Flirting With (Thoughts Of) Death

Thought about death this morning. No, I didn’t dash out the front door for a truckload of Panadol or arsenic or a Backstreet Boys CD (apparently, listening to it for 24 hours straight can and will kill you). I am NOT – I repeat – NOT suicidal. I’m merely contemplating the idea of death. The concept of it.

I was fumbling around for my car keys when I suddenly wondered what it would be like to just be … nothing. Of course, I didn’t think about the mundane stuff like how I would die, how long it would take and how it would feel (not very pleasant, I would imagine). I was simply wondering what it would feel like to just not be here anymore.

Then another thought crossed my mind: If I were dead / nothing / free from life, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the freedom that I now have, would I? Especially since I have now become zilch. I would be free, yes, but I would be too dead to enjoy it. To be free and to be able to savour freedom, I would have to be alive. But to be alive is to not be free. Talk about a no-win situation.

People say death is the coward’s way out. I beg to differ. While running away from your problems may seem like an unforgivable act of cowardice, I think this refers to like, running away to another state or country or something. That’s a kinda dumb thing to do cos wherever you go, there you are. You can never truly run away from life. As long as you’re alive, that is.

But dying isn’t like running away to another country. You are moving from a state of being to, well … not being. From existing to … no longer existing. In this case, there’s nothing cowardly about it because the journey to death (some people like to call this suicide) is generally an unpleasant one. And to make the conscious decision to take this journey, despite it being fraught with pain, blood, gore and a slim chance that you might make it out (god forbid) alive and thus, wind up even more miserable than when you first started, I think that takes a lot guts – I don’t care what the shrinks say!

Guts play an even bigger role when you consider folks who decide to kill themselves even when they believe that there’s life after death. Which means suicide is wrong. Which means you’ll wind up in hell being licked by flames and having your eyeballs gouged out with a pitchfork and being subjected to all sorts of things that are very, very … painful. Which means that death is not exactly a way out of your problems. Rather, it is the beginning of a whole new set of problems that will, unlike your sordid life, last for eternity. Because you cannot kill yourself once you’re in the bowels of hell!!!

Michael Jackson Is … What??!!!

I can’t believe Michael Jackson is dead. I grew up listening to him and for quite a long period, practically worshiped him. I had all his albums and until today, find it physically impossible to listen to his songs without getting a crazy urge to jump up and sing and dance. I love Billie Jean, The Way You Make Me Feel, Man In The Mirror (swoon), Smooth Criminal, Dangerous, They Don’t Care About Us, the list goes on and on and on.

I remember scraping together RM300 or so in 1996 (tough to do when you’re studying and have like, no money) to go see him live in concert in KL and becoming near hysterical when he appeared on stage and jumping up and down and screaming myself hoarse for two straight hours. I entertained the idea of camping outside the hotel where he was staying but decided not to as that might have been a bit too insane.

I’ve watched his videos, live performances, concerts and interviews many times and I can still watch them today and be just as transfixed as I used to be years ago. I can go to Sungei Wang and they’d be playing one of his live performances on TV, you know, in those electrical shops, and I will still stop to watch it, nailed to the floor, unable to pull myself away.

When news of all those accusations surfaced, I ignored them – those attention-whoring money-suckers can straight go to hell for all I care (as you can see, I’m totally unbiased). When they started making fun of him for all sorts of things – from the chimp to the elephant man skull, skin bleaching to plastic surgery, sleeping in oxygen tanks to dangling his baby over the balcony – my response was, “Mind your own goddamn business and leave him alone!!!”

I may not have watched Michael Jackson much recently but all it took was five minutes of youtube-ing him and I’m reminded of the musical genius he was. He had an extraordinary ability to connect with people through his music in a way that nobody – current or past – has ever done and, I can say for sure, will ever do. He was a phenomenal performer. Nobody will ever exude that level of magnetism, that all-consuming star power, that ability to work millions of people into a manic frenzy. And nobody will ever be able to carry off ankle-high trousers and beaded white socks in the same way he did.

The most successful performer of all time … the only artiste to garner eight Grammy awards in a single night … the biggest-selling record in history … There’s only one Michael Jackson; the rest are just sorry imitators.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go watch Billie Jean.

Again.

Goodbye, Grandma

This belonged to my grandmother. This was the pair of scissors she used 60 years ago as a seamstress to earn money to feed her family of nine children. The sundry shop my grandfather was running wasn’t doing well. There had been times when they couldn’t make the RM90 rent and were evicted. It was a tough life.

My grandmother passed away today. She had been in a critical condition in the hospital for over a month and her heart stopped today at 7am. They couldn’t revive her.

I’m now in her room in my uncle’s home. Everything is so familiar – familiar because they’re the same things that used to be in my grandparents’ old home years ago when I was a small kid. The old wooden cupboard with the stained mirror on one door, all her clothes neatly folded inside. A collection of short-sleeved button-down shirts and long pants, in every colour imaginable. Red was her favourite. The cupboard is lined with newspapers, just like she used to do years ago. Two small tables hold an assortment of items, one of which is a plastic container with a bottle of half-finished talcum powder, ointment for joint pain and mentholated balm. There are two photo albums with pictures of everyone, each picture carefully slipped into the transparent pocket. I wonder if she did all that herself and if she looked at the pictures whenever she was alone or feeling sad. Some of those pictures I’d never seen before. In the drawer is her passport – the pages are empty. Next to her passport is a picture of herself, nicely laminated. This is the one she’d told my aunt to use for her funeral. And there are bags of medicines – painkillers to alleviate the constant pain she had from her knee cap operation years ago, sleeping pills to help her go to sleep, all sorts of pills she’d diligently take every day. They’re all packed up in a small plastic bag. I recognise that bag; it’s the one she carried with her everywhere she went. I used to be amazed that she could read the doctor’s handwriting – as unintelligible as it was to the rest of us – and knew exactly which pills were meant to be taken when, how many times and for what.

I can’t describe the feeling of being in her room just a few hours after she’d gone. The first word that comes to mind is poignant. There’s just something very sad about going to the hospital and then, having your things come back without you.

I know she’s old and everyone’s time must come. I know we should be celebrating the life she’d led. There’s hope after death. She will always be alive in our hearts. She’s with God now. She’s no longer suffering. We’ll meet again. Blah blah blah and all that jazz. I know all that. But for now, I feel sad. I feel really sad because she’d had such a hard life and now, just like that, it’s all over. Nothing left but a few old photo albums, a cupboard of clothes and some half-empty bottles of medicines. Of course, she has a family that loves her dearly and I know most people would say that’s all that matters, but I still can’t help wishing that things had been a little different for her … a little easier, a little better.

Goodbye, grandma. We love you.

I’ve Found The Cure To Cancer, Diabetes, AIDS, Acne & Mood Swings

I care a lot about my health. That’s why I try to eat fruits and vegetables and avoid things that can lead to an untimely death (eg. poisonous plants, gasoline and most recently, char siew paus).

My health is also why I’ve kept one particular flyer tucked safely in my journal for a year. Every once in a while, I take it out to look at it. Recently, I realized how selfish I’ve been to keep this information all to myself. Good news must be shared! Especially when it can save people from horrible diseases and death. So I made the decision to share the information contained in this flyer. In fact, I’ve even gone the extra mile to enlarge each part of the flyer so that you guys can read it for yourself.

Whenever people slip things under my windscreen wiper, I usually toss them out without even looking at them. But not this time. The catchy headline seduced me immediately: LATEST BREAKTHRU IN TECHNOLOGY. I had become powerless and was lured in like a moth to a flame.

As my eyes travelled down the very long list of horrible deadly diseases, I was blown away. From cancer to AIDS (I thought AIDS was incurable but apparently not!), sinus infections to acne. I couldn’t believe it. This technology can cure cancer AND acne? It can also cure you of kidney disease and high blood pressure (I didn’t know high blood pressure was considered a disease – how ignorant I was before I read this flyer!), Lyme disease and even MOOD SWINGS! Wait wait, got some more. It can boost your fertility and cure sore throats while helping you fight Parkinson’s. And ALL FOR ONLY RM198! What a bargain!!!

At this point, I’m crawling out of my skin with excitement. Then I discover that this miraculous technology isn’t a drug but a MIRACLE FOOD! It’s so powerful that it works in JUST 2 DAYS. In fact, some Thai actress who was apparently mute AND crippled, could TALK within 24 hours and WALK within 48 hours of eating this Miracle Food! Thank god she was cured. I shudder to think how her acting career could’ve survived with her being, you know, mute and crippled.

I’m so excited, my fingers are trembling. I flip the flyer over and there are testimonimals. If that doesn’t convince you, I swear, nothing will. I mean, just read the headline: DIABETES LESS THAN A MONTH. You can become diabetic in less than a month! Most people take years to screw up their blood sugar levels and you get to do it in less than 30 days?? I say go for it. And below the headline are four pictures of grotesquely deformed feet with pus oozing out everywhere, bloody sores and other things. You know, just in case you don’t know what diabetes looks like.

Then come the testimonials: they’re all ang-mohs and look very happy to be cured of their diseases. The first lady was suffering from bronchitis, sinus, allergies, fatigue, migraine (AND headaches – double whammy) and joint pain. That’s a lot of suffering for one person, poor thing. Thank goodness she was cured in 8 months.

Even this guy (who looks suspiciously like Ralph Lauren) who had a damaged vertebra was cured in 18 days! And look at the doctor dude two pics down: his daughter had serious sinus problems and was cured in one month. And the last lady whose kidneys, muscles, liver and pancreas had FAILED was cured in 13 days! This Miracle Food practically raises people from the dead!

Makes me wonder why all these scientists are running around growing human organs on the backs of lab rats and cloning hamsters. They should all just become distributors of Miracle Food. They can do a lot more good that way, don’t you think?

Death By Hiking @ Bukit Chenuang

Here we are at the entrance to Bukit Chenuang aka Nightmarish Death Mountain aka Place I Swore I Would Never Hike Up Again. The entrance is pleasant and innocent-looking enough … thus I am blissfully lulled into a false sense of peace and security… the trees are nice and tall … the path up to the restrooms is nicely laid out and despite the toilets’ numerous flaws (flush doesn’t work, giant bugs scampering in sink), we are happy that we came …

… I stroll down the nicely tarred road, big grin on my face. “This is easy!” I think to myself. “Ah, like a walk in the park…” Little did I know what lay in store for all of us …

… Our guide Encik Roslan (whom shall henceforth be known as Heartless, Parang-Wielding Man or HPWM), leads the unsuspecting bunch of us – nine in all – into The Jungle …

… The Jungle is dense and wet and slippery and rocky and crawling with slimy blood-sucking leeches …

We take a short break after having hiked up a treacherous stream so that HPWM can take a smoke and leeches can have more opportunities to latch onto our butts for fresh blood …

… We smile for the camera. This is before HPWM tells us that we’ve only hiked for 45 minutes so far and there’s a LONG way more to go to the top of the hill and that there’s no shortcut and it’s about to get a lot tougher. We stop smiling …

After the stream is when it starts to get really steep and slippery (thanks to the mud and rain). Worse still, there’s nothing to grab onto, so climbing up is unnerving. We ask HPWM if we can go home now. He calls us ‘anak manja’ and tells us to move our butts … … Icy cold water slushing around in my shoes, my hands full of scratches, my knobby knees bruised, my backpack rubbing roughly against my back, I begin to wonder if I’m as tough as I think I am …

… I have a sudden urge to call my mother and tell her I’m sorry for not washing the coffee mug last week. I may never see her (or anyone else for that matter) again … Right at that moment, HPWM tells us there are harimaus, beruangs and babi hutans in this jungle. I wonder to myself, “WHAT THE F$#%@^#F%@#!FFF@!!! AM I DOING HERE THEN???!!!!”

… HPWM hacks his way through the wild mass of bamboo while we crawl our way through. Someone threatens to kick the butt of our trip organiser for tricking us into this …

Holy crap!! #%@$#%@#!!! Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? … And then, hallelujah!!! We reach the peak!!!!!!!!!! And it only took us 3 bloody freaking hours. It is noon and we’re all still alive. Nobody gets eaten by harimau, beruang or attacked by babi hutan.

No matter that the view sucks la. We quickly take this picture and wonder how the hell we’re going to get back down. We’re at an elevation of 2,720ft- one of the guys’ phones told us so.

This is the last time I smile. We make our descent soon after and I take no more pictures for the next 3 hours as we struggle to get out of the jungle. I fall down tons of times and I swear my butt’s paralysed … it is – in a word – HORRIBLE.

It’s 3pm and we’re finally out!!!!!! The feeling is indescribable – sort of like we’ve died and gone to heaven. I fight the urge to kiss the tar road and call my boyfriend, ex-boyfriends, mother, grandmother, auntie, uncle, cousin’s auntie’s friend’s sister … there are mud stains caked on my butt and my leech-proof socks and hiking shoes are soaked and filthy but who cares?? We’re out!!!

I had no leech bites on my legs or feet (thanks to my trusty RM12 leech-proof socks and a bucketload of cap kapak, tiger balm and vicks) but five little buggers managed to get into my shirt and onto my back! It looked pretty cool actually. What wasn’t cool was how eight of my ten toenails swelled up, turned purple and fell off. It’s been 10 months and I still can’t do a pedi. And THAT, my friends, is true torture.

Great Truths About Death & Money

1. I have all the money I need … if I die by 4 o’clock today. (Henry Youngman)

2. You can’t have everything. Where would you put it? (Steven Wright)

3. Money was invented so we’d know how much we owe. (Anon.)

4. I intend to live forever. So far, so good. (Steven Wright)

5. I don’t want to achieve immortality through my work. I want to achieve it through not dying. (Woody Allen)

6. Money is better than poverty, if only for financial reasons. (Woody Allen)

7. What’s the use of happiness? It can’t buy you money! (Henry Youngman)

8. To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering, one must not love. But then, one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; to not love is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy, one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness. (Woody Allen)