I can still remember very vividly, where I was, what I was doing and what was on my mind on this day. It was just after noon time, when I arrived in the library, ready to continue studying for my exam. Just a few hours before that, I had texted my mum. She asked if I was free to FaceTime that day and I asked her if we could push it back a couple of days, which she agreed readily. For some reason, I just decided to check my phone at the library and I had multiple messages from my mum and my youngest sister, asking me to call right away. I had an idea of what was coming. A big part of me was trying to be calm, trying to downplay the situation, but a tiny part of me knew and was ready to accept that Ah ma was probably not going to live very long, that she was likely taking her last breaths.
June 2018
"Ok. When the time does come that Ah ma passes away, how do you want to be told? Do you want me to call or just to send a text?" my mum asks somberly.
"Call. Don't text." I respond almost immediately, a part of me hating myself for already having such a quick response to the situation that I hate to confront most.
"Yeah, don't text me. Call me," my younger sister says.
"Ok. So you want me to text you and tell you to call me?" my mum clarifies.
"Yes," we respond unanimously.
52 weeks ago
I hurry downstairs to the lower floor of the library with my earphones on. The ringing sound is annoying me, despite my having heard it countless times over the past 3 years.
"Hello? Mum. What's wrong?" I say, even though I'm pretty sure we both know that I know the answer.
"Hey. She fell asleep about an hour ago, but she hasn't woken up even though we've tried."
"Ah ma, wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up." I say with a gradual crescendo that ascends to a forte with each repetition of "wake up". I repeat myself for what feels like an eternity, each time failing to rouse her, my heart breaks a little bit more.
"I don't think she'll wake." mum says. "We'll keep you updated ok? Is text ok?"
"Yeah," I respond, suddenly at a loss for words.
I return to my seat in the library and tears start to stream down my face. I will myself to stop it. I tell my brain that I need to study for the exam that is in 2 days, that I need to study now and I'll let myself cry when I get home. And so I spend the next 6-7 hours studying in the library, with tears flowing ever so often.
On the walk home, the dam begins to leak and the tears are just flowing slowly and silently and I taste the salty water that my eyes somehow are capable of creating. I try to control it, after all, the last thing I want is for complete strangers to watch me cry. My tears are a restricted access zone, they are not a show for public display.
It is only when I am back in my house, in my room, with my door closed then does the dam finally break. I let out a sob and suddenly, it just doesn't stop. It goes on and on and it can't stop, won't stop and it doesn't feel like it's enough. No amount of tears can salvage the wounds of my heart. I still can't believe it happened and I wished for it to all be a terrible nightmare that I would eventually wake up from and laugh about.
