I know feeling sad doesn’t help. I know my Sinnavan is not coming back. Nothing is going to change anything; however, I feel. I know all that.

And yet … it’s hard not to feel sad. Hard not to feel that sense of tragic loss. That ‘never being able to see, speak and spend time with her again’ devastating feeling.

Trust me, I don’t want to be sad. Being unhappy and morose is no good to anybody, least of all, me. Being sad is tiring. It depletes me of energy. All I want to do is sit and wallow, and do nothing. Which is the opposite of what I should be doing.  

And, it’s not nice for my husband, who, to be fair, patiently listens to me talk, reminisce and cry about sister number 3. He understands what I’m going through. Having gone through it with me, particularly, for my mum, and brother number 1. I don’t want to be a sobby sod. I don’t. I also don’t want to be angry at people. I don’t want any of the negative stuff.

What to do. I’m working on it. Yes, really.

I tell myself it’s alright to think and remember my Sinnavan. I’ve so many happy, funny, quirky memories of her and with her. Memories that I should freely revisit and treasure, however many times I feel like. And, write about, if I wish.

For instance, when she was home caring for our mum, she’d walk to K Avenue and KLCC, the closest shopping malls from where we live, to shop and/or get food. Sometimes, I walked with her and sometimes, she went on her own.  

Her solo trips invariably involved lugging heavy bags, on both shoulders, stuffed with stuff. For lunch, there always was a smorgasbord of food. Her signature was variety and choices. Single portions or single offerings did not cut it for her. Anyone who knew her, knows that about her. She loved serving up a wide variety of food and desserts. She was innately generous to a fault.

For me for sure, there were at least two slices of cakes, and doughnuts. Krispy Kreme’s 6-pack was a regular occupant in our mum’s fridge. Thankfully, she’d also get herself Nyonya ‘kuihs,’ noodles or rice that she liked. Or she shared with our mum, the buffet of vegetable dishes, dhal, and rice that she had cooked that morning. Cooking was ’easy, peasy’ for her. She’d cook three to four vegetable dishes, a dhal or tamarind curry and rice for lunch. And, prep ‘idli’ or ‘tosai’ for dinner like it was par for the course, which was the case in her case.

She was ambidextrous, and expertly used both her right and left hands to speed cook and bake. I think this might also explain her speed knitting, and general Speedy Gonzales traits. I didn’t know this. Apparently, only about 1% of the global population is truly ambidextrous, meaning they have complete, balanced control of both sides of the body. I’m not sure about my Sinnavan’s other body parts, but her left and right hands functioned equally well.

Back to my cakes. Because she carried so many things on her, the paper cake box, especially the thinner ones without partitions/compartments for each cake, at times, got squashed. The frosting sometimes sat on the underside of the lid or elsewhere and not on top of the slices of cake where they should have sat. The cakes appeared a tad less visually appealing.  

She told me this. The exhaustion from carting heavy shopping, walking, albeit a short distance, compounded by the mid-day heat made her, on several occasions, want to chuck her purchases the minute she entered my mum’s condo. Which might’ve been the other reason for the bent-out-of-shape cake boxes and cakes😊.

I understood the sentiment as I too did the lunch run. Hot, bothered and irritable, I’ve felt like throwing whatever I had on me onto the floor, strip and get some relief from my mum’s air-conditioner. The silly thing was it never occurred to me or my Sinnavan to switch on the air-conditioner when we left so that we were welcomed by the much needed cool air when we returned.

I’m also remembering. The many times when I’ve wanted to share with her a news, a funny happening, that only she and I would appreciate. I cannot anymore.

Just like it was with my mum, when she passed. Many a times, I had forgotten and wanted to say or relate something to my mum.  But … at least back then, I had my Sinnavan to share it with. There were so many things/happenings that she, my mum and I were privy to. I’ve lost both of them now.

I’m remembering. I’m writing. And, I’m consciously telling myself aloud to not get sad or tearful. I’m trying… I’m working on it.