Crossing

It was dark along the river, quiet, with mist rolling in among the rustling reeds.

There was a boat, bumping gently against the pier it was tied to, with a ferryman sitting in its stern, who looked up as he saw a man walking along the river's shore.

The man was quite old, with wispy white hair surrounding a bald pate, a belly that showed he appreciated good food, and laugh lines around his eyes that showed a life characterised by joy.

Those eyes though, were now idly looking at the fireflies flitting among the reeds, their lights leaving little glowing trails through the misty air.

The ferryman did not want to disturb the man's reverie, but as the latter drew closer to the pier, he felt it would be impolite to not announce his presence, so he cleared his throat.

"You're early," the ferryman said.

The old man stopped, looked up, then smiled. "Ah! Hello!"

"I've been sent to pick you up," the ferryman continued, "but there's still some time, so there's no need to rush. I'll let you know when we need to leave."

"Thank you," the gentleman replied, as he moved towards the bench at the end of the pier. "That's very kind of you."

He settled down on the seat, then pulled out a small plastic bag which he hung from the corner of the bench.

They sat in silence for awhile, with the old man occasionally taking out some tissue paper to sneeze into, before dropping them in the bag.

Finally, the old man asked, "Where are you taking me?"

The ferryman indicated across the river with his hand. Then noticing the old man frowning as he tried to see what the ferryman was pointing at, he added, "You won't be able to see until it's time to go."

At that moment, there was a sudden patter of feet, and a crowd of people appeared beyond a low fence that blocked them from the river and the pier. The old man looked up, beamed, then got up from the bench and went over to greet them.

"It's the people I know," he explained to the ferryman, as he reached out to touch them and hold their hands.

They ranged in age from those in their teens all the way up to some who were older than him. Some came from far away; others he had not seen in a long time. But as he stopped to talk or touch any of them, scenes of the old man's life showing his time with them flickered into life in the air nearby. There was the childhood in the kampung, the holidays in Malaysia, the visits to his clansmen in Hainan, the dinners and golf trips and church outings... And the memories continued popping into existence.

Eventually though, only a small group of people, his family, were left. The old man reached out across to hold the hand of a slight, dark-haired woman, then turned and proudly proclaimed, "My wife!"

The ferryman nodded, smiled back, then tapped his wrist, as if pointing to a watch. The old man noticed the gesture, then shook his head. "Wait, someone's not here yet."

The mood was starting to get sombre, as all those around started to realise there was not much time left. Where it had previously been like a meeting between old friends, it was getting more and more melancholic.

It was then that there was the sound of someone's footsteps, and a well-built young man ran up to the fence.

When the old man saw him, his face lit up, and he reached out to grasp his arm. "Thank you for coming back again so fast," he said, of his favourite grandson.

Abruptly, the sky behind the old man started to brighten. The old man started, glanced furtively across the river, then tightly embraced his wife. The ferryman moved over to the old couple, who now had tears streaming down their faces.

"It's time to go," the ferryman said, but the old man did not move.

"It's time to go," he repeated, and still there was no response.

"Stop pretending you can't hear me. Your hearing here does not depend on hearing aids, so that excuse won't work."

At that, the old man straightened up and slowly, reluctantly released his wife, who was now crying openly. But even as he stepped back from the fence, with the sky getting brighter, the years seemed to fall away from the old man, so that he was no longer an old man. He felt strength return to his limbs, his hair grew back and darkened and his body started slimming down. And beyond the physical changes, he noticed that he no longer felt like he wanted to stay; the places he had gone to and where he had spent all his life did not hold any attraction to him and the only attachment he felt was to the few who were dear to him.

He now looked out across the river, and where once it was dark and misty, it was now clear. Another shore was now visible across the river, with what looked like a great, gleaming made of gold, with gates of pearl. And the sky, which was now almost as bright as mid-morning, drew its light not from the sun, but from a source, someone, the man realised, who was on the shore. And he suddenly sensed a great yearning to be on the other side, to bow before his lord and worship in His presence.

He stepped towards the boat, but a distraught sob checked him. He looked back, at the woman who had caught his eye as a young man, whom people thought was a poor match for someone of his status but who had turned out to be perfect for him; who had nagged him and scolded him, but had loved him and supported him...

He walked towards her, reached out to embrace again. Unlike before, she didn't seem to notice his touch, and he realised he was already leaving this world.

Leaning towards her, he gave her a kiss on her forehead, smelt her hair one last time, then whispered to her, "I'll be waiting for you."

Then he strode back to the boat and the ferryman, now with his eyes firmly fixed on the other shore, on the figure standing on the water's edge with open arms. He was going home.

*****

Goodbye Grandpa. Thank you for everything. We'll see you again on the other side.

O Captain, My Captain

News that former PM Lee Kuan Yew died in the middle of the night was both expected and unexpected.

Expected, in that he had been in the hospital for the past few weeks, and steadily deteriorating in the past few days.

Unexpected, in that it hit me harder than I would have thought.

I've never met the man, hardly listened to him giving speeches, lived most of my life after he had stepped down as PM.

But this is the man who shaped modern Singapore, from post-WWII British colony to modern metropolis. He may not have been a blood relation to most of us, but as Singaporeans (technically American, I know, but really Singaporean at heart), Mr Lee was very much a part of our lives, like a national grandfather, an analogy even more apt as he appeared to change from being a fiery speaker to becoming more like that stern old man who would smack you if you were misbehaving but whom you knew always had a soft spot for you.

My mom woke me up early in the morning to tell me that he passed away in the middle of the night. I was very much in a stupor when she told me the news, having worked late the night before, ironically, in case he had ceased to be earlier.

But then you finally wake up and think, hope even, that it may have just been a bad dream, and you go to check the Internet in case it really was some horrible figment of your imagination. But it's true; the website is in black livery, PM Lee Hsien Loong is making an emotional announcement of his father's passing, and you suddenly want to cry and feel empty, as if your world has been pulled out from under you.



But life will still go on. Contrary to the fears I've allowed to fester in the days before, chaos did not break out. Buses will run, people will go to work, children will go to school. The stock market will continue trading, as will the fishmonger in the market down the street. And the Government will function as before, in its oddly efficient yet occasionally inefficient way.

There is just one difference.

Singapore's Iron Man is gone.

Thank you for all you've done for us, Mr Lee. Rest in peace. You've earned it.

Home away from home

When Pastor Jabez organised the first youth mission trip to Japan way back in 2005, he contacted Louis, our resident missionary over there, to see if it was possible to get housing at a low cost. And as anyone who knows Louis and his family can readily attest to, their hospitality knows no bounds and they opened up their house to us.

We stayed initially in the tatami room, which was their guest room, and it was pretty good there, since it was warm, especially for us suaku Singaporeans who had never been to temperate countries prior to that and found the spring temperature of about 20 degrees at night somewhat cold.

 The tatami room. Of course, in summer, the place gets ridiculously warm. But if not, it's always a nice place to hang out at.

And since then, unit number 303 of Tokorozawa Century has been for me, the home away from home.

The entrance to Tokorozawa century. 

It didn't matter how many times I went to Japan. This place has always been warm and open, whether it was Louis or Steve who was staying there. Even when I had my own apartment just a few blocks away, I knew that if I wanted to drop by, I didn't even need to call ahead (though I usually did) and I would be welcomed in the place.

There would be food. And both Auntie Chris and Kathi are excellent cooks.

Place where you can get good food.

Place where good food is made.

There was also free Internet, which was extremely helpful if you're there just for a short trip, or when your own Internet has not been set up yet.

Place to get free Internet. Incidentally, this was where I ended up sleeping on that first trip in 2005 after some of the team members said it was too cold and they took over the tatami room.

But most importantly, it was like family; the Laus and the Weemes never excluded you, even if you did feel like you were an 居候 in the place.

Unfortunately, due to certain circumstances, it appears that the house will now have to be returned to the landlord, since there will be no one staying there for the next couple of years. Louis has always been proud of the fact that he managed to get a really good deal on the house, getting a rather large unit at a relatively cheap rate, but I guess it is time to move on from the place they've called home for more than 10 years.

And I, for one, will also be sad to see it let go. There's always this sense of nostalgia each time I've keyed in the security code and walked in through the sliding doors and smelt the air inside the building; I'm always brought back to that 2005 trip, when everything was new and exciting (not that it isn't any more, but the first time is always the most impactful anyway).


So thanks for all the happy memories, for all the fun and all the joy. And just perhaps, maybe in the future, the home may come into the possession of a friend again.

Hospital Interlude: my Saviour speaks

Ok, I know I've gotten to the part where I was completely knocked out by the anaesthesia that had been given to me and I'm lying on the cold operating table, but before I continue the account of my time in the hospital, I should mention something of great importance.

Now, while I was in hospital, I was definitely very very blessed and encouraged by all my family and the many friends and colleagues who stopped by and spent some of their time hanging out with me. The visits definitely made my stay in the hospital a lot more enjoyable, and like I mentioned often to them, left me with very little time to feel bored.

But it still didn't take away the fact that I could very possibly be dead by the end of the following week. It could be any number of things; the cancer suddenly spreading, complications during surgery, catching some other disease, the possibilities were endless, in a rather morbid, unwanted sort of way.

It didn't help that I was also starting to wonder about my faith, whether it was real or not, whether I had fallen away and not realised it, whether by my lifestyle, I had removed myself from being before God. It goes without saying, of course, that I was hardly living the most exemplary life. Sure, I looked and acted Christian, but there are definitely things that I wasn't proud of, and which I kept very well hidden.

It also didn't help that the last sermon I listened to in church before getting hospitalised (or at least, the last one I really remembered) was one of the hellfire and damnation ones that our church has been putting a bit more emphasis on recently (and a good idea too, if you ask me, since we've been focusing so much on God's grace and mercy that we sometimes forget His holiness and judgment). And I was really starting to worry that even though I thought of myself as Christian, perhaps it was only what I thought, and that the reality before God was that I had drifted away and not even realised it, and that if I died and found myself before the throne of Him above, I would find out, to my horror, that my name was no longer in the Book of Life and I would be banished from His presence.

Naturally of course, when people were around, this issue was put away in the back of my mind, but sometimes, when I was by myself, I would wonder. And pray. And wonder if the prayer was enough.

I had been thinking of telling Pastor Kee Oon (my YA pastor) when he came to visit on Saturday, but we had such fun talking and laughing that it completely slipped my mind. And so my fears were unaddressed.

At least, until God intervened.

Thing is, before Pastor Kee Oon came, he had been getting prompts to give me a passage from the Bible. And it was a rather specific one too, but like I mentioned, we had such good fun joking and stuff, and it also slipped his mind to mention it to me. But after he left and went back, the prompts started getting to him again. And he told me later he thought the verse wasn't the one he had thought of telling me, which probably had something to do with healing or how all things work for the good of those who love God. But the prompts got stronger, and the next morning, he sent me a message telling me that the Holy Spirit had been telling him to tell me to read a passage in Isaiah.

Now, for those of you who do know me, you would know that I am not particularly spiritually sensitive. In fact, I can be incredibly dense when it comes to this sort of thing. But as I read the passage, I started to tear almost immediately after scanning through it once, and it became extremely clear to me that God was speaking directly to me from a book that was more than 2,500 years old. This is the passage:

But now, this is what the Lord says - he who created you, Jacob, he who formed you, Israel: "Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour...

- Isaiah 43: 1-3a

And just like that, all my fears of thinking that I had abandoned my faith and was no longer in God's favour disappeared. And even knowing that I might die by the end of the week was not as distressing as it had been.

And since the surgery was successful, it feels that I have been redeemed a second time, this time in the physical sense, and that I am now living, essentially, on borrowed time. It'll be up to me (with the help of the Holy Spirit) to make sure I use this time for something worthwhile in the name of God.

Cancer

It's never pleasant hearing that someone has gotten cancer, especially if you are the person in question. But when the truth of it is out, it's always much better to face up to reality and put a brave face forward.

The morning after I had gotten warded into SGH, several other doctors came by and prodded me and looked at the scans that had been taken of me, and the most senior one in that particular group, Dr. Lai, sat me down (well ok, he was the one that sat down. I was lying in bed already) and told me quite bluntly that in all probability, based on the size of the tumour, I had cancer.

My parents had been listening in on it too, and I guess it sounded almost like the final nail in the coffin for them. It certainly seemed like that for me, as I started getting the feeling that I was sinking through my bed in despair again.

The one positive thing that Dr. Lai could see from it though, was that it seemed the tumour (which he said probably had an infection) was fairly well-contained, my body having reacted to it and sealing it off, which he said allowed him a bit more time to get more info and plan the best way of dealing with the cancer.

My siblings came to my bed after the doctor had left, but my parents didn't really need to tell them much, since they had also been somewhere in the room when the doctor was talking (even though he seemed to think that he was talking softly enough that no one could hear; he had a rather strong sort of voice, that kind of carries even if he didn't raise the volume). Quite a shocker, no doubt, but despite the situation, our faith in God remained strong, and we committed it all to Him in prayer.

At any rate, I was left in that bed for the next few days, and was not allowed to take anything in by mouth, which was a real bummer sometimes, since it wasn't just food, but drinks as well. They kept me on a drip the whole time, giving me either saline or a potassium solution. The downside of this, was that they kept on having to give me new IV plugs when the old ones stopped working, some of which had needles that looked very foreboding, and once, I was left with a massive bruise on my left forearm when the nurse couldn't get the needle into my vein.

This is one of the larger ones. In fact, I think this is the one that the nurse had to try to put in twice. If you notice, it actually has a valve which allows two drips to be used at the same time. How cool is that?

There were many more upsides to this episode though. For one, the nurses were all very skilled (they only missed the veins one time when putting in needles, and often, it didn't really hurt too much) and very caring. My bed was fairly comfortable, and placed in a decent position that let me see some scenery out of the window. And the other patients in the room were very very nice people.

One of them was Uncle Yap, who strangely enough, was the father of a man who went to our church (which led to knowledge of me being hospitalised for cancer being spread much faster than I had intended). Another guy, an Indian dude called Pala who was warded after me, came in because of shortness of breath, but he also told me his experience when he had a terrible hernia where his small intestine kept on popping out.

But the guy who was the biggest encouragement was in the bed facing me; his name was Mr. Neo. And coincidentally, he knew my mom from some teachers' symposium or other which they had both attended in the past. Mr. Neo had a terminal form of cancer, and the doctors had only given him only about a month and a half more to live, but he did not let that affect him. Every morning, he was up early and cheerfully talking with the other patients, with the nurses, with the guests. He even went visiting a friend's father in a different ward, and brought him coffee and his own breakfast one morning. In short, he was like a great big ball of energy and joy in the room, and he encouraged me by telling me how the cancer I got was easily the most treatable in Singapore, and horrified me by telling how many tubes had been put into him in the course of his operation and his treatment. He even offered to let us use his bed number to get more visitors in, since he said not many people dropped by to visit.

He was only there for a couple of days after I was warded before he checked out and went home, but it felt so much longer than that, and the impression he left behind, the positive face he put on even in the face of something so terrible gave me a lot of strength to push on.

I was also tremendously blessed by having many friends and family members drop by. Mom and Dad were near constants, being there almost all the time, and Hannah and Andrew were in quite frequently too. But there were many church friends and colleagues and former schoolmates and other acquaintances, some unexpected, who chose to make time to come and see if I was dead yet. And as such, I was never bored while I was there, since there was an almost constant stream of well-wishers coming and going. I just hope it wasn't too much of a hassle for the other patients.

While I was waiting for the op, the doctor who was to operate on me, Prof Tang, came by, and slated me for another x-ray, a chest CT scan, and a scope. But at any rate, on Tuesday, one of the doctors in his team came by to check on me, and told me that the operation was to be conducted on Wednesday, probably in the afternoon.

Up til that point, I had actually been somewhat enjoying my time, just sitting around, talking with friends, doing almost nothing, but knowing that the operation was just a day away started to get to me. I started wondering what it was like, whether the anaesthetic really prevented you from feeling anything, and what would happen if the surgeon made a mistake and I died on the operating table.

Fortunately (or unfortunately), I soon did not have to think about such things, as one of the nurses came by with a huge pitcher of an orange-coloured fluid and told me to drink it. Now, I have to admit that the taste itself of the drink wasn't so bad. If I had to describe it, I would say it tasted like an orange-flavoured, salty, warm, slightly thicker type of Gatorade. Which does not sound appealing, I know, but it was drinkable. It was meant to cause me to purge myself of anything that may be in my digestive system, but that wasn't the worst bit of it. The thing about it that was most disgusting was that I had to finish all of it. In three hours. I had to force myself to swallow the horrible solution (which tasted worse each time I drank a cupful) and by the time I was reaching the bottom of the jug, I felt that taking another cup would cause me to puke everything back out, thus purging myself in a totally different way. By that time though, it was midnight (the cutoff time), so I could avoid the last couple of cups.

Wednesday was more of the waiting. A few friends managed to get in before visiting hours, then I just had to wait for the nurses to come and call me when the operating theatre was ready. It almost felt like being in the army, and waiting to go for an outfield exercise. Or waiting to go for the obstacle course (which I really really disliked). The only difference this time was that I just had to go and lie there and do nothing.

Finally the nurses wheeled in a gurney and they put me on it and wheeled me off to the theatre. I guess it could have been a lot more traumatic thinking about what might happen ahead, but the way I deal with possibly distressing situations is to not think about it until it comes to a head.

At any rate, they wheeled me into operating theatre area, and left me at a corner while they went to prep some stuff. They then pushed me into what I guess is the pre-operating theatre room, where the anaesthetist came over and asked me some questions, and a nurse stuck some electrodes on me. They then brought me into operating theatre itself, and transferred me onto the table. I remember looking up and seeing the lights and several hooks (one of which they used to hold my saline drip bottle), and then the anaesthetist came over.

"I'm going to give you the anaesthesia now ok?" she said.

"You're going to use the (IV) plug right? You're not going to jab me again are you?" I was really not very fond of needles by then.

"Oh yeah. Since you have the plug, we'll use it," she replied, leaning over and inserting the syringe into the plug (it had two holes remember).

Now, several of my friends and colleagues had told me that what happens here is that they pump you with the drug, and then ask you to start counting backwards from 10. And so most people go like: "10... 9... 8... 7..." and then they get knocked out by the drug. But I never even lasted long enough for them to tell me to start counting backwards. Before I realised it, I was out.

入院

"You have a tumour."

I was sitting inside a room at Khoo Teck Puat's A&E on a Friday evening, when the surgeon dropped this particular bombshell. As he, and the attending doctor, started listing out symptoms - abnormal bowel movements, poop appearing 'narrower' than usual, blood in the stool and loss of appetite, among others - I realised that many of these had been happening for close to half a year. But the single fact running through my mind was: I have a tumour.

I guess what made it harder to detect was that I had also had piles, thanks mostly to my penchant for reading or playing my PSP while sitting on the toilet seat, and some of the symptoms could have been explained away by it. In fact, when I had visited my GP earlier on, he had given me medication for piles, and some of the issues had gone away. This, together with the fact that I am just into my 28th year, probably led the GP to suspect it was something more akin to an infection in my gut.

And it most likely would have remained that way, had the tumour not started affecting my appetite, reducing it so much that I had not been eating properly for the past few days. And so on Friday, after going to work and going through a couple of articles, I felt really out of sorts, and spoke to Andrew, my superior, and said I wasn't feeling well.

He was concerned, of course, and suggested I go to see the company doctor, despite the fact that I had just been to my GP the day before and had received medication. Still, the fact that I was obviously zoning out at 4 in the afternoon (not that uncommon an occurrence, really) and that I was losing my balance while walking, must have appeared disconcerting enough for him to get me to go see the doc, at the very least, to get an MC for the day.

I made my way upstairs and I told him some of the symptoms I had been experiencing. Up to this point, I was still worried that I would be seen as a slacker trying to get an extra day off (probably something to do with the fact that in BMT, my platoon sergeant, who could have passed off as a drill instructor for the USMC, was of the mind that unless you had a 40-degree fever, you were well enough to fight for the country). But upon hearing what I told him, the doctor quickly got me to lie down and started prodding my stomach.

While generally ok, it hurt quite a bit more when he poked me in the gut below my stomach line. He then said it felt like there was an obstruction of sorts in my intestines, and recommended I get to a hospital as soon as possible for a scan to see if there was any infections that were causing blockages.

I got down to the subs desk and told Andrew that I had to go to the hospital for a scan for a suspected infection. This, combined with the fact that I appeared to be unable to keep my balance, led some of the desk to think that I had a ear infection, which would lead to some confusion later on. At any rate, he told me to quickly be on my way, and joked that I should  take a taxi instead of trying to bike my way to the hospital to save money. I laughed and told him I wasn't that stingy.

Fortunately for me, mum was finishing up work around that time, so she swung by my office to bring me to Khoo Teck Puat hospital. It wasn't the nearest to SPH, but it was the nearest to home, and my brother works there as a corpcomms officer, which made the place seem more attractive.

As I was fairly coherent, and did not seem to be in a lot of pain (I had a fever I did not feel though), I ended up waiting for more than an hour before I got to see a doctor, but he was efficient in his work, quickly taking blood samples and giving me a checkup, then getting me prepared to go for a CT scan. While waiting, mum said I felt really warm, and got me a glass of water to drink while she asked a nurse if there was any Panadol to be had. The nurse soon came back, and took away my water, saying I was not supposed to be taking in anything by mouth, and he attached a saline drip to me instead.

The interesting thing about the drip is that it feels cool when it enters your bloodstream, and much later on, I realised that you do not actually feel that hungry when you're on the drip. You do feel some hunger pangs after a while, but as it stood, I ended up without any physical food for the next 8 days without getting any gastric issues, which I tend to be highly susceptible to.

A while later, they called my name and brought me into the CT scan room (they had plonked me in a wheelchair by then), which looked very much like a miniaturised version of the warp gates in Cowboy Bebop (which is a really good anime). After the scan, I was brought out to wait, until the surgeon called me in and dropped the news on my head.

I guess it did not quite register for a while, but then it felt like I was sinking through the bed, as if the news immediately made me feel like an invalid. Later, however, when I sat up, I still felt really normal, albeit weak from the relative lack of food.

It was quite a shock to my parents too; although my mum's side has a whole bunch of issues ranging from high blood pressure to diabetes, cancer was not in either of my family lines. My father quickly made a call to Elder Julian, a church friend who works in the geriatrics department of SGH, and he recommended I get admitted into SGH instead, since the National Cancer Centre is based there and he personally knew a surgeon (whom he also said we should request for) who was an expert in that particular field of medicine.

I felt a bit upset about the news, since by then I was really out of sorts, not having had food or drink for the past few hours. We had also been making a lot of requests of the staff about the nature of the hospitalisation, and felt a bit sorry for the doctors who had been keeping an eye on me til then. But most of all, I was upset that I would have to get a new IV plug.

We got to SGH at about 11 that night and had to go through the whole A&E process again, this time, waiting a couple more hours before they finally admitted me into ward 78, where the doctors on call (two really attractive young women) came by and asked me questions and prodded and poked and examined me some more before allowing me to drift off into a sort of sleep.

Late post

A couple weeks ago, I got to meet Anna, a friend that I've spoken to over the phone a couple of times, but hardly ever face-to-face. It wasn't quite a first meeting then, but it did almost feel like it, since the one time we did meet up in Japan, it was a quick introduction before she had to go back to work and I had to go back to getting teased by CJ.

Anyway, apart from being able to chill out and eat lunch with her and her friend, she brought me something from Marie too.

Ooh! Such a pretty bag!

Something inside?

What's this?!

Plastic!! Yay!!

I'm kidding!!! This is the real thing. Thank you!

Thank you for the Valentine's gift Marie! And thanks Anna, for being the messenger!

千厩

Earlier this month, I travelled up to Japan, to Ichinoseki city in Iwate prefecture to help out a friend with her volunteer work. Emiko has been working there for close to one-and-a-half years, having started off with CRASH and then moving on to the 3.11 Iwate Church Network when CRASH started downsizing and handing over their bases to local churches.

I had served at Ichinoseki base once, in mid-2011, when it was still housed at a camp up in the mountains near Murone village, and most of the work was focused on physically clearing up debris and cleaning houses. Now though, the focus of the former CRASH bases and the 3.11 Network is on community building and emotional support.

I got into Narita at about 9.30am on the 9th on a JAL flight (though the breakfast was strangely tasteless) and since I was supposed to meet Louis and Chris for lunch as well as get back my pre-paid SIM card, plus my luggage was kinda heavy, I decided to take the airport bus to Tokorozawa. Not a good idea though, as for one, I had to pay ¥3,000 for the ticket, while my rail pass would have given me a free ride on the trains as far as Ikebukuro, and two, because the bus got into a minor accident along the way, and the passengers had to wait for the next bus.

I got to Louis' place late, and after lunch and talking with them for a bit, was thinking of how to get to a Shinkansen terminal. Thing is though, I hadn't actually collected my rail pass, and I had to go to get it from one of the major stations. Unfortunately, the most convenient Shinkansen station for me, Omiya, did not issue the rail passes. So I had to travel back into Ikebukuro, and then transfer onto a Shinkansen at Ueno, which took up even more of my time. So instead of being able to meet Emiko in the afternoon, as I thought, I only got to Senmaya station at around 8pm.

After that initial rush though, things kinda slowed down. Emiko, along with a retired German missionary called Helga, were gearing up for a concert by former base managers Paul and Nina Mikaelsen. They had served for half a year in 2011 and had returned to Norway, but were back now to meet people and have the event. So the first few days, while I was trying to get used to the frigid temperatures, we went to the neighbouring towns to put up posters and stuff.

One of the places we did stop at was in Kesennuma city, which got hammered pretty bad during the Great Tohoku Earthquake and tsunami that followed. While most of the temporary housing units were set up to accommodate people, this particular unit was meant as a kind of shopping/bar district to help some of those who lost their shops to continue with their jobs. Can't remember what it was called, but it's right next to the Kesennuma port. A lady there who kindly agreed to help us with our request to put up the concert poster told us that while it had not been too bad, very few people would choose to go there in the winter as it was cold and got dark early, so business had not been that good recently. Still, she was happy to hear that people were still volunteering to help out in some way, and she was also quite happy when we bought some of the things at her store (she ran a small grocery mart). 

A picture I took while putting up posters in Senmaya town. That's Mt. Murone, which has an observatory and a hang-gliding spot up there. It was quite windy at the spot I took this, making it almost unbearably cold despite the sun, but one thing about winter is that the air is always clear and the sky seems exceptionally blue. When it's not snowing, of course.

As a small town, Senmaya's a rather quiet place. There are two convenience stores, a Lawson and a Sunkus, along the main road running through it, and it offers relatively few tourist attractions. But it does have this historical-ish place called Sake no Kura, which is a sake warehouse that is over a hundred years old. I wandered in one day, and there were some ladies who had rented the place for a function, and one of them, who also does work as a tour guide for the place, explained some of it to me. Or at least, she tried to explain it, considering my lack of Japanese ability.

The outside of the warehouse. 

The snow and low temperatures did take some getting used to, especially since I had come up from warm, sunny Singapore. I did get some Uniqlo heat tech, which helped (I have to admit, I used to wonder if the heat tech was indeed of any use, since I didn't feel very much warmer while wearing it. I only had to not wear it once though, to realise how effective it is at keeping warmth in). 

It snowed several times while I was there, and each time, it wasn't a light dusting of white that I was used to when I was in Tokyo, but rather, a rather sizeable amount of snow, though I'm guessing other places had a lot more snowfall then where I was at. 

But after each snowfall, the skies clear up and become the most amazing blue, and when the sun hits the snow on the ground, it sparkles. It really is quite a fantastic sight, but only if you've got on a good jacket and mittens or something.

One of the things we did get to do was to help shovel snow at a couple of the temporary housing units. Many of those who are in these units tend to be older folk, and while most of them are tough old men and women from a hardened generation, they did appreciate it when others came in to give them a hand in clearing up the roads.  The heavy snowfall meant it was covered up an hour later, but they still were glad we shovelled some snow. We also had a cafe while we were there. 

The scene just after we had the cafe and were heading back.

Marie came up on Monday morning. She had served at the base before and knew many of the people and places there, though I would like to think she came up for another reason as well. She brought a couple of the volunteers to several of the events she used to participate in, and was a major help all-around.

Another pleasant surprise was that Kohei Koyama stopped by on his trip. Kohei and his wife Linda were volunteers at Tono base who got dragooned into being staff members while I was there for three weeks in August 2011. They were travelling southward from Morioka, stopping at various volunteer bases to see where God was leading them to serve for a year. However, Linda's mom suddenly fell sick, so she had to head back to Miami. And I just realised I never really talked about my experiences at Tono base. I shall have to rectify that. 

Kohei is the guy in red. This was taken by Pastor Sasaki of the Kitakami church, who is a member of the 3.11 Network as well as a semi-itinerant pastor who takes care of a church in Kesennuma too.

 
One of the good things about serving at this particular base though, is that Emiko is a really well-known person around the area. When we were going around trying to put up posters, all we had to do was mention we were from a volunteer group and that we worked with Emiko... and the shop-owner's face would light up and they would go, "Oh Matsumoto-san! Yes we know her!" Even though she says she feels tired all the time, one of her great strengths is in building relationships with people around. She doesn't like getting photographed though. 

I also got to help out in an English conversation group that had been set up by former base managers. While the managers had already left, the ladies enjoyed the time so much that they decided to continue to meet up regularly. We got to join them for their monthly meeting, which is held in a church's meeting room.  

Paul and Nina Mikaelsen came in on the 15th, if I remember correctly, and apart from going around and seeing all the people they had met while serving there, they also got ready for their concerts. They were supposed to be doing three mini-concerts over three days, in Senmaya, the neighbouring village of Murone and then in Kesennuma, further down the highway. 

Quite a few people turned up for the first one, even though it was at 10 in the morning on a Friday. Several of them were people they had known from before, and a couple of local reporters also turned up to cover the event (it came out in the local papers the next day).  Their singing is really nice, and they showed a lot of chemistry on stage, which I guess comes about when you're a husband and wife team. While the acoustic guitar was the main instrument for both of them, Paul also used a pianika and a small taiko drum for accompaniment on several songs. They sang several English songs and one or two Norwegian ones, but it was the traditional Japanese enka that got the most reaction out of the crowd.

Paul and Nina at the first concert, held at the Senmaya Town Hall.

Here's one of their songs, 37 degrees, which they wrote by themselves, if I'm not wrong.

I helped out on that first day by making Bak Kut Teh, which many of them seemed to like. Thanks should be given of course, to Marie and Kazuma Miura, one of the base friends who had stopped by the night before. They both said it had tasted too light, so they added salt and pepper until it was nice. Unfortunately, I had run out of bak kut teh packets after that, and the logistics involved in doing food at the other concerts had seemed too difficult, so we did not cook food again for the other concerts.

We also got to work with the boys (and two girls) of the Kesennuma High School baseball club. One thing about these kids is that they were always energetic and very polite, greeting people they met along the way and stuff. Marie says this is cos they are taught to greet anyone they meet. At any rate, they helped Emiko by shoveling snow at a few temporary housing units, and then helped her buy daily necessities at a supermarket to help needy families under one of the 3.11 Network's projects (a church in Taiwan regularly sends them funds to buy food for people who really need it).

They also helped to set up on the last of Paul and Nina's concerts in the area. Whereas the lot of us took close to half an hour to set up for the concert on Saturday night, these boys finished setting everything up in 5 minutes flat, under the guidance of their English teacher/coach and their team captain.

Kesennuma High School baseball club.

And that was about it. Emiko dropped Marie and myself off at the Kesennuma station on the way back to the base, and we left for Tokyo soon after, where I got to spend a few more days running around meeting people, and spent a night in a capsule hotel.

If you're interested in praying for the work there, here are a few things you may like to pray for:

1. Pray for Emiko as she continues to be the key person in the work there. If you know her, you'll know that while she is game for many things, she sometimes gets extremely tired, caused partly because she has to travel fairly long distances for meetings and work. 
2. Pray for the pastors of the 3.11 Network, who are continuing to minister to their own flocks as well as the people who have been affected. It is easy for volunteers, who are there for a couple of weeks or months, but these pastors are looking at years of work before the region can get back to normal.
3. Pray for Kohei and Linda too. They are thinking of moving to Tohoku for a year, and are trying to see where God wants them to go. 
4. Pray for the people that have in some way or other, come into contact with Christians, that the Christians they meet would be a good testimony for Christ, and that they will be blessed, and in turn, bless others who need help.
5. Pray for the people there, who even after two years, are still not able to return to their 'normal' lives before the tsunami. 

Ok. That's it from me. Although the weather was cold, the people were warm and friendly, and it was a great experience over all.

Year-end roundup 2012

In Japan, one of the traditions on New Year's Day is to send out a little postcard to friends and relatives and people you know. Not too sure what they write on them, but for one family I know, they use it as an opportunity to let others know what the family has been up to.

I really enjoyed hearing from them, but I was only reminded of it recently (a few hours ago really), so given the lack of time and the relative dearth of creative talent I possess, I have been unable to do up a proper postcard. So instead of a proper one, here's my 年賀状 for this year's end (I'll try to make a proper one next year), with some of the important things that happened this year!

1.  I got into a spot of trouble with the Customs authorities in Singapore because I overstayed, and for a few days at least, temporarily became an 'illegal immigrant'. Long story, but the end of it was that I was let off with a warning. (Maybe I will blog about this some day)
2. I got into my first car accident. Well, not so much an accident as a few scratches, but I damaged the car while making a tight turn around a corner that was much tighter than I realised. Nope, no one was injured and nothing was really badly damaged. Unless you count my ego. 
3. I got to go to Japan for a trip again! Got to see some of the places I wanted to see, got to meet many of the people I wanted to meet, got to eat quite a bit of the food I wanted to eat (which tended towards rather pedestrian tastes most of the time, like Matsuya/Sukiya/Yoshinoya/Manshuu, onigiri and conbini-bentos, much to Marie's distaste).
4. I joined a new CG. They had a reshuffle across the young adults' ministry in church, so we were all moved around and stuff, and now I've got a new group. Still trying to get it into a cohesive group at the moment, but things are fairly ok.
5. I started cycling regularly, since I finally learnt how to do it in Japan. First it was cycling every Saturday morning with Dad, and then since work started, I cycle to work every now and then.
6. In case you didn't pick it up in the previous paragraph, I finally found a job. It's with The Straits Times, the local dominant English news daily. Most of my colleagues are nice people.
7. Grandma passed away. I still miss her sometimes :(
8. I got to be involved in a close friend's wedding as one of his groomsmen. Fortunately for us, his wife's friends were rather nice people, and didn't make us go through a lot. 
9. I missed another month in blogging, just the second time in my blog's existence that I missed putting up a post in a month, which is why there is no October 2012 in the drop-down list on the left.
10. The world didn't end on 21/12/12.

Ok, that's really about all the major incidents that I can really think of at the moment.

Anyway, Happy New Year everyone! Please stay safe and warm (if you're in a temperate or arctic zone) and don't drink if you're driving!

God bless!

仲間

About a month ago, one of my really good friends from St. Andrew's School (no, we don't have the word 'secondary' in our school name) got married. Alvin was the only guy I was classmates with for all four years there, either through chance or misfortune. But whatever it was, while we didn't always hang out together all the time back then (something to do with the fact that he was a prefect, I believe), we struck it off really well in Sec 1, and remained close friends till now. 

Alvin is the one on the left. Coincidentally, this was taken almost a year before that, when the other Alvin (2nd from right, also known as Fuzzy) was about to get married. And even more coincidentally, both are married to girls called Amanda. The dude in blue is Joel, Fuzzy's best man.

A couple of weeks later, another of my secondary school mates tied the knot. Unlike Alvin, Sam was my classmate for only a year in Sec 2, but we were mates for all four years and then some, as both of us were in the Boys' Brigade. When you suffer together (since the 7th Singapore Company was an old school unit that believed in the value of corporal punishment to instill discipline), you do form some pretty close bonds.

Sam Tan is the dude in white with the biggest smile on his face, as befitting his happy day. In Sec 2, myself, he and Gerald (with bowtie) formed a little clique that came up with rather... embarrassing names for each other. Shaun is the fellow in front, and incidentally, there's another Sam, in the black polo.

Two weeks after that, another of the old BB boys from my cohort got hitched. Marcus was always ready for a joke, and I have to admit, he still hadn't changed at all much since we graduated more than 10 years ago.

BB 7th Singapore Company Charlie Batch ('97), plus Marcus's bride and his father. Marcus is the guy to the right of the only lady in the picture, Darius, is the one all the way on the left, and in front, next to Shaun, are Kelvin (in white) and Jiancheng. I'm pretty sure you can therefore figure out who the father and the bride are.

It's always fun to be able to meet up with old friends, to find out how they are doing, to see how their lives are like. And over the years, I have made many friends (hopefully not so many enemies). But one thing that always stands out whenever I meet some of my secondary school friends, either one or both of the Alvins or a group from the BB, is that no matter how long the interim, or under what circumstances the meeting, it's like time has never passed. We all slip so easily back into the bantering as if we were once again carefree youths, old enough to have some independence, but still young enough to not have to deal with too much of the responsibilities of life that invariably weighs us down.


I have to admit, of all my time I spent in school, I have always had the fondest memories of secondary school. And I do believe, part of that is due to the people I met there that I'm proud to call my friends.

NTBI #10

Just before I left Japan in June last year, the ladies of the E-moms group threw a farewell party for Steve and I. It was really nice, good food, a homemade cake, and laughs all around.

They also gave us a cup each. Like so:

The cup they gave.

Now I was rather pleased with it, since being a history buff, I instantly recognized the crest as belonging to the Tokugawa clan. Plus, there's this famous Japanese drama called Mito Komon (水戸黄門) that like everyone's heard of, and which I sometimes use to tell people what my kanji surname is (黄), and the main character in the show has this Tokugawa seal that his adjutant displays near the end of each episode to kind of establish his authority and judge the bad guys.

The old guy in the yellow and red suit is the Tokugawa fellow, who's like the hero of the show.

But I digress. So anyway, this cup has proved most useful to me as it has allowed me to contain liquids of personal sustenance that I desire while I am at work. Most of the time, it is plain water from the cooler out at the back, especially when I have cycled to work. But since one of its properties is heat retention, there are a couple of times I desired hot drinks.

So one day, it was cold. And I was exceedingly sleepy, for some strange reason. It got so bad that I finally decided, ok, I can't take this anymore, it's time to use one of my coffee sachets and make instant coffee.

So I emptied my coffee stick into my cup, and still feeling kinda sleepy, I toddled off to the pantry to fill it with hot water. As the hot water went in, I realized, rather unhappily, that not all the powder was getting mixed; instead, quite a bit of it was stuck under the top layer that was mixing with the water, and was not getting dissolved. You can sort of realize this when bubbles start appearing, which means there are lots of air pockets which in turn implies lots of powder not getting wet.

I was stuck, as I did not have a stirrer or spoon with me, and as the water was rather hot, I was not inclined to use my finger. In my sleep-addled state, of course, I had forgotten that there were probably stirrers at the nearest coffee-maker, but of course, I did not realize this at that point of time.

I was somewhat bummed out, then I had this absolutely brilliant idea. I decided to simply cap my cup (since it was fairly watertight), and swirl it around.

Brilliant! I thought to myself as I started swirling it. This should do it. And then, another even more brilliant idea popped into my head (though later events would prove that it was not as brilliant as I thought it was). I decided then to shake my cup, to make sure everything was well-mixed.

Unfortunately for me, after about two shakes, the coffee exploded out through the side of the cap, due to some effect involving heat, water and air in a confined space that some physics major can explain to you. Not a lot of coffee mind you, but it squirted out in a fairly violent manner, essentially painting the partition and part of the CPU with coffee (you can see the area that got hit. It's just behind the cup in the picture above).

It was after this, while scurrying about to clean up the mess I had made, that I remembered about the nearby coffee-makers and the stirrers that were in all probability there. Fortunately, not a lot of coffee came out, so I didn't really scald myself, though the area smelt of coffee for the rest of the night.

I did wake up fully after that though. Nothing like a major shock to your mind to get you out of your stupor.

Course

The first I heard of my being sent for the basic reporting course (BRC) was when we had just come back from dinner one day, and Janice (who sits behind me) turns around and says, "I didn't know you're going on course."

Now, I didn't know it either, but she had been looking at the subs roster that had just been sent out, and I was penciled in as being on course for most of the month of September.

I was not particularly enthralled to be going on a basic REPORTING course because one of the main reasons I wanted to be on the subs desk is because I'm not a terribly extroverted person, and I  would very much have preferred to not have to talk to people I don't know (which sounds incredibly weird for someone who's entire job experience up to that time was being a reporter and a missionary and which kinda requires you to go out and talk to people).

The other subs were strangely envious of me when I mentioned it to them though. Quite a few were going like, "Wow, you got a month-long holiday!" or, "It would be great if I could get normal hours for a month." (Just fyi, subs work from about 4.30 in the afternoon to 1.30 am). I was somewhat surprised, since I was rather happy at the subs desk, and I was just starting to get the hang of things after a month of work.

One of the other subs called Rajan (who's user name is the incredibly cool 'Trajan', thus making me think of the Roman emperor every time I see it in the system) told me that his time on the BRC was the best time of his life in SPH. And how he would always go drinking with the other dudes on the course, and how he still kept up with some of them. He told me that I should just try to enjoy myself. He did mention how part of the course was going out to actually get stories, which only made me feel bleah.

The email from the head of training didn't help much either. He talked about how he expected us to be like good reporters, always questioning and asking stuff and all. But the other subs told me on my last day there, that I should just go with an open mind and see what I could learn and stuff, which I resolved to try and do.

And surprise surprise, I actually enjoyed myself on the course. The email from the head of training, Paul Jacob, sounded really serious and all, but he wasn't that frightening, and he had quite a few good points for us, even though he did tend to mumble a bit at times. The course itself had lots of useful information, even though it was meant for reporters and not subs, and they gave us free food every day!

The other good thing of course, was that I got to meet quite a lot of other people from SPH. I got to know a few of the other ST reporters, who's names I've seen in bylines but whom I've never met before, as well as many others from different parts of SPH. 

Got to know most of these guys in my time there. Even though I never knew who the guy who sat at the back was. Incidentally, while most of the names point at the chairs the people sat in, Amelia's and Wee Cheow's chairs got moved because they had to go on a different course for the last week, so their chairs got moved around too.

In particular, I got to know Sanjay, Chor Hao, Hashim, Terence and Elrica, since this was the usual lunch group I hung out with. Think Terence was the one that said that the good thing about being on course wasn't so much the stuff that you learn about work, but in getting to know others from different departments and seeing how they work. At any rate, we managed to form a pretty good bond (along with several others), and hopefully, we'll continue to be able to chill out in the future, though it may not be that simple, since I work at night and Hashim works in a completely different building. 

In the last week there, it was kind of a bummer knowing that it would end soon, and our relatively relaxed lifestyles over the past month would end. Back to work, where instead of hanging out in groups, we'll be expected to work independently. But it was a good run, a good time, and maybe some day, we'll end up on the same course again.

So see you guys around the newsroom sometime. After all, it isn't that big, right?

The guys on my table. It was great spending about a month with you guys.

P.S. I never had to go out and get stories. They scrapped that part of the course, for which I am exceedingly grateful.

Avia

My grandmother passed away around midday yesterday, and I guess most of the family is still kind of getting to grips with it.

Unlike when my grandfather passed away four years ago, she went really fast. Grandpa had been slipping further and further into dementia in his final years, and his health deteriorated and he was hospitalized for a week or so before he finally stopped breathing. But grandma, she was still pretty healthy. She had been complaining of pain in her hips for the past couple of weeks, but we thought it was a case of rheumatism like she had had before (we later found out it was a hairline fracture in her pelvis), and so she just stayed in bed while we brought her food and tried to get her to move about.

She was complaining quite a lot these past two weeks, refusing to move out to the living room, or even to go use the toilet, and she would constantly bemoan the fact that she had no appetite and did not want to eat, no matter how hard we tried to get her to do it; not surprising since she was quite a stubborn old lady. Still, yesterday morning, it seemed like she was getting better, and although she did not touch her breakfast, she seemed relatively cheery and upbeat. But then she lost consciousness once just before noon, regained it for a while, then slipped off really fast.

There are quite a lot of things going on through my mind right now, but one thing I do not want to forget is stuff I do remember about her. There are so many things that I can kind of pick up from memory, like how she would make fried rice with charsiew (mom hardly ever uses it), or how she would buy chee cheong fun or make samsokdan for Andrew because those were the only things he would eat for breakfast, or her special curry that we would have (bright yellow, lots of cabbage and taupok, and rather watery in texture, but spicy), but I don't want to just think about her in relation to food, so here are five things in my memory that kind of stick out.

1. My brother and I pretty much grew up in my grandparents' place. Both our parents worked, so during the day, we would be at their place until dinner, when our parents and aunt would join us for dinner, and then my family would head back. When we were there, and we were still kinda young, we would always take our afternoon naps, and grandma was the one to get us to sleep. And she would always hum this song to us. Only a single fragment of the song still resides in my memory, and I do not even know if I remember the tune right, but she would always go something like "hm-hmm-Hm", with a slight emphasis on the last syllable.     

2. Around the same time, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles became really popular in Singapore. Apart from watching the half-hour cartoons at 6.30 every evening, my brother and I really wanted to get the action figures. We were really happy once when we found a discarded Donatello toy once, and got to keep it. But we also wanted to be able to get our favourite ones (Andrew liked Leonardo, and I for some inexplicable reason, liked Raphael then), and we would beg our parents to buy it. But they would not, mainly because my father did not believe in needlessly spending money on toys (he sings a different tune nowadays, but most of his toys are electronic, and they are for him). When my grandma heard we wanted those toys one day, she suddenly said to me, "Ok, let's go and buy it," then brought me out with my aunt (I think she was there, she was not working or off on that day or something). I kind of assumed it would be at the nearby market (which had a few provision shops that had toys), but was stunned when she flagged down a cab and we went to Metro. I admit, I was kind of shocked, and somewhat horrified at the thought of what my dad would do to me if he found out I convinced grandma to bring me out shopping, but we got two toys and went back. Dad didn't do anything much to me, and Andrew was quite pleased with his new toy (he was in the afternoon session then, so he was in school while we were at Metro).

3. Much much later, grandma was living with us. She had moved in a few years earlier with grandpa, having sold her place at Henderson Crescent (#03-24), but now grandpa was gone. She was starting to get out of her sadness by the time I left for Japan in May '09, and it seemed she was ok (though she was still really worried about me being out of Singapore - it's one of her foibles). In November that year, I tried to sneak back into Singapore without telling anyone except my brother. I was returning for a friend's wedding, and my parents knew I was supposed to be back, but I really wanted to prank them by not saying anything and then suddenly appearing in my bed the next morning. My plan failed, mainly because some doofus kept calling the house phone in the middle of the night just after I had slipped into the house, and so my dad found me out. I went to take a shower after that, and as is my wont, I kicked the floor mat closer to the shower area so that I wouldn't get too much water on the floor. The next morning, I popped out of my room, and surprised my mom, but grandma was not surprised at all to see me. I asked her why she knew I was around, and she calmly said, "You're the only one in the family who kicks the floor mat in the toilet near the shower stall, so I knew you had to be back."

4. While I was working in Japan, I came back to Singapore three times during my two years and three months there. The first time was the above-mentioned sneaky time. The second was in between my first and second years, for about three months. The third was near the end of my term. And those times, as well as after I returned for good and remained unemployed for 10 months, I would usually eat lunch at home (to get free food). Usually it would only be grandma and me at the table, since everyone else was working or at school. Sometimes, we would eat in silence, but other times, she would tell me all these stories and things about her life, and I really enjoyed it, partially because I'm a history kind of person, and partially because some of the things she told me painted my dad in a somewhat less-than-flattering light (mostly to do with mushrooms or his pride). And I really enjoyed those times just listening to her. I would usually finish eating much faster than her, and she would try to chase me off, but I think she really appreciated the fact that I would always wait for her to finish eating before leaving the table. And when she was done, she would sort of shrug and lift her hands palms up to show that lunch was over and we could both leave.

5. I also remember when Marie first came to Singapore. She was horribly nervous about meeting my family, even though my dad and mom had been really nice when they spoke to her over Skype. She got in really late at night, and so mom and dad welcomed her and showed her to her room. The next day was a normal work day, so by the time she woke up, everyone (except me, being unemployed of course) had left for work/school. Grandma had of course heard that Marie was around, so when she saw her in the morning, she tried to get her to eat breakfast. They couldn't really communicate, since Marie doesn't speak Chinese or Cantonese, and grandma could not really speak English or Japanese. But she did remember a few Japanese words she picked up as a girl during the Occupation, and the one she was very proud of being able to say was arigato (thank you), which she told Marie, partly to show off, and partly, I think, in relief that there was some girl willing to get attached to her eldest grandson. Marie wrote to me after she heard about grandma passing away, and she said she felt less nervous because my grandma was so welcoming, and she remembered how happy grandma was when she was showing Marie pictures of grandpa.

I know someday we will all be able to meet up again (I was so joyful when mom messaged me one day that grandma had finally decided to believe in Christ - she was the last of my grandparents to do so), and I'm really glad that she had a great community in church, with friends that would always bring her laughter and joy, and who would regularly come round to visit or pick her up. And I'm thankful to God too, that He was with all of us in this time, and that He decided to take grandma back into His arms, to give her peace and rest.

So sayonara, mama (yes, she remembered that too). I'll be seeing you some time around.

Iunctura

"Well, you certainly took your time coming here."

Her eyelids fluttered upon hearing the voice. She had been sleeping quite comfortably, for the first time in quite a long while, but she had been woken out of her slumber. It wasn't that the voice was loud, or particularly harsh, but there was something about it that she knew was not quite right, yet sounded strangely familiar...

Finally, her eyes opened and managed to focus on the sky high above her. That was another thing that was odd. She had fallen asleep in her bedroom, and she did not think she had been sleeping long enough for the sun to have started setting anyway. She reached out to her side for her glasses, then stopped in surprise. Her vision was completely fine, and she was able to see everything clearly, down to the finest detail, as the sun's rays gave an orange hue to everything.

She breathed deep, and the air, Such pure air, she thought, filled her with joy. It carried within it, the strong smell of the grass and the fields, and just a touch of fragrance from the wildflowers growing in the lee of some rocks behind her. She turned her head, and lifted her hands to touch a blade of grass, and felt its smooth surface, its fine edge, the way it connected to the stalk, and realized that she actually knew it.

She sat up straight, and her body responded easily like how it was like when she was still young and not weighed down by age or concerns. She marvelled at her arms; the skin was no longer wrinkled and sagging, but was as tight and smooth as when she was a schoolgirl, before the Occupation. She felt the strength in her limbs, the warmth on her face, and wanted to jump up and run about...

"It's also been too long since I've seen you with black hair," the voice said again from her other side.

She gave a short jump and twisted around. Lying on the ground next to her was a young man, arms behind his head, legs crossed, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. He cocked an eyebrow when he saw that she was finally acknowledging him, then grinned. She stared at him. He definitely looked and sounded familiar, and the way he looked at her, those dark eyes... and in a burst of alacrity, she knew why she was no longer an old woman bed-ridden by pain, but someone much younger, much..better...

The man looked back up at the sky, which was filled with brilliant streaks of pink and orange and the white wisps of clouds, and said, "You should have been here earlier to set up the place, and arrange the meals and do the washing..."

She gaped at him incredulously as he closed his eyes to relax. She suddenly knew who he was, and her heart almost burst with joy at seeing him again, but she also wanted to reach out and smack him for his impudence and wipe that smug look of his face.

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times as she tried to think of ways to riposte, then finally said, "Well, if you were here so much earlier, why couldn't you have done it yourself?"

"It's a woman's job to do that," he replied without opening his eyes, but the growing smile on his face told her he was not being serious.

She rolled her eyes and groaned. "What did I do to have to endure this from you? I finally get here to be with you and that's the first thing you say to me. All you do is complain and demand things from me and waste our money on food that is too expensive and make me do all the housework..."

She stopped when he reached out for her hand. It had been too long since she felt him, and she fell silent as she soaked in the moment, and feeling happy and complete once again.

They sat in silence for a while, then a thought that had been nagging her at the back of her mind finally came to the forefront.

"How about the others? Will I be able to go back down to see them for a bit?"

He sat up and shrugged. "That's not up to me to decide. When I came up, they were willing to let me go down one last time to see the rest, but I don't have that sort of authority."

"Who does then?"

The man jerked his head at the rocks with the wildflowers. "He does."

She turned around, and realized for the first time, that the two of them were not alone.

"Hello grandmother," the boy started, then added, "Though I do not think you look very much like a grandmother anymore."

She looked closely at the boy. Like the man, she sensed she knew the boy, but in a different way. She peered into this clear, black eyes, and saw ancient wisdom and youthful enthusiasm, eternity and impermanence, past, present and future, and she instantly knew Him.

She bowed her head, and respectfully said, "Lord."

The boy giggled, his laugh a clear and pleasant sound, and he spoke again. "Welcome! It's been a long journey for you, always working and thinking of the needs of those around you, but now you can finally rest. No more worries or cares, just peace and joy with us."

She smiled at that. It was something her children, and her grandchildren had been saying to her. The though of them reminded her of her request, and she raised it up.

"Will I be allowed to go back down to see them again, Lord?"

The boy looked thoughtful for a minute, then looked at her with more sadness than she thought anyone that youthful-looking should be allowed to bear.

"They love you, you know. And naturally, they asked.  And I know how they are feeling too, much more than they could ever know themselves. But while I could do it for him last time, I cannot do it for you this time."

She looked downcast for a moment, but then knew that the decision had been made with thorough consideration, and she bowed to the infinite wisdom of the choice.

She looked around a bit, then heard a bell tolling in the distance. The boy jumped off the rocks, and reached out for her hand, then pulled both her and the man to their feet.

"Time for us to go back," he said, then started walking, hand still in hers.

She looked back wistfully for a minute, remembering all those she was leaving behind. But the boy continued to pull her along, and the man smiled at her reassuringly, and she knew that it was time to leave it all behind.

"Let's go," the boy urged again, and this time, she did not hesitate, as they walked towards the eternal city.

*   *   *

Good bye, grandma.

Rest in peace.

1926 - 17/08/2012