What Christmas Means to Me

 

{image credit: Flip And Style}

Honestly, Christmas last year was easiest - despite it being the first one without PohPoh around. I was more than happy to not celebrate and keep it all low-key.

This year, however, I thought it wouldn't be fair for the kids to not experience all the joy I experienced as a kid during the Christmas season. So we put up a little tree, I proudly let them decorate it by themselves ( after I fixed the lighting, first, complete with lots of tiny shouts and screams). I'm quite happy I managed to let go on decorating the tree and making sure it looks perfect. It turned out pretty great, the kids are natural decorators! Unfortunately, I decided a little too late to work on any DIY Christmas crafts with the kids. Looking forward to next year for that.

What I remember mostly during Christmas time when I was young : mostly hanging out (playing) at my grandparents' house (they had a bungalow house and a spacious land all around the house), decorating the 7- or 8-foot tree (it was a job for the cousins), lots of sleepover nights at the grandparents', and baking pies and cookies, at least one new piece of clothing (for Christmas eve midnight mass), and the wait for midnight on the Eve to open our presents (I can't remember all the presents I got, but I always felt so lucky to get them).

When I find myself alone with my thoughts about Christmas, they just go (read: RUN) directly to PohPoh and then I'm all sad and nostalgic about the past. I came across a post on social media about what the person remembered about Christmas when they were young; and it wasn't the Christmas presents - it was the smell of the kitchen coming from the baking and cooking, and just all the people that were gathered around. And that is exactly what I remember too. PohPoh would always make sure to bake some cookies and pineapple tarts, at least two chicken stew pies, roast a turkey or pork or chicken, and some more cookies. My Grandpa was always so eager to make those pineapple tarts. He would buy pineapples and just sit there and cook the slices (or cubes?) of pineapple for a whole day. They had to come to a sticky texture. He made his own little stove using bricks and some charcoal and wood (I think), sit on a tiny stool and keep an eye on the pineapple pieces cooking. It was like a ritual for him, tradition. His two falls slowed him down, but my Mum and aunties continued the tradition, but they would buy ready-made pineapple jam. Damn, I miss him. 

Christmas as you see in the ads, in the pictures, they're all full of smiles. Behind the scenes though, it's just full-on stress and everyone getting on each other's nerves. But all that has to happen so that the smiles can be seen, 24th December onwards ☺ Christmas, as I gladly took for granted when I was a kid, will not be the same ever again. But that's life. People grow up, grow old, and all that jazz. Not having the cousins around this year is definitely making it a little bit more strange. But I am grateful and thankful I have my parents, my brother and his family, and my aunts and godpa+godma around to celebrate with.

I was just remembering the time of Christmas 2018 - our last one with PohPoh - when we were in my godpa's home, where we always spend Christmas, ever since PohPoh and Grandpa got older and their kids decided they didn't want to add more pressure on them to host the whole family on Christmas; but I secretly think they would have loved to continue hosting it in their house because they get to see everyone coming to see them in their home, visiting and staying over. Anyway, back to 2018 Christmas time, Zoe was 6 months old and started eating some porridge (or blended veggies and stuff), and I was occupied with her and hadn't had time for a shower, breakfast or just a coffee. PohPoh volunteered to help feed her while I found some time for all that. And I thank my brain at that moment because I decided I had to take a photo of her feeding my baby. I'm sad Zoe didn't get more time with PohPoh, but I can show her that photo so she knows that PohPoh loved her too.

I will need more practice with continuing some of the traditions PohPoh started (or followed from her elders). Slowly but surely. 

I could choose to be sad and gloomy every Christmas. Or I could ask myself "What would PohPoh do?" and kick my own butt off the floor and strive to make each Christmas a memorable one for the family. She has dealt with so much, pain and loss, but she was always there for her family; her kids, her grandkids, her great-grandkids. I think making each Christmas great would be a better way to honor the memories of my grandparents. They would definitely prefer to have a wild one instead of a quiet, piece-of-crap holiday. I'd love to make memories for the kids for when they grow up. Nobody would remember the presents they received (at least not every single one), but they would remember the fun they had, the joy and the delicious food, the smell and the sights.

Here's to doing better. And fuck Covid.

peace+love

Another Year Goes By

Ah, progress! Only one year has passed since my last post.

I thought I'd record this down here. Just a little something about my PohPoh.

So the other day I was calling my Mum and no answer. Then I called Dad, and unfortunately he was not able to answer my call. Then I got into the mood to just talk to someone on a phone call and the next person I thought of: Pohpoh. (It caught me off guard a bit. A bit of a surprise, that it just came up like that.)

But I couldn't call her. Although her phone number is still on my top 5 call list. (Before she passed, she was on the top of that list.) Then it all starts coming back.

All the phone call sessions we had. Because she would always be calling me, at least every other day. If I don't hear from her after 3 days of silence, I'd call her. She would fill me in on what my parents were up to, updates on my brother, what my aunts were up to, anything that our family in Seremban were doing.

Then I remember the last phone call I had with her. Just about 2 or 3 days before she would pass away. I called her, asking her how to cook the perfect 'chuk' (as she would always call it) or porridge. She sounded fine, but her hearing has been going down for a while now, maybe under a year. I just had to speak a little clearer and louder sometimes, that's all. Other than that, she was happy to talk for a bit and I thanked her and went on to make porridge for the kids. I think Joel or Mia was having a fever or flu, which called for the porridge to help. Then a day later (if I remember correctly), my Dad is calling me to tell me she suffered a stroke and is in the hospital.

Today, I was looking for a thermos (hot water flask) and I got reminded about the time I bought PohPoh a new flask because I noticed her current one was so old and falling apart. She was surprised and that made me happy because I love surprises (for me and others). And then I remember that I miss her painfully. So many instances where I would love to have her weigh in on some choices I'd had to make. So many get-togethers I missed or passed on, because I didn't want to go through the drive to Seremban just for a dinner.

And I feel so terrible that I don't miss my Grandpa as much. He was such a rock, a superman for me and my cousins. We were so lucky to have them as grandparents. They just loved us too much, unconditionally. Seeing them before their passing was a bit traumatizing for me. I'm still grateful that I have this memory as a reminder to myself; to try to do the right thing, to check my priorities. They are gone, up in Heaven and in no pain finally. I'm still here. So I'm going to do my best in honoring their memory, while still grieving them. Because the grief doesn't go away and that is okay. It reminds me to say a short prayer for their souls, reminds me of their love for me and mine for them.

x

D

On Grief

[Sidenote: Wow, 2 years away from writing. Not great, definitely. But hope I can start writing here again a little more consistently. I'm aiming for once a week. OK, once fortnight. Lest my anxiety kicks in with unnecessary pressure. Also, this one's gonna be a long-ass read]

As the title of this entry suggests, I lost someone very dear and precious to me early this year. My maternal grandmother. I called her Pohpoh but she also goes by Maria Chin or Chin Yoon Nyong, depending on her mood. I'd wanted to write here, to get my thoughts out on "paper" for so long, but couldn't bring myself to share it on the internet. I guess I'm just about ready to do that now. I did write in my physical journal, with messy handwriting due to eyes being blurred by tears.

Just because I'm ready now, doesn't mean that I'm not still grieving. This is just a way for me to remember her and remember how I felt and thought about this.

I had lost my Grandpa (also on my mother's side) about 6 years ago; and it was really tough to get used to not having him around. I wasn't used to visiting my Pohpoh at their home without him being there, it felt different. Alien. And I think from then on, I wasn't so excited about visiting at my grandparents' house so much, for a while at least. I didn't even think about how Pohpoh would have felt at that time. I was actually just getting used to his absence last year. And then Pohpoh left in January.

Looking back, I was definitely brought up with too much love and devotion that I'd gotten spoiled and not cared about how others must feel. How lucky I was - and still am, to this day. Because I'm still being spoiled by my parents (62 and 67 years of age). They still buy stuff for me, for my 3 kids. They let me drop the kids off for a week so I can have a break. Me. Like they are on a perpetual holiday the rest of the time (no, they're not; because they're both still working on their on volition).

I realize my thoughts are all over the place. From Pohpoh, to Grandpa, to my parents. They are my rock. Even though Grandpa and Pohpoh are no longer around, just thinking of them makes me able to go through my day.

When I was much younger, in my teens probably, when I could actually start thinking about life and death, I decided and made a deal with the higher power that my Grandpa and Pohpoh would never leave (never die) because I just couldn't imagine living in a world without them in it. Whenever the thought of them dying came to me, I would instantly brush it off and tell myself it would never happen. I was more than happy to leave first, really. There's that selfish streak in me. Just so I won't have to go through the pain of losing the people I love.

I don't know but it's different with Pohpoh. I guess I was much closer to her. She would always worry about me, and all of us cousins and her own sons and daughters and their spouses too. Every day she thinks about each of us and prays for us, including my husband too. I can always expect her call at least once a week. Sometimes it goes up to 3 times a week. Sometimes I am the one who calls her. And if she doesn't hear from me for more than 3 or 4 days, she will call and drop the hint that I was being an asshole for not calling for so long. She was constantly giving her stuff to me, sometimes buying stuff for me and the family, things we might need or are in need of.

She was so selfless, just constantly thinking about others and how she can help everybody. But don't cross her, because she won't forget it and then you're off her list. Her phone number is still in my phone. It's under 'Favorites' together with my parents' because it was being used so frequently. Every day, something is bound to remind me of her. A bowl or cup that she gave me. A scarf, my rice cooker (that she insisted on buying, about 7 years ago) that I still use.

I could go on and on and it will be TMI town.

I found this while reading A Cup of Jo :

"Rather often I am asked whether the grief remains as intense as when I wrote. The answer is, No. The wound is no longer raw. But it has not disappeared. That is as it should be. If he was worth loving, he is worth grieving over.

Grief is existential testimony to the worth of the one loved. That worth abides. So I own my grief. I do not try to put it behind me, to get over it, to forget it… Every lament is a love-song."

-from 'Lament for a Son' by Nicholas Wolterstorff

Nicholas W. just said exactly what I feel. I love it. It applies perfectly for how I feel about losing Pohpoh. I can't begin to imagine what it's like for my mother to lose her mother, her #1 confidant. I know she has her way of dealing with her grief and I respect her for it. What makes me feel better is knowing that Pohpoh will always be with me, in my heart, a little voice inside to help me go through the day or make me laugh (when I remember some of her dirty jokes). I love her and miss her so much, every day. It was really bad (maybe still is, a little bit) trying to get used to the idea of her not being around.

Christmas was bad after losing Grandpa, never the same. Christmas this year will be really bad. But we will still gather to honor her and her delicious cooking filled with so much love. I'm so lucky she was around to meet all 3 of my kids. I'm so thankful for the time I got to spend with her. I do have regrets - not having spent enough time with her after starting my own family, not being there with her in the hospital when she breathed her last. These are still there, sitting on my shoulders. I'm just going to have to try (somehow) to forgive myself - when I'm ready. It's not easy, so I'm not going to force myself into it. Let's see how it goes.

I am still going on with my life with my family and friends. For now, it seems like they're all distractions from what I need to work on with my life. But I don't mind it. For now.

x,

D

The Wonder of Amy Krouse Rosenthal

I just came across this account on Instagram, while browsing for illustrators to get in touch with for Kismet. It just blew me away.
I was looking at the artist Sophie Blackall's Instagram account and clicked on one of her pictures. She drew an elephant (I love elephants) with the initials 'A.K.R.' and then I read the caption; it was about someone (I just breezed past the name) and somehow I had the impression that this person has passed away and Sophie did this in memory of this person. And the rest is history. And here I am, writing about this amazing thing I just experienced. By just going through an Instagram account.

The Instagram account belonged to Amy Krouse Rosenthal, a prolific author for children and adults. She was fighting cancer and lost her battle early this year. Two months before that, she started a little project of her own, to post a photo everyday of something she made or whatever that was on her mind that she wanted to talk about. She named it Project 1,2,3 and wanted to do it for 123 days. She stopped at Day 61.

After that, her daughter Paris decides to continue her mother's project all the way to Day 123, by sharing anything about her mother that was important to her. And through Paris did I learn the amazing character that is Amy K Rosenthal. Amy has created many precious memories for her children (2 boys and 1 girl); individually and as a unit. From what I read about her through the words of her daughter, Amy was a source of brightness and love to all. The little things and little practices that she comes up with - just amazes me! She has 3 children and somehow she managed to have a special bond with each of them individually. The kind of stories Amy's daughter shares, it's heart-wrenching. It's really amazing to know how your little gestures of love can change or shape someone's way of life.

It just made me realize how important it is for us to record little moments because it may seem like nothing much now, but years later these little things are what we will hold on to, what we will look for, just for the sake of looking back.

Joel is going to be 3 in September and already I'm finding myself trying to look back, trying to remember how it was when he was just one. There are so many things he did and said (only a handful of words or syllables) at that age that I can't recall already, because I didn't always write in my journal or take a photo. And it's quite sad because when he grows up, he won't remember all of this, at least the first 5 years, and it's up to me to 'record' these memories for him to look back upon when he's older.

Amy Krouse Rosenthal has definitely inspired me to become a better person. I can't get over all the little things she did for her family, especially about leaving little notes and poems around the house for them to find and read and ponder over. I think in order to have done that, one must already be firm with who they are and what their purpose is on earth. Amy knew what she wanted to do and she did exactly that and that's why she led a life full of love and happiness all around her.

x,

D

Himachal Pradesh

Very early on, I decided I wouldn't travel to India. There are a few reasons as to how I came to this decision. And recently I decided I might just add it to my list of must-visit places. Only two reasons (so far) that changed my mind: The Darjeeling Limited and this retreat called Vaatalya in Himachal Pradesh, a state in northern India.

breathtaking photos taken from Vaatalya's Instagram

x,

D