300 days and slowly counting

Festive holidays like Christmas and Lunar New years are just not the same anymore. All that gift-giving, the customary routines and familiar festive rituals which once brought so much warmth, glee and comfort have lost their charm. A smile is missing.

But hard as it was, the LNY holiday was finally over. Though not the festive season. It is customary for the LNY celebrations to go on for 15 days.

Today was the first day back to office. After a long weekend, prolonged by the two days of public holiday. As expected, it was a slow day. Many of our young staffers took leave to extend their celebration. So the office was unusually quiet. I had no appointments, nor meetings and kept mostly to myself, huddled around my computer in the privacy of my office room. I spoke to no more than 2 or 3 people throughout the day and took my time answering each email. A rare day indeed. Even rarer still, I found myself counting the hours to get home. Like a clock-watcher, the kind I would be careful about offering a job to. More days like these and the signal is clear.  That I should wind down, and call it a day. To retire for good.

But then again this slowness at work is to be expected. After a long CNY holiday break, it takes time to shake off the inertia and lethargy. Very soon, well before the week ends, normalcy will resume and our office engine will soon be buzzing away. Like a well-oiled machine, back to the usual hum-drum. I should enjoy the quiet while it lasts.

But some things remain as routine. Over the last 10 months or so. Leaving the office, in the same familiar posture. Shoulders hunched, stooping with hands in my pocket, as I slowly trudged to the car.  Above, the heavily clouded sky hinted rain, as did the balmy breeze stirring the falling leaves into a swirl around the near empty car park. It was an unusually cold evening.  As cold as the emptiness that has gutted me, this last 10 months or so.

10 months or so, since Jenny took her bow. From the stage of life.

Now, does this sound right?

No.  Stating her absence in such broad time periods sounds wrong. Where is the precision? It is not doing justice to the grief that is tearing me up each freaking day.  I should be exact.

Today is in fact 300 days since the day she died and it is only proper to state as that. No less. She has been dearly missed each and every one of these days. Not a single day had passed without me thinking of her, aching for her presence and missing her. So stating the time that she had gone missing in general and less precise terms is simply inappropriate.

So it has been 300 days. But how much have I learned? I know I need to re-learn anew. In this new and cruel reality forced upon me. Learn to live life again without her.  To be a single again. It has not been easy. I am not talking about being a swinging bachelor again. Youth is a far-fetch fantasy that is not even in my wildest dream worth conjuring. My creaking bones would constantly remind me my age.

In reality, these days, just by myself, I can think of a hundred and one things to do. Keep myself busy and occupied. A lot of my past-times can even be highly enjoyable. I could rekindle my passion and revive my flair for illustration and artistic renderings. I could further delve into music, improve my guitaring or learn to play other instruments – keyboards or the violin. And I could read, read and continue reading till my sight fails. Watch all the free movies I had missed through movie streaming sites, travel to exotic places before mobility fails me. Or simply sit around and do nothing.

There is also no shortage of people who are just a phone call or message away who can provide great fellowship and company.

But for now, everything I do appears to be just a whole lot of distractions. It all seems to be just things to do. To kill time. And while the days away. And keeping count.

The only time I truly feel fulfilling appears to be when I am alone.  Looking through my archives of photographs of her. And thinking of her. Or writing this blog posting. Grief is the unwanted companion I cannot quite shake off as I journey through this new reality.

So it appears I am not learning so well on how to re-start my life anew. Because it scares me that moving further ahead may mean leaving her behind. Doing the unthinkable. Forgetting her. This scares the hell out of me.

And it scares me too to think that I will be growing old alone, all by myself, without her.

It is only 300 days since she was gone.  Time seemed to have slowed down in this new life of mine. I must have been clock watching again.

Lunar New Year, that time of the year again...

“Bye and Happy New Year”. One by one my colleagues came by to greet me before stepping out the office.  It was the end of another work week.  Start of a long weekend culminating to the Chinese or Lunar New Year and two days of holidays on the following Monday and Tuesday. Everyone were in buoyant mood.  And I responded, all smiles in similar sing-song fashion to return the new year greetings. Cheerfully.

But I felt like a hypocrite.

In truth, it is hard to be happy. The heaviness inside me was building up from within many days ago. The sights and sounds were everywhere and inescapable. CNY jingles blaring in the background, thunderous drumming of lion dance troupes from afar, rows and rows of mandarin oranges lining the street stalls amid the heavy squeeze of shoppers flooding the supermarkets and malls.  They bombard the senses from every direction. Reminders of the looming festive season that is most significant to anyone ethnically Chinese in this part of the world. 

And it seemed like the entire Chinese population on the island were waiting in wild anticipation for the auspicious day to come. All but for one grieving husband.

I was still agonising how I should get thru this first CNY without my dearest Jenny. I have already told my kids and a few other people that we will not be celebrating this year. If I have my wish I would prefer curling up somewhere cosy and hibernating the long weekend away, maybe with a good book at hand and my trusty iPad within reach. I need my staple of music videos.

I wonder also if it had not been for my beloved wife, my kids would have grown up and acquired any semblance of cultural awareness. I confess not being a big fan of observing traditional or customary rituals and practices. They appear more a bother, a hassle that value-adds to little other than feeding some fanciful superstitious notions.

But the reality of social norms decreed that certain basic customary practices be duly observed.  One cannot totally run away from them.

Take the exchange of mandarin oranges for example. Oranges are coloured like gold so to offer them is to offer "good luck". And good luck is exchanged by giving and receiving pairs of oranges. During the CNY festive period, it is expected for visitors to offer oranges to the host who will in turn return them in exchange.

I came close to fluffing this basic ritual with possible dire consequences on my long term love life.

It was the first day of CNY, 1982. Jenny and I were still in courtship. It was the very first time I was invited to Jenny’s house to meet her parents and rest of the family.  She was residing at the northern most housing estate in our island and yours truly, all smartly dressed was driving up to pay them a visit, and bring in good tidings for the year. A respectful gesture to earn brownie points. I had perked myself up and rehearsed my lines to say the right words to resonate blissfulness and prosperity. I had to be sure of making the best possible first impressions to my future-in-laws.  

Halfway into the journey heading to her residence, I realised to my horror of horrors that I had not brought along any mandarin oranges.  I would need to present a pair of oranges to the family. It was complete mindlessness on my part to have left the house without the all-important fruits in hand. Not observing this basic custom and meeting Jenny’s parents for the first time would tantamount to disaster.  What would they think of me? Some disrespectful or cultural ignoramus of sorts trying to court their daughter?  How could I have been so unthinking and careless to leave the house empty-handed on that day? To visit my potential in-laws and still hope that they will have anything positive written in their head about me?

What excuses could I possibly offer?

Desperation turned to panic. And deservingly so.  I quickly detoured into the neighbourhood centre with the faint hope of finding a fruit stall peddling mandarin oranges. It did appear to be hopeless venture, after all why would any soul be doing business on a CNY holiday? 

But as my inexplicably good fortune would have it, lo and behold, there it was, a glorious sight to ease the sorest of sights. An opened stall with a golden splash of that magical colour.  Mandarin oranges aplenty and on offer. I would have paid any price for just two of this precious fruit.

I happily bought a bagful even though I needed only two and went on to meet her family. All went well. Luck was certainly on my side that fateful day. It was also the first time I had ever truly and obediently observed this simple custom of exchanging oranges when visiting anyone during CNY.  A simple custom that could have put me in awkward situation if not for my good fortune of finding a street-side fruit-seller imbued with the industry of working on the first day of CNY.

But my shortfall in cultural deference meant that Jenny would need to step up. Through all our years together. So for all the CNY seasons dawning upon our family household, she was the de facto commander-in-chief.

New clothes and shoes for her and the kids (she kind of gave up nagging on me to upgrade my own wardrobe). The Chinese believe that one must begin the year wearing new attire, part of giving oneself a fresh and clean start.  Yes, she would gripe about the crowded malls and the heavy traffic but I knew she enjoyed the shopping part above everything else.  On the night before, she would straddle across our bed with brand new dollar notes strewn all around the king-sized mattress and fill up stacks of red packets, carefully bundling them up for the various groups of lucky recipients – our kids, nieces and nephews, friends’ kids and the larger valued ones for the older folks. CNY time is an opportune time for wealth distribution.  Giving out red packets is supposedly to dispense good luck.  The good luck part is definitely true for the recipients but not so for the married couples, whose bank accounts get somewhat dented. The kids just love this ritual. And why not? “Free money” given out in copious amounts. 

Having packed the red packets herself, Jenny would also be the one going round to distribute them, one by one. Because if it was left to me, quite a few kids might have been negligently left out.

She would also put up the new year décor, made sure the house was well stocked with new year cookies and mandarin oranges for the exchange of “good luck”, planned the menu and supervised the preparation of the re-union dinners that we host each year. In short, she took full charge of the festive seasons, year in year out, taking it all in her stride.

It is a tough pair of shoes to fill. I really could not see myself taking over this role, now that she is gone.  I lack the spirit, the verve and more so the belief.

So was it any wonder that today in particular when I visited her niche as I do each Sunday, the tears flowed freely. I bawled my heart out. I missed her each of the 297 days she had left me. And perhaps most so at such times of the year.

Without Jenny as a driving force, the CNY festive holiday would be rather plain, like most other days. This much I could read into the future. Unless of course, if one of my kids could step up to take the lead.

Festive celebrations are hardest to go through for people in bereavement. Most people find this hard to understand.

But at the least I should stuff in the red packets and dish then out like Jenny did. Other parents will be handing out packets to my kids so I need to do likewise for theirs.  A close friend had recently pointed out that following Chinese customs, strictly speaking, I could be excused of offering red packets in my first year of bereavement. Those red packets represent good luck. So, in my sad sorry state of rotten luck to have lost a loved one I would not be capable of dispensing good luck. So goes the reasoning.  Simple logic.

Well, good luck on that. If they feel the money is tainted with misery and misfortune, they can always return to me.  I am not one given to superstition.