Story 1
My brother, sister-in-law and I had just returned home from the movies, and we were sharing jokes as we walked towards the elevator, completely absorbed in our maniacal bubble of hyena laughs, arms aflailing in the execution of our comedy. My brother’s cellphone rang. It was Mum sounding very urgent, telling us to get home quickly, and she wouldn’t say why. The atmosphere in the car on the journey home was thick with tension, one could slice it with a knife. The mixture of emotions, mostly fear, could be seen in everyone’s faces, yet nobody uttered a word. Each was lost in his and her world of unanswered questions which the other person was not a privy to.
We reached home to the sight of a very familiar car parked at the entrance. In retrospect, what we had probably felt was demeaning to the truth of the matter. We knew what we were to find out wouldn’t be as bad as we thought, and we were relieved, only for the selfish reason that whatever bad news that would be, it would be worse for the bearer than it would be for us. A close family friend was in the living room, his face white as sheet. His son had gone missing for two days – but they’ve found him now.
His 20-year old son had woken up, kissed his Mum goodbye and left home to sit for a university exam at 7 in the morning. Two days later, they found his car by the Penang bridge, car keys, wallet and personal items neatly arranged on the front seat. He had jumped off…
Story 2
Walking down the hills from afternoon tutorial, I remembered being on very high spirits. It was a Thursday, the last day of classes. I had made plans to go with some friends to Coles for late night grocery shopping, and end it with a 3-movie marathon at Chadstone Shopping Mall with a quick dash to the Pancake Parlour. I knew I was on high spirits because I walked. I had a much beloved lime green automatic 5-door Honda Civic, which I called “Morsche” – hundred per cent Porsche to me – and the uncountable number of friends who’ve jumped in the back for endless rides. And I’m such a Morsche fan, that I refuse to walk if I can drive, no matter how ridiculously short the distance unless I’m feeling extraordinarily happy and high spirited.
I got back to my room in Richardson Hall, flung my Country Road duffle and was just about to switch the TV on, when someone knocked. I had a call on the landing extension.
My childhood friend’s voice rang in my ears. She was trembling, her words slow and soft, every other word made even more inaudible by her tears. She had just made plans to be engaged to her boyfriend, news which I was ecstatic about as their relationship was not plain sailing. But things had to change. Her father had passed away three days ago, and her mother and other family members have decided that she had to end the relationship…
Story 3
I was at the office, painfully trying to lessen my workload which had crept up unnoticed like an irritating pimple. I know I was no longer paying attention to the 5-day turnaround time, something which I once prided myself in the ability to set the benchmark and complete successfully. I had other matters of concern. I had met a girl through a chance meeting with some friends, and in a short period of time, she had turned to be a dear acquaintance. An acquaintance who equally has a wicked sense of humour, a demented way of looking at things, and thinks nothing of paying RM450 for a top, which truthfully was quite ordinary bordering plain even, but because she just had to have it. She talks, acts and breathes Me. I had found a comrade who speaks my language.
I was thinking about her while reading an e-mail, when my thoughts were rudely interrupted by the unmistaken song by My Chemical Romance. One look at the phone tells me its her. I picked the phone up, hearing her loud and clear, her distraught voice showing evidence of what she was going to say. Her old friend’s mother had just passed away without cause or reason. She was stumped, caught by the enormity of the incidence. She knew him well, she knew his parents well. They shared so much together. So unprepared was her for the news, that she felt faint, heart and body wrenched with shock, sadness and empathy. She was heartbroken…
The Ugly Realisation
Three stories, three different scenarios. But after every single event, I couldn’t stop saying I’m Sorry. It was all I could say, over and over again like some dumb puppet. The continuous sound of my voice sounded so hollow and fake, even to my very own ears. I imagined how they felt. I knew how they felt. I felt it too. For every episode, I was hit by an unexplainable rush of emotions, the sharp sensation that my heart would burst into a million pieces. But I had no idea how to interpret them into words. I had no clue how to take their pain away, to make it remotely better for them.
How do you react when you’re faced with someone else’s bad news? Do you give them a hug, hold their hand or cry with them? Do you tell them that you’ll be there for them, that everything will be alright and that time would heal all? How would you know that? Do you keep silent, letting them talk instead, while you take in the pain and hope that their sorrows will go away? How do you convey the message without sounding like a broken record, without sounding aloof or pretentious even?
I’m all typed out. In hindsight, I realized that I acted as how I genuinely felt. Given the chance, I would have said more, or did more and said less, but all that would not make it less hard for the recipient. I was Sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I was sorry for what they had to go through, and all I could be, was a spectator of the devastating event that had forever changed their lives. But I sincerely hope, that the little that I had to say, brought some form of comfort no matter how small. I may not be there with you in person, but I always have you in my thoughts and pray that you’ll be strong to face what life lays out for you. People say that every cloud is laced by a silver lining. It is my honour and pride to help you find it.
My brother, sister-in-law and I had just returned home from the movies, and we were sharing jokes as we walked towards the elevator, completely absorbed in our maniacal bubble of hyena laughs, arms aflailing in the execution of our comedy. My brother’s cellphone rang. It was Mum sounding very urgent, telling us to get home quickly, and she wouldn’t say why. The atmosphere in the car on the journey home was thick with tension, one could slice it with a knife. The mixture of emotions, mostly fear, could be seen in everyone’s faces, yet nobody uttered a word. Each was lost in his and her world of unanswered questions which the other person was not a privy to.
We reached home to the sight of a very familiar car parked at the entrance. In retrospect, what we had probably felt was demeaning to the truth of the matter. We knew what we were to find out wouldn’t be as bad as we thought, and we were relieved, only for the selfish reason that whatever bad news that would be, it would be worse for the bearer than it would be for us. A close family friend was in the living room, his face white as sheet. His son had gone missing for two days – but they’ve found him now.
His 20-year old son had woken up, kissed his Mum goodbye and left home to sit for a university exam at 7 in the morning. Two days later, they found his car by the Penang bridge, car keys, wallet and personal items neatly arranged on the front seat. He had jumped off…
Story 2
Walking down the hills from afternoon tutorial, I remembered being on very high spirits. It was a Thursday, the last day of classes. I had made plans to go with some friends to Coles for late night grocery shopping, and end it with a 3-movie marathon at Chadstone Shopping Mall with a quick dash to the Pancake Parlour. I knew I was on high spirits because I walked. I had a much beloved lime green automatic 5-door Honda Civic, which I called “Morsche” – hundred per cent Porsche to me – and the uncountable number of friends who’ve jumped in the back for endless rides. And I’m such a Morsche fan, that I refuse to walk if I can drive, no matter how ridiculously short the distance unless I’m feeling extraordinarily happy and high spirited.
I got back to my room in Richardson Hall, flung my Country Road duffle and was just about to switch the TV on, when someone knocked. I had a call on the landing extension.
My childhood friend’s voice rang in my ears. She was trembling, her words slow and soft, every other word made even more inaudible by her tears. She had just made plans to be engaged to her boyfriend, news which I was ecstatic about as their relationship was not plain sailing. But things had to change. Her father had passed away three days ago, and her mother and other family members have decided that she had to end the relationship…
Story 3
I was at the office, painfully trying to lessen my workload which had crept up unnoticed like an irritating pimple. I know I was no longer paying attention to the 5-day turnaround time, something which I once prided myself in the ability to set the benchmark and complete successfully. I had other matters of concern. I had met a girl through a chance meeting with some friends, and in a short period of time, she had turned to be a dear acquaintance. An acquaintance who equally has a wicked sense of humour, a demented way of looking at things, and thinks nothing of paying RM450 for a top, which truthfully was quite ordinary bordering plain even, but because she just had to have it. She talks, acts and breathes Me. I had found a comrade who speaks my language.
I was thinking about her while reading an e-mail, when my thoughts were rudely interrupted by the unmistaken song by My Chemical Romance. One look at the phone tells me its her. I picked the phone up, hearing her loud and clear, her distraught voice showing evidence of what she was going to say. Her old friend’s mother had just passed away without cause or reason. She was stumped, caught by the enormity of the incidence. She knew him well, she knew his parents well. They shared so much together. So unprepared was her for the news, that she felt faint, heart and body wrenched with shock, sadness and empathy. She was heartbroken…
The Ugly Realisation
Three stories, three different scenarios. But after every single event, I couldn’t stop saying I’m Sorry. It was all I could say, over and over again like some dumb puppet. The continuous sound of my voice sounded so hollow and fake, even to my very own ears. I imagined how they felt. I knew how they felt. I felt it too. For every episode, I was hit by an unexplainable rush of emotions, the sharp sensation that my heart would burst into a million pieces. But I had no idea how to interpret them into words. I had no clue how to take their pain away, to make it remotely better for them.
How do you react when you’re faced with someone else’s bad news? Do you give them a hug, hold their hand or cry with them? Do you tell them that you’ll be there for them, that everything will be alright and that time would heal all? How would you know that? Do you keep silent, letting them talk instead, while you take in the pain and hope that their sorrows will go away? How do you convey the message without sounding like a broken record, without sounding aloof or pretentious even?
I’m all typed out. In hindsight, I realized that I acted as how I genuinely felt. Given the chance, I would have said more, or did more and said less, but all that would not make it less hard for the recipient. I was Sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I was sorry for what they had to go through, and all I could be, was a spectator of the devastating event that had forever changed their lives. But I sincerely hope, that the little that I had to say, brought some form of comfort no matter how small. I may not be there with you in person, but I always have you in my thoughts and pray that you’ll be strong to face what life lays out for you. People say that every cloud is laced by a silver lining. It is my honour and pride to help you find it.
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