Survivor's Guilt

It's almost weird that I'm typing this post while I'm sitting in my room in New Haven, which essentially means I'm on my third continent this year. It's been 2 months since my last post, and it's been a very, very insane two months. From my month-long trip to Europe to starting college and now, summer immersion at Yale University, I am truly blessed.

But I'm writing this with a heavy heart mainly because I'm blessed. Sure, scoff and say I'm an ungrateful brat. I'm dealing with the worst survivor's guilt I've ever had at this moment mainly because I'm so blessed and everything is falling in place and I'm seeing so many amazing things that my brother would have wanted to. I know he is proud of me, I know he's really glad that I'm doing all these stuff, living the life he was meant to, but whenever someone says that to me, do you know how goddamn awful I feel? It's almost like I'm enjoying all this because he passed away, and frankly, it's partly true. I'm in the position I'm in now because his memory has spurred me on, because I live everyday trying to be the best person I can ever be for him just so wherever he is, he's looking down at me, proudly saying, "That's my baby sister."

That's not to say that I don't think I would have achieved similar successes if he was still around. Hell, my life would be infinitely different. I often think about the choices I have made that has led me to this moment in time, and it made me realise how often those choices were shaped by answering the question, "Would Abang be proud of what you're doing now?" This is not to say that I'm living my life solely for my brother. I've made a lot of difficult decisions that I know my brother may not have approved of, but would have understood. I've fucked up so many times because I just felt like making mistakes. And yet, at the end of every damn day, I still ask myself that question.

I'm not ashamed that I'm who I am today because of my brother's legacy. But if I had it my way, I wouldn't have him gone. I would want him here every day to see that I turned out good, that despite all the stupid mistakes I made when he was still around, I managed to turn over a new leaf and come out stronger. I know that 8 years on, all the people who knew and loved him still miss him very much. My entire family, his friends, his girlfriend. I know that we're all dealing with the loss in very different ways, and I am acutely aware that none of us have actually "gotten over it". I hate it when people tell me to "get over it", by the way, as though his death is as simple as losing a pen. Anyone who has ever dealt with the loss of a loved one would tell you straight up that we never, ever get over it. The loss is always there, profoundly present in ways we could never explain. We just learn to be stronger, deal with the pain a lot better so we cry a lot less, but we never get over it.

Thinking back to when I was 11, freshly in mourning, I think I've come a long way. I've never actually admitted that back then was one of the hardest points in my life because I was dealing with a whole new emotion I had never felt before, and there wasn't anyone to help me handle it. But I took all that pain and confusion and I became a better person (I like to think I am a better person than I used to be, because I was horrible as a kid). It's sad that I lost both my brother and hero, but I turned that around and I live everyday trying to make sure I make the people around me happy. And it's this very knowledge that keeps me going every single time I fall back into melancholy, every time my heart aches because it misses him more than usual, every time I feel like I'm the one who should have died that day.

Choices.

Just slightly less than a week ago, I was on my way to work when I received a text from my friend Deborah asking if I had checked the status of my Yale-NUS application. I was flummoxed at that moment because from what I knew, application decisions would only be out on the 15th of the month, not the 8th, but when I checked my email, there was one from YNC asking me to check the portal for the results.

I don't quite know what went through my mind as I logged into the portal and clicked on the results. All I remember was this horrendous thumping in my chest because I was so, so afraid of being rejected. When the page finally loaded, this is what I saw.

I am not ashamed to say that I was literally shaking when I saw it. You know in some movies, when life-changing things happen, there's always some sort of dramatic music or fireworks or something similarly ridiculous yet apt? I pretty much think that was what was happening in my head. I was so excited I couldn't type properly but I managed to send out texts and whatsapps to my family and friends. When they replied, well, I thought I was excited, but frankly, I think they were even more floored than I was. Their love and pride and tears (yes, some of them cried for me, which I find both adorable and touching) overwhelmed me and made me realise how damn lucky I am.

Then came the painful realization that this meant I had to make a very important decision.

SMU Law or Yale-NUS College?

For a lot of the people I talked to, it shouldn't even have been a question, because Yale-NUS is my dream. The only thing that spurred me on for A's besides my brother's legacy was the prospect of actually entering YNC. In my previous post, I had categorically stated that if it came down to this decision, I would accept YNC in a heartbeat. I wanted to, I really did, but I couldn't accept the offer until I had really, really thought it through. When YNC wasn't an option, it was easy to say that I would pick it, but now that it was, it became harder because it made everything so real. 

My father, being a traditional parent, wanted me to take law. It was safe, it was less risky, and as long as I kept my head in the game, I would have good career options. In contrast, YNC was a new school, a new concept in Singapore, untried and untested. I was a guinea pig, and we know not all guinea pigs have happy endings. I stressed so much about this that it almost took over the earlier happiness I had felt over being accepted in my dream school. 

Then, I realised one thing. When my friends talked to me about YNC and its opportunities, I always referred to all its activites in the collective pronoun. "Yes, we will be going to Yale in July" "We have to stay on-campus" "The curriculum we will be studying is multi-disciplinary" Without even realising it, I had already accepted the offer. I already saw myself as a student of YNC. 

So, after talking it over with my parents, I finally took the plunge and accepted the offer. I'm more than proud to say that come July, I will be joining my class of more-than-qualified peers in Yale University for our summer immersion, and I will be spending my next 4 years at the YNC campus. 

This is going to be my home away from home.

I am mad excited. :)

Of results and university.

So, I abandoned this space for quite awhile. Hell, the last time I posted, I didn't even know what my future was going to be like (to be fair, I still don't, but at least it's a lot clearer than 2 months ago...). I would like to come up with a fantastic excuse as to why I didn't commit to blogging, but truth is, I've just been too lazy. There, the simple and painfully mundane truth.

The last time I blogged, though, I was musing a lot about my results and what the future holds in store for me. First things first, I did decently well for my A levels. It surpassed my expectations. I'll admit I had pretty low expectations of myself, not because I didn't trust in my ability, but because I was aware that my effort didn't warrant grades worth bragging about. I'm still aware, so I won't reveal my letter grades, but I got 83.75 ranking points out of a maximum 90 ranking points. If you take the A levels in Singapore, you would have a pretty good gauge of my letter grades because, well, there aren't that many permutations which would give you 83.75RP, but yes, it is pretty good and I cannot express how grateful I am to my teachers and my friends because they pushed me so much more than they had to, and they believed in me when I didn't believe in myself. It's amazingly cliche, but it matters a lot to have someone behind you when you're going through tough times (and trust me, A levels is tough). I couldn't possibly list them all down here, I won't even try because this post would end up becoming excruciatingly long, but you guys know who you are and you know I love you so much. :)

University-wise, I'm so amazingly blessed to have been accepted at all 3 local universities. NTU accepted me for Communication Studies, NUS accepted me for FASS, and believe it or not, SMU accepted me for Law. Yes, laaaaaaw. I can't even begin to express my absolute shock at being accepted by SMU Law, because sometimes, I just think it's a cruel joke the universe is playing on me. People who have known me since I was in primary school (surprisingly quite a few, people generally don't keep in contact with their primary school friends but I cling to them like a koala) would probably know law was my intended career path when I was young. But as I grew up, I started to realise I had a lot of interests elsewhere. I was great at literature, I absolutely loved history, I always kept close tabs on politics both domestically and internationally. My teacher introduced me to philosophy when I was 14 and I've devoured books by Plato, Aristotle, Marx, Nietzsche, just to name a few. I struggled a lot with economics in JC but I loved how applicable it was to the real world. So somewhere along the way, I stopped focusing so much on law and just went with the general flow of my education. When I was applying for SMU, I looked at the course choices and I thought, "Oh hell, let's just put law as my first choice, what are the odds that I'll get it with my grades anyway?"

Good odds, apparently, because I got a call from them confirming an interview and a written test.

The same day as my interview, I returned to Innova JC for their Musician's Club concert to support my dear juniors, Putera and Farhan, and coincidentally, I bumped into my Malay Language teacher while loitering outside the school hall and decided to tell her I had just attended an interview for SMU Law. I added that I wasn't even sure if I would choose it and she looks at me and goes, "But why, isn't it something you've always wanted to do?" I was dumbstruck, because, how in the world did she know something that I hadn't even considered or thought about for years? It turns out that I had thought about it when I was in J1, and I had told her that I wanted to be a lawyer. It's amazing how things like this can slip right out and it's even more amazing how easily I forgot.

I went home that day, and I thought long and hard (yes, yes, that's what she said) about my life, and I realised that law really was something I could see myself doing. I can't say that it's right for me, because life is such that you can never say such things with absolute certainty, but I know if I did choose to accept SMU's offer, I would throw myself wholeheartedly into the world of law without a second thought.

Then comes the what-if. There is a giant what-if hanging over my head at this moment, and it has a name: Yale-NUS. For my entire J2 year, Yale-NUS was all I talked about to my friends and my teachers. I had looked at their curriculum, hyperventilated over their sample syllabus, marvelled at the opportunities it offers its students. My teachers and friends, naturally, were just as excited about it as me, because they saw that YNC was what I was suited for, something that was right up my alley. However, when I received my grades, I didn't think they were good enough to apply to YNC. Singaporeans would know how crazily competitive YNC is, because there are only 150 spots for the first intake, and there are 3 rounds of admissions, which means that by the time I was holding my A level results in my hand, they had already accepted around half of that 150. I remember sitting in front of my civics tutor holding that paper and smiling to myself (because, hey, I didn't except those grades) until she decided to burst my happy bubble by going, "I assume you're not going to apply to Yale-NUS with these grades right?"

Honestly, I wasn't going to. But my friends pushed me to try, because in their words, "If you don't try, then, well, obviously you're not going to get it." So on a whim, I applied. Mr Billy Tan and Mrs Koh were more than obliging when I requested recommendations, and my friends happily helped me look through the personal essays I submitted. The last thing I expected was a reply, but a reply was what I got. I have no idea if it was the stellar recommendations (I assume it's stellar because they are wonderful teachers) or my essays (I'm going with the recommendations because I don't think my essays were that good) but I was shortlisted for an interview. And now, I just await a reply which will come on 15th May.

Ever since I got accepted by SMU Law, the only thing people ask me is if I will take that over Yale-NUS. My answer is no, I wouldn't. I know it's a big risk to go to a college that is in its first year, because my batch would be the guinea pig batch, but I also know that the experiences and opportunities I would have at YNC would be unrivalled at SMU. I'm insanely honoured to be accepted at SMU Law, I really am, but truth is, my entire life, all I've ever wanted to do was go to a university, and for some odd reason, I just feel that the YNC experience would fit what I've always wanted in a university. Also, sometimes, we just have to have faith and take a risk.

But these are all suppositions, because nothing is for certain until 15th May, when I will know for sure if YNC wants me or not. For now, I'm just going to kick back, relax, and watch Grimm. ;)

Results are everything... Or are they?

I am freaking out.

I suppose this freak-out has been in the making for the past few months. I would date it back to when I last walked out of the halls of Innova JC into what I perceived was freedom but was in reality just another humdrum life. We all had such grand plans for our post-A Levels period but I'm quite sure most of us spent it either working or lazing around at home. The list of adventures we all wrote is in one corner, collecting dust.

And then, before we knew it, the day of reckoning was announced. 1st March.

As I sit here writing this, my mind is a flurry of thoughts, mostly negative. Mostly doubts, mostly questions of inadequacy. What if my results aren't good enough for a local university? What if my results are good enough for a local university but not good enough for the course I want? What if my results are good enough for everything but just not good enough for everyone? Most of the pressure I'm feeling right now isn't as much the actual grades on paper as the thought of disappointing everyone who believes in me. I feel quite terrible, to be honest. This emotional stress has culminated into physical stomachaches and insomnia. People who know me know that I'm generally not a worrywart when it comes to studies, so when I start being worried, it must mean this is a big deal.

Isn't it, though? We have all heard the horror stories of people who failed. We all jokingly make comments about a future career path in fast food establishments if our grades were not good enough. And although we laugh when someone says it, I think we all, deep down, fear that it may one day be our reality. I'm not saying that anyone working in a fast-food establishment is a failure, because I'm quite sure they aren't, but there is that stereotype which has been drummed into our heads for years at end. In Singapore, if we do badly in our studies, that's pretty much it for us. We're doomed to a life of poverty and misery. This is why tuition centres flourish in our kiasu society, this is why our syllabus is getting progressively harder (and I'm not quite sure if reviewing the syllabus will change that). But is it really the end?

Frankly? I think not. I don't want to paint a beautiful, positive picture where every single one of us ends up happy and successful, but I'm pretty damn sure that if our grades on Friday aren't the best, it isn't the end of the world. I would love to post cliche examples of successful people who dropped out of high school, who didn't go to university, but we've all heard them, and we've all walked away thinking, "Yeah, that's like 1 in ten thousand." I strongly, strongly believe that life is what we make of it. I'm not religious, so I'm not going to tell anyone that this is the path that God planned for them or whatnot. However, I'd like to think that when one door closes, another one opens. And if all the damn doors don't open, then find a window. I'm sure that there will be one, because if you look hard enough, if you work hard enough, there is always one.

So, to all my fellow A level graduates who are receiving their results on Friday, I know a lot of you are worried. I know that a lot of you doubt yourself, I know that a lot of you are preparing for the worst. I'd just like to say that if when you hold that certificate in your hand and your grades aren't what you wanted, it's alright to cry, mope, despair. But at the end of the day, it's up to you to turn that failure into a success. And if you worked really hard but fell short, know that if you continue working hard, it will pay off someday. The internet wasn't invented overnight, and it took Alexander Graham Bell 6 years to make the telephone. If you didn't work as hard as you should've (that would be me), then make damn sure that whatever path you choose to embark on after this is one that we will be committed to. And of course, if you worked hard and you did well, then congratulations because you definitely deserved it.

Most importantly though, follow your passion. I know people who have bowed to parental pressure, peer pressure, societal pressure, and embarked on journeys which ultimately led to despondence. A lot of us seek approval from the people around us because we feel inadequate and because we feel as though the choices we make aren't good enough. Well, believe in yourself, believe in what you want, and even if people don't agree with it, go ahead and pursue it anyway. We're all young and we're all bound to screw up, so don't be too tough on yourself. Go out there and create your own destiny.

Good luck, guys, and I hope that life works out for everyone of us. And maybe the tiny idealist in me is talking, but I'm sure somehow, it will. :)

The Summer State EP Launch

So, as many of you would know (if you know me personally, that is), I have met some pretty amazing people in my line of work at Noise Singapore. One of them is Bryan, drummer for The Summer State, who told me to pursue my writing, which in turn led to my sending in an application for the TODAY Internship. Thus, when I saw that The Summer State was launching their EP on the 23rd of February, I decided to go down to support him, quid pro quo.

I'm not sure how many of you have seen The Summer State's latest MV, "I Do, I Don't", which has, at the time of this posting, garnered over 30,000 views on YouTube. Frankly, that is no mean feat for a local band, and I am immensely proud that in some ways, the local music scene is gaining some momentum. If you haven't, then feast your eyes below. It is really worth the 4:19 because the plot is interesting and just don't get me started on the song (which has been on repeat for the past day, I love slow songs so...).

It's funny how I nearly missed the launch, because at the very last minute, my friend, Putera, who was supposed to go to the event with me, had to go back to Malaysia. Unable to convince anyone to accompany me, I briefly considered missing the entire event because I've never been comfortable going for events alone, mainly due to the fact that I am a very, very awkward person. Yet, I really don't regret making the super spontaneous decision (just an hour before the event was to begin) to give it a whirl anyway. So I packed up my DSLR and headed down to Home Club for what I fervently hoped was an evening of fun and excitement.

Truth be told, I wasn't disappointed.

Despite the fact that I don't know Bryan super well (we've only talked briefly in real life, and exchanged a few tweets), he was more than welcoming when he found out I had made the trip down to support him alone. He introduced me to two of his friends, Aurelia and Paul, who ended up accompanying me for the duration of the entire launch. I am immensely grateful for that because without them, I'm damn sure I wouldn't have had half the fun I did at the event.

In addition to The Summer State, the launch included performances by other mad talented bands such as Trick, Godzilla, For This Cycle, Amateur Takes Control and West Grand Boulevard. I had only heard Godzilla before so I was quite psyched to listen to the rest. Sadly, though, I wasn't feeling super good so I could only stay in the club for a few performances at a time before I had to go out for some fresh air. I ended up only listening to Trick, Godzilla, For This Cycle and of course, The Summer State. I quite regret not listening to West Grand Boulevard because my boss, Jianping, had been raving about them the entire week and telling me how good they are. Fingers crossed, I'll get the opportunity to listen to them live someday. :)

Godzilla's performance was the only one which I managed to get proper photos of, mainly due to my inability to push my way to the front. I was already at the front for their performance so naturally, I got decent shots. These boys are, for lack of a better word, amazing. I first got to know about their music through, no surprises here, Noise Singapore, because they are one of the featured artistes for the Pop-Up Noise exhibitions which I'm currently working at. When I first listened to their music, I wasn't expecting much, because they are young (younger than me, so whenever I'm with them, I feel old) but good lord did they blow me away. It's really no wonder that they played at Baybeats 2012 because their music is really, really, really good. If I was to be perfectly honest, they do have room for improvement (we all do, in everything we do), but with what little time they have had as a band, their accomplishments are well-deserved. I cannot stress enough how impressive these guys are, so check them out yourself here and you'll know why. And if you're too lazy to click on the link (I always am too lazy), then I'll do you one better by putting a video right here.

So yeah, go get their EP, go support them at gigs, they're worth it.

And, of course, the highlight of the night was The Summer State's performance. I am no stranger to The Summer State. I first caught them in 2011, when they opened for The Sweet Collision, a concert featuring Mayday Parade and Eyes Set To Kill. They were already good then, but they were mind-blowing at their EP launch. There were some problems with the sound system, but they overcame it and, damn, did they bring that roof down. I think that the really high-as-hell crowd helped round up the experience as well. These people have come a really long way from when I first heard them in 2011 and for some inexplicable reason, I'm just really proud. I won't go too much into their music itself because I honestly think you should give it a listen yourself here. :)

The amazing night wouldn't have been possible without these guys, so thank you all so much for pursuing your dreams and producing such a lovely EP, and of course, launching it alongside what I can only describe as wonderful bands.

So, to end off this post, I'd just like to say that I know a lot of people who read this probably have never listened to local music before, or have the mindset that local music is lousy. I don't blame any of you, because just two months ago, I was in that very same position. Yet, a lot of us, as idealistic youths, complain that the government does little to support the local arts scene when we ourselves don't make the effort to support it. If we don't support these people (who, contrary to popular opinion, are really talented and have so much more potential to unleash), then we really can't expect them to get the sort of exposure they truly deserve. So, let's all just take that step and support local, and ya'll can start by clicking all the links I shared above! :)

Who We Used To Be.

People change. She knew this, and yet she hated it. She found it weird, though, because she was very sure she had changed over the years as well. She wondered if her friends felt the same way about her now as she did about George. The disappointment that plucked at her heart whenever she read his tweets, the awkward silences that plagued their meet-ups. She supposed that their friendship had gone on longer and far better than anyone would have expected, considering the circumstances that surrounded it.

She first met him through a mutual friend, a "friend" she no longer spoke to or, to put it crudely, gave a shit about. During that time, she was always used by her friend as the third wheel, asked to follow them on outings so that if things got weird, she would step in and help them move things along. She was oddly alright with this arrangement, because she figured she was doing them both a favour by helping them get together. Then, things started to go wrong.

She got to know him through a friend, had wanted to keep him as an acquaintance, but she found herself becoming closer to him, becoming an actual friend and not just the middleman. The inevitable eventually happened -- she started to care for him. Hence, when her friend started to treat him badly, started to ignore him for reasons unknown (and which she never thought to ask), she got upset, protective. Her friendship with the mutual friend got strained, and as time went by, it spread so thin it felt ridiculous to continue grasping at it. So, she let it go, reluctantly.

She and George got closer, so close that people talked about them, so close that speculations were fueled about a possible relationship. She was aware of this, yet she chose to ignore it because she knew, deep down, that she had no romantic feelings for him. During the horrible times she went through in school, he was her rock, one of the few people she trusted enough to be honest with. It was mainly because she trusted him so much that when he showed signs of change, she dismissed it as a reaction to the stressful environment they were both studying in.

Their first fight happened a week before her birthday, but it was a fight that had been in the making for the past few weeks before that. A new girl had entered his life, a girl she was wary about because, well, she was generally wary of everyone. She was acutely aware she had trust issues, and this probably impeded her view on this girl, but she didn't like, at all, that George and this girl were getting close. Whenever he told her about the girl, she would deliver a scathing remark which he never appreciated (and which she didn't expect him to). Yet, their discussions always stopped shy of an argument. It was as though both of them were trying their very best to test how deep the waters would run before one of them sank.

He sank first. Their fight was brief, angry. He was upset at her tone (how do you even read tone in a text?) and took offense at her insinuations that he spent more time with the new girl than the old friend. She had reached the point of jadedness, didn't want to care anymore. They didn't speak for a week after that, and when he approached her on what was supposed to be a good day for her (she never understood why birthdays were supposed to be so), she wasn't prepared for any reaction other than pure, unadulterated anger. She spent her birthday celebration in the toilet, crying because she was so painfully aware that even though he cared, she cared a lot more.

Yet, as quite a number of friendships go, they made up. But things were never the same, would never be the same. Most of his gestures seemed forced, pondered, as though he was trying too hard at things he never used to even think about. They grew apart as he and the new girl officially became a couple. They stopped spending time together, stopped keeping tabs on what went on in each other's lives. And just like that, an amazing friendship was lost.

She supposed that, at the end of the day, she was the intermission, the friend that was there when he didn't have someone else to occupy his time. She would be upset, except that they had a good run and their shared memories were, at least to her, treasured. Did she hope, that someday, he would become the guy she first knew? Well, of course. But as she had learnt over the years, hope is a paper boat that sinks. She figured it was better to move on, explore what else the world had for her. And if somewhere down the line, that involved him again, then maybe, maybe, their story would continue.

Changing Seasons.

“It's possible to go on, no matter how impossible it seems, and that in time, the grief . . . lessens. It may not go away completely, but after a while it's not so overwhelming.” - Nicholas Sparks

2 days to what would have been my brother's 29th birthday. I went out with Melanie today (my primary school friend who left when we were 9 and whom I recently reconnected with) and I ended up telling her about my brother's accident. It all felt so surreal, recounting his last moments on earth. I heard what I was telling her, but there was this hollow ache in my heart. I told her he died instantly, which was information I shared not because I felt essential, but  which I needed to say just to comfort myself. I often think about that fateful day, 13th April, and I often think of the moments leading up to his death.

I was 11 at that time, and to be fair, I didn't quite grasp the concept of death. I had been exposed to enough shows, movies and books to know it was unpleasant, unexpected and painful, but never in my wildest dreams did I ever think it would happen to me. It's funny, how we as humans are taught from young to be cautious, to take responsible risks, yet we always live with the mindset that bad things won't happen to us. Around the time of his accident, I was on my way home from school with my maid, choosing not to take the chartered bus my school provided for students who had to stay back for after-school activities. The weird thing is, if I had taken the bus, I would have passed by the accident scene because it was on the road home. The weirder thing is, around the time of his accident, I was filled with a sense of unease and the inexplicable urge to just cry. I attributed this to stress, because I had undertaken a lot of responsibilities in school.

Then the phone call came.

Everything after that was a blur, and yet it was acutely clear. The sight of my mother passing the phone wordlessly to my father, who broke the news to us, the way she collapsed on the stairs and screamed uncontrollably, it's a sight I never thought to see, but cannot erase for what I know will be the rest of my life. She cried hysterically, half-mumbling, half-shouting in all the languages she knew (three; English, Malay, Chinese) that he wasn't dead. Then, the first of the mourners arrived, my uncle.

My uncle.

He died last year of illness. (The memory of his ailing body, skeletal and wasting away, another thing I never wished to see, but did.) And when he did, the first thing my aunt said to me as she hugged me and cried was, "You lost your brother, now I've lost mine." That made me cry even harder, because it reminded me so badly of that night on 13th April 2005, a night I had buried in my attempt to focus better on my exams. I remember his sombre face as he tried to comfort my mother, my sister, my father. He asked if I was alright, and I had nodded, muted.

The truth is, I didn't cry, because I refused to believe he was dead. I thought that everything was a sick, sick joke. In retrospect, I think that I forced myself to cry because my house, in a mere hour, was full of people crying, and it seemed like the almost-natural thing to do. It all seemed strange to me, that so many people would call on us at 9pm at night, or later, to share our pain and grief. Family, friends, colleagues, all rushing out upon hearing the news and bearing upon my house despite the late hour to lay a comforting hand on our backs. 

I slept in my sister's room that night, although sleep eluded me for the most part. When I woke up, I remember not opening my eyes at first, desperately praying (because I had a stronger faith back then) that when I did open them, I would be in my parents' room, and not my sister's, because that would have meant that it was all a bad dream. But of course, when I opened it, I was on my sister's pull-out mattress, and my cousin's wife was sitting on another mattress, looking at me with what I can only express as sad eyes. Walking down the stairs to my living room seemed just as unreal as everything that was happening. All the furniture had been pushed aside, and mourners filled the room, their sadness hanging heavily in the air. My mother was sitting down, ashen-faced, rejecting all the food that was offered to her. The scene was depressing, and I left the house, though for the life of me, I cannot remember where I went.

When I returned, he was there. His body, shrouded in white. I took one look at him and walked away, but not before I cast curious glances at the girl who was kneeling in front of him, staring at him, her eyes red-rimmed, her cheeks glazed with tears. I later found out she was his girlfriend. And when I did, I hated myself, because I never knew. I never knew that my own brother, whom I loved and admired, was in love with a beautiful, strong lady. And I hated that there was so much more about him that I would never learn. 

The funeral was, and still is, the worst part of the entire memory. Growing up, I had a love-hate relationship with my father, who had always adopted a disciplinarian approach to raising us. But seeing him there, looking at his dead first-born, his only son, seeing him fall to his knees, seeing him cry, seeing him being helped up by relatives, that was when I realised he was just as vulnerable as everyone else. He was relatively calm, though, compared to my mother, who begged with the imam (or whatever the person is called, I don't know, to be honest) not to take her son away. I had to participate in a ritual, where I took flowers and scattered them in a circle around his head, but the moment I came closer to the body, the moment my eyes laid upon his scarred face, I was overcome by such an intense wave of grief that I didn't know what I was doing. I vaguely remember someone taking my hand and guiding me as I shook violently and screamed and tried to resist whoever was holding my hand. Then I kissed him on the forehead.

I can't describe what it's like to kiss your dead sibling. It was like laying your lips upon a marble floor, because it was cold and stiff, but at the same time, it was a lot more than that. And as I kissed him goodbye, I told him I love him. And then I hated myself even more than I already did because I had never told him that I love him when he was alive.

And yet, in some way, I knew he knew I did. 

He would have been 29 on 6th February. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about him, that I don't miss him, that I don't wish I will one day wake up and find out this part of my life was just a sad dream and he would tell me to stop being a stinky jabroni and exercise more. There isn't a day that goes by where I don't long to hear his familiar cough, his annoying laughter, to smell his overpowering cologne. But I will never experience any of those again. If anyone is reading this, a lot of you have family and friends who are still alive, who are still able to love you, care for you and annoy you. Appreciate them, because when they are gone, no amount of crying, no amount of regret, no amount of writing and blogging will make them come back.

I would know. I've done it. 

“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” - Anne Lamott