The dominant thought, focus, theme of my every waking moment is my Sinnavan.

I think of her. And, I think of her. I don’t want to. Seriously, I don’t. I don’t want to be sad and tearful. But I can’t help myself. Even when I’m doing things to keep my mind from thinking about her, I’m back to thinking about her. What to do my Sinnavan?

It’s so hard. It’s so sad.

My Sinnavan was a wonderful sister, yes, in the past tense and how sad is that? She was also an all-round good and kind-hearted human being. Of course, she had her share of faults. Who doesn’t?

But it was her genuinely endearing and well-intentioned qualities that more than made up for her flaws. For me, she gave too much to everyone, which sometimes came across as overwhelming.  And, it was only because she was too loving, caring, nurturing, kind, and generous to a fault. Yes, really.

She showered her love abundantly. She was affectionate; hugs and kisses were aplenty. She was verbally expressive. She was encouraging and never reticent in heaving praise on family and friends. She absolutely glowed in everyone else’s successes and achievements.

She was inherently nurturing. She said many times that when we were growing up in Alor Setar, she looked after me, and I was like a daughter to her. There’s a nine-year age gap between us. I suppose when you are little, that seems like a lot of years. And, that carried through to our adult life. We grew into best friends. We just got along. Yes, we had little tiffs, now and then, but we didn’t stay upset with each other for long.

All through, she remained nurturing, loving and caring. I’ve always felt she was in my corner but she actually fought my corner when I was most vulnerable. And, for that, I remain forever grateful to her. And now, she’s no more. I’ve lost my sister, my ally, and my confidante.

She was the one I spoke to every day. I knew her routine, and plans. I knew her friends and people she came in contact with. And yet, she never told me about her ovarian cysts.

Anyways, Monday, Wednesday and Friday were her swimming days. A sport she loved dearly. She did the backstroke and front crawl expertly. Last year, during her visit for our mum’s first year anniversary, she was in her element in the warmer waters of the outdoor pool at the family gathering, and brother number 2’s birthday celebration in a mountain-view glass house outside KL.

At Mangala, where she and I had a holiday, she swam in the resort’s infinity pool as the sun set. She also rode a bicycle, which she said she hadn’t done in many years. At my condo, she waited until midday for the pool to warm up. It was a lament but swam she did as often as she could as it helped with her rheumatoid arthritis, and kept her active. 

She was happiest swimming, next only to gardening. She told me how much she enjoyed being in the garden. It was her happy place. She sat on a little stool while she dug, cleared and planted. She treasured her flowers, plants and her pear trees. Pears, she brought home for our mum.

On Thursdays, she and brother-in-law number 3, worked as volunteer gardeners at Danson Park, whenever weather, health and appointments, permitted. She said laughingly that her local surgery and her Befrienders’ group were acting in concert to scupper her gardening plans as the surgery’s patient meetings and her Befrienders’ gathering were also held on Thursdays.

And, she was generous to a fault. She cared for her husband, who became wheel-chair bound, not long after they were married. She organised his medicines, hospital appointments, meals, and their social gatherings and holidays. She was also a Befriender, who took an interest and got involved in the lives of the elderly ladies she was assigned to.

She was overindulgent, of others. I was afraid to acknowledge that I liked anything for fear that she’d buy too many of everything – cakes, chocolates and all things sweet. She has many times. And, she was like that with everyone. She was the only person I knew, who made it her personal mission to buy things, mostly presents, to meet and/or surpass the baggage limit of every airline she flew on. Her attire, meanwhile, comprised no more than three blouses and pants for her holiday at home. Yes, really.

She’d also cook and bake, invite friends, and thank them for coming over. A natural in the kitchen, she’d whip something up as if it was par for the course. It was her nature to feed people, and feed them well.

I could go on. My Sinnavan was a character and a half. What to do now…