MY FAVOURITE PEOPLE

[My dad & sister, 1997]

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I have been staring at my phone all day. To be honest, I really do not know how to act right now. As it stands I have exhausted all my options and now I'm just hoping for the best. If that doesn't happen, well I'm preparing my mind for the worst. Writing has become my only means of escape from this harsh reality that confronts me. It is becoming such a bore emphasising on the same issues over and over again. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever overgrown this phase. I examine some of the challenges I have had to face in the last ten years of my life and they are along the same line. Are there still lessons to learn in pain?

I am happy for the fact that I'm fighting for my father's life. If only I had put my fear and shame aside and fought for my sister's life maybe she would still around. I'm beguiled by guilt. Today will will mark 1 year 11 months since she departed. With my father current condition...do I have another impending loss? Unlike my sister's case where I cried and begged that God should take her away because I couldn't bear the pain I saw her withstand. It was too much for my heart.

Reminisce

After about a decade of occurring every space in my father's heart as the only child came my competition. I remember my father coming home that evening with this little baby wrapped in white clothing, I asked, "What is this?" I can't remember what he said but I think it was something along this line: "hey son, this is your sister, now love her," and I did just that.

I remember the freshly scent of her palms, it's softness; her tiny fingers gripping my thumb--that was the first really connection I had to someone else.

My sister wasn't like any other child I knew. She couldn't walk or talk but she had the craziest smile and laugh. Though handicapped from birth, she was bursting with energy, even her condition could not stop her.

I remember how my dad chastised me for not looking after her properly. Loving my sister came with extra obligations my six year old self could not bear. Instead of playing soccer with my friends I had to feed her; instead of watching my favourite cartoon I had to keep close watch on her so she didn't fall off her chair. I will admit, I harboured a hidden resentment for her. I got infuriated whenever she cried because I could not understand her pain--what she was going through was a mystery to everyone.

At some point we all neglected her. She was living in the shadows, alone in her room. It was 18 years of nothing and when people talked about purpose I wonder what hers was until she fell sick and then I understood that having something, no matter how broken or distorted is far more better than having nothing.

I wonder if she is looking down on me right now, seeing all that is unfolding. Does she pity me? Does she want her favourite person in the world to join her? At least she would have someone to talk to. Or is this life a pointless rigmarole where nothing exist after this so called life. It would be a brutal realisation, that one cannot redress the unfairness of life or ask important questions like: what's the point of life? If we are living to die and die not exist, what is the point? I don't need answers now, I'm too hurt to understand. This numbness and indifference in this time of trouble rattles me.

I have tried to evaluate my reason for being and I came to the conclusion that my family is the only thing worth living for in this life. I do not care so much about any other thing. But I do not want this love to choke me like it already is; I do not want to be miserable because I have to watch the people I love suffer lowly and painfully. First it was my sister, now I'm watching my father go through something similar. Will there be anything worth living for if they--the people I care about-- are all gone before I achieve anything?