into that web of sadness. I chide myself. Sometimes I find myself physically shaking my head to stop.

Sometimes I have to literally squeeze my eyes shut and prevent my tear ducts from raining tears. I’ve learnt the technique of pooling renegade tears in my eyes, which smarts, and stopping them from spilling down my face. It’s hard work but it works, most times.

All said, I want to talk about my Sinnavan. I want to share stories about her. I want to laugh at her antics and weirdness. I want to keep remembering her. Without feeling sad. Yes, without wallowing. Without feeling deprived of her being and presence. Without getting angry and upset.

I want to remind myself that she is in a better place, free from expectations and obligations. I want to feel and be happy for my Sinnavan. I want to…