Toasting his daddy at (his) Daddy's birthday do two months ago.

It is Bestie Boy’s birthday the day after tomorrow. Friday, the 17^th of February.

One of our shared interests is music. Coincidentally, our favourite genres are Rock and Classical. I have formally studied the piano for 8 years beginning at the age of seven.  Bestie Boy played the drums in his teens and went for drum lessons at the age of nineteen. Today, he still plays the drums well and I cannot play the scale of ‘C’. Thank goodness, my life does not depend on it. Despite the short duration of formal training, Bestie Boy is far more knowledgeable about both genres – Rock and Classical music. “Well, I don’t hafta be great at something to enjoy it”, mutters the jealous one. Um, yes, me.

Earlier, I used to listen to heavy metal only when I was in an angry mood.  Below, I will paste our correspondence regarding my foray (for pleasure) into this often misunderstood and maligned subgroup of rock. 

Bestie Boys words will be in his favourite green and mine in brown.

Bestie Boy: I’m attaching two Moonsorrow song files. They are from an album called ‘Kivenkantaja’ (meaning ‘Stonebearer’ in Suomi) by a Finnish heavy metal band called Moonsorrow. Actually, this album is one of my favourites. It would definitely warrant inclusion on a ‘desert island discs’ list. 

Moonsorrow is probably one of my all-time favourite bands. They write epic, sweeping, majestic, long, soaring, musical sagas; exactly the kind of thing I love.  

I’m eager to hear what you think about the songs. Feel free to branch out into other Moonsorrow stuff, but I’ve chosen instrumentals because the vocals are usually very harsh and it’s a bit of a barrier for most people. 

Song: Tuulen Tytar     Artist: Moonsorrow     Album:  Kivenkantaja

Tuulen Tytar (track 5) is the best example of that ‘epic’ sound I just love. 

Me: I like the opening piano trill and love the piano bits throughout. I’m not a fan of bagpipes, not right away at least. The bass creeping in at close to 2’ caught me off guard. Two minutes is a long time for it to show up. I love how the stage explodes with fireworks at almost 3 minutes. I enjoy monastic choir chants, so that was a nice interlude. I wasn’t fooled by the lull in pace and volume after that. My anticipation was rewarded when the bass burst back in. I’m with you on the ‘epic’ sound of this song.  

Song: Matkan Lopussa     Artist: Moonsorrow     Album:  Kivenkantaja

Bestie Boy: And the final track, Matkan Lopussa in this album is just a beautiful song. I’ve no idea what she’s singing about,

Me: I like Matkan Lopussa simply because it opens with soft, but noticeable bass strumming, and has a consistent heavy thump all through. When the chorus joined the lead female, it took me back to my concerts in music school. I just feel like twirling around the room, Vienna waltz style.

Bestie Boy: but I’ve never been one to care much for lyrics.

Me: Me, too! I just don’t notice them unless they’re hammered repeatedly like the chorus. But instruments? I pick up on little strings or pipes or drums doing their thing in the background. I know of people who don’t hear the instruments at all and pick up the lyrics very easily.

Bestie Boy: There’s something about both tracks that encapsulates a cold, ‘wintry’ feel. With most Moonsorrow songs, they have an ability to evoke strong images, which is a quality I admire greatly in music.

Me: I did not read your comments before I listened to the songs closely because I did not want to be influenced by your opinions. I’ve added them here so that we could see how we enjoy the same music, but interpret it quite differently. I find that interesting because I used to think that there was only one way to “see” music. For me, it wasn’t cold or wintry, but soothing at times (prolly because of my familiarity with classical music) and vibrant at other times (the rock influences parts).

I really like the name Moonsorrow. I will name something after it; my next stray pet probably. 

Song: Weight of Wind     Artist: Borknagar     Album:  Epic

Bestie Boy: Also attaching a natty little instrumental by a Norwegian band called Borknagar that came on Jango (an online free ‘radio’ station) the other day. For some reason, that piano riff has stuck with me since I first heard it. 

Me: Love the Weight of Wind, too. A winner from the opening bar. The single synthesised whine promised an extravaganza. And it delivered! Deliberate, powerful, furious. The short, staccato drum rolls in the beginning were another nice touch. Pure rock (metal?) with generous splashes of Western classical and some sprinklings of Middle Eastern rhythm.

I never knew metal would sound this good. When I’m mad (as in angry), I play metal off the online genre specific stations, but those songs are just noisy. I can enjoy them only when in that foul mood, but these songs that you’ve sent just blow apart the image of metal that I had.  

Off the audio and onto some visuals.

This photograph from a few years earlier is one of my favourite pictures of Bestie Boy. Despite looking right into the camera, it is a very natural shot.

Warning: Display of skin ahead.

Bestie Boy is the inked one on the right. With Best Bud (from primary school days) when on holiday in China.

I like how tired he looks. So tired, he’s not concerned about slouching or not smiling for the camera.

Back to our chat about music.

Me: So why were you so keen on my Moonsorrow feedback? Did I win a prize to join you for their performance in Berlin?

Bestie Boy:  Well, Moonsorrow are probably my favourite band du jour, and even perhaps longer than just un jour, maybe of the year, the decade…. who knows. I just wanted to bounce some of their more accessible stuff off you and hear the response. When I say accessible, I mean, stuff without nasty rasping lyrics, which I find is usually the first barrier to (uninitiated) people’s enjoyment and understanding of metal. I’m glad to see it’s widened your views on metal.

As Gandhi* (probably) would’ve said himself, “To change one person’s perception is testament enough that the journey is worth making”.

Touché, Bestie Boy!

*That’s a little dig, if you will, at me because my e-mail signature is, no, not my blog URL (he..ck NO!), but this Gandhi quote:

“You must be the change you wish to see in the world.” – Mahatma Gandhi

Thank you, The Book of Terrible  and mj monaghan  for commenting on my last post. Thank you, maze a day, PHOTOBOTOS.com, The Book of Terrible  and mj monaghan  for liking my last post.

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P.S.: Cheerful Monk adds a footnote to every post acknowledging those who comment on her previous post. She also links the commenters’ names back to their own blogs.

 I like both these practices of acknowledging the time and effort made to comment, and the free advertising! So I’m doing what I do well – being a copycat! 

* ‘Happy New Year’ in Mandarin Chinese. The popular version around the world is the Cantonese ’Kung Hei Fat Choy‘ and varitaions of it because the Cantonese speaking diaspora emigrated in larger numbers and earlier than the Mainland residents. Cantonese is spoken mainly in Hong Kong, Macau and the southern Chinese provinces.

Last week, Monday, the 23^rd of January 2012 to be precise, was Spring Festival, or Chinese New Year as it’s known to a large part of the world. This is the Year of the Dragon.

Thank you, Ben van Wijnen, for permitting the use of the above image from your website.

During my time in China, I spent one Spring Festival (Chinese New Year, remember?) in Baise, Guangxi Province with one of my closest Chinese friends and her family. My friend’s English name is Cher. Baise is not a tourist hot spot, although it is politically significant for some uprising at some time. What made all the difference to me is that the small city was not overrun by tourists as is the norm during that holiday period, and that traditional life was still untouched there despite the central parts of the city being bulldozed by China’s unrelenting modernisation.

Spending the most important Chinese festival with a Chinese family was a unique and unadulterated experience. It was made all the more special by Cher, who is truly ma chère amie. She takes after her parents, who I began calling Ba and Ma (the Chinese equivalent of Dad and Mum) after a week because they doted on me as much as they did Cher and her older brother, Rong. (Unlike most young, urban Chinese, Rong didn’t get himself an English name.) Out of habit, I kept teasing Cher and Fan that I was the favourite child. (Growing up, Big Bro and I would scrap over that title, while Big Sis quietly earned it.)

Spring Festival Eve is the pinnacle of the almost month long preparation period. New Year’s Day itself is a bit of a damp squib compared to celebrations like Christmas, or even Diwali (Hindu New Year) and Eid (the most important Muslim festival) when the actual day is the highlight of the festive period.

My Chinese New Year family

The big dinner is on Spring Festival Eve and this is it. Cher is holding up a ready-to-be-devoured zongzi.

Zongzi is one of the many varieties of glutinous rice dumplings. Zongzi are wrapped in a particular variety of leaves and steamed. The savoury variety has a meat and/or veggie filling; the sweet variety has nuts and sweetened, dried fruit. These dumplings are the main food of the Dragon Boat Festival which occurs sometime in June, but some Chinese families eat them at Spring Festival, too.

This is a special version of zongzi that Ma makes only for Spring Festival. The stalks of a particular herbal plant are burned, then powdered with a mortar and pestle. When the ash is rather fine, the glutinous raw rice is mixed in and pounded as well.

Ma has weak eyesight and is short of hearing, so Ba does most of the cooking. He is an excellent cook! I had eaten a lot of good food during my time in China, but I can say, hands down, Ba’s were some of the tastiest meals I’d eaten in China. Deceptively simple looking, not long on preparation time, not heavy on ingredients, yet the outcome every day was a veritable gastronomic delight. I tried hard to learn the recipes, but there were none in the manner that I am familiar with. The kitchen was not very large and Ba would have all three stove burners going while busy washing, chopping and dicing the ingredients. I tried to keep out of his way, but observed and tried to remember as much as I could. Now, all I can remember is how fantastic it all tasted!

On Spring Festival Eve, at midnight, we all went up to the rooftop of their 5-storeyed home to watch the fireworks display that ushered in the new (Chinese zodiac) year. It was a novel experience for me watching the midnight sky light up at that height. It was much better from up there, I think. I don’t enjoy fireworks as much as I used to. Now, I even avoid watching them if I can because that short lived pleasure comes with a high environmental price tag. 

Spring Festival Day proper is not a home affair per se. Families go out to the park or wander around town. Both meals of the day are very scaled down as compared to the previous night. The day after Spring Festival or Chinese Boxing Day as I called it, is for visiting relatives and exchanging gifts. And so a-visiting we went! For three days, we went over to close relatives’ bearing fruit, packaged snacks and live fowl in pretty little bamboo baskets! So cute!

And now I’m not in China anymore.

The Chinese characters stand for Zhongshan, my home city during my time in China.

I miss China. I miss my friends, the food, the very different life. I sent the above photograph of mine to my Chinese friends for Spring Festival. And I got a whole lotta dragon fire burnin’ love back my way.

These are not Chinese dragons, but Celtic dragons. They’ll do for the purpose of this post.

I love the shaded work on Bestie Boy’s “scar tissue” as he calls his ink art.

The Spring Festival period ends 15 days later with the Lantern Festival which falls on Monday, February 6, 2012.

From me and my pet Celtic dragons on Bestie Boy’s back, may all kinds of fiery goodness blow your way in the Year of the Dragon!

Thank you, Cheerful Monk, and The Book of Terrible for commenting on my last post. Thank you, Vikram Roy, and The Book of Terrible for liking my last post.

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P.S.: Cheerful Monk adds a footnote to every post acknowledging those who comment on her previous post. She also links the commenters’ names back to their own blogs.

 I like both these practices of acknowledging the time and effort made to comment, and the free advertising! So I’m doing what I do well – being a copycat! 

A few months ago, when on holiday, I had visited Daddy’s third brother, Uncle Bill, who is addressed by my generation of nieces and nephews as Unca Bee. Like Daddy was, Unca Bee is a voracious reader. I love poking around his yellowed collection of books, inhaling that wonderfully musty smell of old books; yet another smell that reminds me of my childhood and of Daddy. 

Sifting through and savouring the feel of Unca Bee’s collection as is part of my routine when I visit, I chanced upon this book – ‘Something To Live By’ by Dorothea S. Kopplin. 

The title did not bring any particular subject or even genre to mind immediately. I was lured by the following print towards the bottom of the cover.  

A book of help and comfort for all ages … a simple, sincere and honest philosophy of living, gleaned from the world’s finest inspirational writings.

I opened the book and the excerpt of the preface I’ve keyed in below won me over completely.

Preface: A first step toward happiness, it seemed to me, was to learn to appreciate something of real permanence in my life beyond and above the material things, a deep love of nature would do just that. To feel a sense of kinship with nature and thence the Universe gives strength and confidence that belittle material losses and worldly ambitions.

Fortitude and courage are further essential elements of character for fine living, and finally, a realization of the power and joy to be found in a true sense of the spiritual.

I spent the scant reading time I had at Unca Bee’s devouring chunks of this book.  I am not going to do an analysis of the book or share my impressions of the excerpts I enjoyed because I want to talk about something else that surprised me.

I was quite fascinated by this weathered book with its sturdy, hard cover and faded, but still thick pages. As I tend to, I read the covers inside and out.

This book was published by Permabooks, New York in 1945! The price back then? The sizeable chunk of 35 cents!

I chose this image because it was the closest of the Google Images to resemble Unca Bee’s slightly beaten up copy.

*I think it is a Turkey based company because I recognise the language as one that made no sense to me when I visited back in 1994, which were the pre-Thorn Tree days. In fact, I recognised precisely two words on the site:

Türkiye = Turkey in, well, Turkish

and

Izmir, where I ascended (a bump in terrain) called Mount Olympus. I was shocked upon learning the name of the mountain when the guide told us we could go there. Until then, I had thought Mt.Olympus was in ….. you did, too? Well, there are a whole lotta, uh, things named ‘Olympus’.

Back to the book.

On the last page was a list of other books by Permabooks available at that time i.e. in 1945. I have typed out that list below.

1. Best Loved Poems edited by Richard Charlton Mackenzie

2. Common Errors in English and How to Avoid Them by Alexander M. Witherspoon, Ph.D

3. Sex and the Love Life by William J. Fielding

4. The Standard Bartender’s Guide by Patrick Gavin Duffy

5. The Conquest of Fear by Basil King

6. Ida Bailey Allen’s Cookbook

7. How to Write Letters for All Occasions by Alexander L. Shelf and Edna Ingalls

8. Best Jokes for All Occasions edited by Powers Moulton

9. Eat and Reduce! By Victor H. Lindlahr

10. How Shall I Tell My Child? By Belle S. Mooney, M.D.

11. The Male Hormone by Paul de Kruif

12. Sight Without Glasses by Dr.Harold M. Peppard

As I read through this list, for those few moments, I felt like I was reading the covers of some of the popular books on the racks at Chapters or perhaps, on the NYT non-fiction bestseller list. And then it hit me! These books were popular close to 70 years ago. The topics of interest back then were not too different from the subjects we still gravitate towards today. And that led me to wonder - have times really changed?

Thank you, Cheerful Monk and mj monaghan, for commenting on my last post.

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P.S.: Cheerful Monk adds a footnote to every post acknowledging those who comment on her previous post. She also gives the commenter the option of linking back to the commenter’s own blog.

 I like both these practices of acknowledging the time and effort put in to comment, and the free advertising! So I’ve decided to do what I do well – be a copycat! 

In my third career avatar, I was a teacher at an international school in Zhongshan, China. This post is about my New Year’s Eve celebration in Zhongshan a few years back.

I brought in that New Year at a watering hole that is popular with the expat crowd because of the live (Filipino) band and dance floor. I love dancing, so I roped in twenty other acquaintances and friends, and had reserved seats for us at the pub.  

Auld Lang Syne-ing with friends

My (capitalist style) Mao suit was designed exclusively for me by Mr.Haute Stuff, Marc Jacobs. If you believe that, then you will also believe that he surprised me by creeping down the chimney on Christmas Eve. Hmm, probably not because I think I had told anyone who cared to listen that Jon Bon Jovi was spending the holidays with me. Ai ai ai ai ai! It’s so hard keeping track of all these men in my life. Wait, I need to get one first – a life, that is.

That night, I did something for the first time. Something I had thought of doing for a few years, but was too afraid until then. I bought gifts for the twenty people who had promised to attend … and I wrapped them in newspaper. (I know!) I  had read about this environmentally friendly tip for a few years, but only then did I finally pluck up the courage to do it. (Go, me!) I was not afraid of being thought a cheapskate because opinions I know aren’t true don’t matter to me.  

“Be more concerned with your character than your reputation, because your character is what you really are, while your reputation is merely what others think you are.” - Dale Carnegie

I was afraid the recipients would think I did not care enough about them to get the customary wrapping paper. I do not like receiving gifts from people I don’t much care for, and I am the same when giving gifts, too. Expectations and traditions? Stuff that. I give a gift only if I like the person enough. Then, I try hard to get what I think is suitable. Now some of the twenty people I gave the gifts to that night did not fall into the category of ‘People I Really, Really Like’. So why the charade, you ask? Because of the place I bought the gifts at.

When deciding on gifts, initially, I looked for organic products. No luck. Then I searched for biodegradable or recycled items. Still no go. Next, products made by families or individuals. No, no, no. Finally, I went to an Australian acquaintance, Jeremy, the longtime Zhongshan resident. I would go to him with questions about all things Zhongshan. With that query, Jeremy came through yet again. He told me about ‘The Charity Shop’, so I bought my gifts there.

‘The Charity Shop’ in Zhongshan is a small supermarket and all profits go towards local charitable causes. Among their many deeds, I remember the surgeries to correct congenital heart defects of twin boys and food supplies to the farmers in the countryside.

That year, I wanted to do something different. Instead of merely donating money, I wanted to share a little awareness as well. I decided to give gifts from ‘The Charity Shop’ to make my local friends and acquaintances aware that they could get an extra feel-good bang for their buck with something as routine and regular as grocery shopping, and I wanted to use the wrapping (news)paper to pass on a green message, too.

Buying edibles at ‘The Charity Shop’ was a great option, I thought, because I could give people I did not know very well things they’d actually use; consume, more precisely. So I got each a box of tea or coffee sachets (the ‘Just add water’ kind), a packet of digestive biscuits (they seemed to be popular) and a bar of dark chocolate (my fave). I made all the gift tags myself using the plain side of printed sheets from the school office. I attempted fancy frilly edges with little drawings, calligraphy-style name inscription and stapled a little strip of swirl ribbon on them. Big Sis is great at this artsy stuff.  I’m not, but I tried.

The gift tags opened up like a book with the name of the recipient on the cover. When opened, on the left hand page, I had drawn a map of ‘The Charity Shop’ area and included the name of the shop, the address, telephone number and hours of operation. On the other page, I had the landmarks legend. I did all that with the hope that all who received those gifts would do their groceries at ’The Charity Shop’ in future. I did. It was a trip into the heart of town for me, so I combined it with my lunch/dinner meetings with the downtown-ers.

BFF Two holding the gifts of the no-shows of the previous night. The newspaper wrapping doesn't look too shabby, eh?

I must add that everyone was quite puzzled when I pulled out the newspaper wrapped gifts from my travel bag. After I explained the whole thing to them, they kinda believed that it was not a prank. Their expressions were simply precious! When I picked up a gift and called out their names, the first three or four recipients bravely, but very suspiciously accepted my gift. All eyes were on them as each of them turned the odd item over and finally opened it. The look that flickered across their faces was a mix of surprise, relief and a feeling that could easily be read as, “This Kate is nuttier than I thought a pecan, pistachio, peanut butter sammy!” The perv that I am, I derive immense satisfaction from bedevilling the heck out of people.

In the end, everyone was happy with their goodies and thanked me for being (as opposed to merely thinking or talking about something) a Jill-Out-Of-The-Box* yet again.

*People who know me well are now familiar with my outside the box thoughts and practices. I twisted ‘jack-in-the-box’ because I sometimes, quite literally, spring surprises at the people I like.

I’ve always been very mindful about electricity and water use. (Thank you, Daddy and Mummy!) I felt good about kicking off that year on a green note. Ever since, I have rarely wrapped a gift in regular gift paper. The few instances I reverted to regular gift paper have been for more traditional folk; only because they would just not get the green bent and I did not want to hurt their sentiments.

In addition to the common practices around the house, here are some of the other environmentally conscious changes I made a few years ago:
- Avoid travelling by cab if I’m on my own. (I allot extra time for travel by public transport.)
- Carry my own set of plastic and fabric bags when I go shopping – groceries and otherwise.
- Use bus ticket stubs to make my grocery lists or brief ‘To Do’ lists.
- Use the blank side of unwanted printed material to jot down notes at the initial stages of my work. I get these sheets from the office. I used such sheets from my school office to make the name tags for the gifts that night.
- Carry my own Tupperware (and carry plastic bags) to restaurants for take-aways. (Styrofoam is toxic.)

I’m quite a tree hugger, and would love to get some more ideas from you about your practices to add to my list above.

I do not make New Year’s resolutions. But a few years ago, sometime in the middle of that year, after months of mulling and planning and nail-biting, I made a drastic about-turn in life and headed off into a brand new direction.

Shortly before I went to China, I began listening to my own thoughts and tried doing what I felt made me happy. Not that anyone forcefully dictated my actions before. But, I used to pursue what was deemed important by society – brand name clothes, expensive restaurants, regular holidays away from the home state or country, higher positions at work, an exclusive neighourhood to set up home. I enjoyed all of that, nay, I revelled in it all like a pig in mud, but after a while, it left me feeling empty. When I finally tuned in to my inner voice and began pursuing things that engaged me at a deeper level, I began to feel a certain calmness and peace. Ever since I switched careers and became a teacher in China and a social worker in the different country that I am currently in, my savings account tells me that I am (comparatively) poor now, but my happiness bank? Doth overfloweth.

“Ordinary riches can be lost, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you.” - Oscar Wilde

I am content with my life today because I heeded Tim McGraw a few years ago. And I finally began to

After I left high school, my creative writing was restricted to mail alone. Since I began writing my newsletters in 2006 to a bigger group of my contacts, I’ve been told several times by some of them that I ought to blog or write where I could reach a wider reader base. I appreciated their encouragement, but I was held back by apprehensions over privacy.

I’ve experienced some difficult emotional times in the past 3 years. Despite that, I have had, and still do have, a good grip on my life due to my faith, my family and my friends. Reading a couple of blogs, too, helped bolster my spirits if they threatened to sag. Blogs written by strangers taught me about things I didn’t know; oh, just random things that connected dots sometimes, or took me into completely new terrain at other times. Some blogs made me smile, some made me laugh. An upward curve of the mouth or the mouth opened wide with head thrown back is welcome no matter the emotional climate!

I noticed the growing influence in my life of blogs written by people I do not know at all and one day, a few months ago …

This image is licensed under Creative Commons. Thank you, cheerfulmonk, for letting me share your luminescence!

I realised I could still help people the way Daddy would have liked me to!

In the past, when the people I care about went through dips in life, I was not always right next to them to  alleviate their pain or to make them feel less lonely, but my written word came pretty darned close to wrapping my arms around their slumped shoulders, some told me. Others said they felt energised by my tales, and that caused them to be tail-between-the-legs no more. And there were a handful of others who blurted something along the lines of, “Kate, you are one cray-zay woman!” I prefer to interpret those as compliments.

So, since my hammer-and-tongs hands (which is beaten in volume only by my motor mouth) could elicit such responses from people I know, could my words then have the same effect on people I do not know at all? A pretty ambitious thought. And there’s only one way to find out.

As mentioned in  the ‘About This Blog’ page, I have chosen not to tell any of the people I know about this blog; not even those on the character roll. I want readers to be drawn to my blog on the strength of my narrative. Not because I am some font of wisdom; not by a long shot! But because I learn from people I don’t know at all, too; by observing them and reading about them in their own words or someone else’s. I hope to pass on my experience and views with the same hope that it may help someone in some way. If you happen to crack a smile or chuckle even while perusing my posts, even better!

In my fourth and current career avatar as a social worker, I try to do what I can to make the people I come in contact with feel a little less burdened, a little less alone.

Thank you, Colin Gibson, for permitting me the use of your image.

As Daddy wished all those years ago, I am ready to reach out to a wider group. Finally.

Beta = second because the e-mail below was the second one I sent out en masse.

and

Beta = test because sending a mass e-mail was still new to me at that point in time.

I have never been afraid of death or dying, thanks to Daddy and Mummy who embraced the inevitable next step in our life cycle with a wholesome attitude. As a result, death is a topic I am very comfortable talking about. It is very hard for me to know that I will not see someone I care about again in this life, but my faith gives me courage to carry on each time I experience the demise of someone dear to me.

The Equally Beautiful Ending

This scene reminds me of the summer holidays our family spent by the sea.

This ‘Beauty of Sunset’ image is from www.skitzone.com.  

The following  is the e-mail I wrote to my contacts a month after Daddy passed away. 

Hello everyone,

Daddy passed away last month in the early hours of the 16^th. I had left just the day earlier for my Spring Festival (Chinese New Year to most the world) holidays. I had gone to my colleague,  Ren’s hometown. Ren lives in a small town and doesn’t have a landline at home. (We were at too high an altitude to be cellphone accessible.) As a result, Big Bro and Big Sis couldn’t get a hold of me immediately. I learned about Daddy two days later via e-mail. I did not make it for the funeral even though Daddy was inhumed only on the 19^th evening.

As you know, Daddy had had a stroke way back in 1990, but was still in fairly good shape (walking albeit with a walking stick, talking and socialising). He and Mum celebrated a major wedding anniversary four years earlier and he was in top form mentally. However, over the past three years, he began to slip gradually, but surely. So it was more a question of When, not If.

Ever since I left home for nursing school, I dreaded this bit of news, despite Daddy being in the pink back then. Every time the plane taxied down the runway before takeoff or as the bus pulled out of the long distance bus terminus, I used to always pray and ask God to make my next trip home a scheduled one, like the holidays, and not for an emergency. I was blessed that I got what I asked for all these years.

Somehow last March, when I left home on the 9^th, I was about to ask God for the same, when I thought, “I’ve always begged You for the same all these years. This time, You do what You want. I’d love for Daddy to be here when I come down next year, but if You want him before that, I’ll accept it.” I was quite stunned that I even thought of that. I felt guilty and was angry with myself because I felt as if I was actually asking for Daddy to be taken from us. Now I realise, it wasn’t that at all.

Daddy (Mummy, too) was never afraid of dying or death. It was the way things are supposed to be, he explained, all those years ago. Dust to dust and all that. In my selfishness and ignorance, all I could think of was how I would not have him around, etc. It was all about I, me, myself. But now, I get it. That’s why, much as I dislike the thought of Daddy not being here in a tangible way, I believe he is where he and all of us are destined to be.

I’ve been in frequent contact with my family, Alexis (my dear friend in Kathmandu), relatives and friends at home. My current contract in China ends in July and I will head home then. Instinctively, I thought I’d quit now to be with Mummy, but she’s been one heck of a rock and is handling the sudden vacuum in her life with her trademark élan. Her whole life revolved around Daddy and that’s why, all of us are surprised at how well she’s coping. Another of her traits that I aspire to emulate.

 I know you are aware I was very close to Daddy, so I would like to assure each of you that I really am doing well despite being away from the rest of my family at this time. The strong bonds we share and our faith helped them and me bridge the gap.

Love,

Kate

The Beautiful Beginning

Today is Dad’s birthday. He is no longer here. I don’t know for sure if he is aware that I am doing this. It doesn’t matter though. I feel good about the idea of this blog because through it, I can do something that Dad suggested to me when I was in college years ago.

In my earliest career avatar, I was a Registered Nurse. As a child of around 7, I declared I was going to become a “stomach surgeon” when I grew up. Back then, I didn’t even spell it correctly. A few years ago, I found a school essay in which I wrote I wanted to become a “stomach sergeant”. I know who was responsible for that spelling. Daddy. He used to read Commando comics and war story novels. For as long as I can remember, what Daddy did, I did. That’s how I decided to become a “sergeant”. But what I really meant was ‘surgeon’. I liked the idea of operating on people’s stomachs (again, I meant the abdomen; not the stomach itself) because in my young mind, that was a way to rid people of whatever ailed them medically.

Forward a few years, and I didn’t make it to med school because I absolutely hated Organic Chemistry, did not attend any of those classes in pre-med and did not attempt studying it on my own either. (Are you kidding me? *snort*) I was too young to realise the almost immediate (a year later) fallout of that classic, teenage, rebellious attitude. Bye bye, Med School. I was crushed. But Dad was secretly pleased. He did not want me to become a doctor because of the rough working hours. He nudged me towards nursing school because of the more regular working hours. And he told me that I’d still get to make people better by assisting in surgery. Hello Nursing School!

Seeing the compassionate streak in me grow and become more evident, Dad gently suggested quite a few times that I should start a nurses’ agency of sorts upon graduation. One that would admit registered nurses and then, train them not to lose focus of the powerful position they were in when it came to easing the mind. I could teach my companions how to assist patients banish their anxieties and fears, and instill hope and strength. But I wasn’t interested. I wanted to be with patients. Right through my nursing career, too, I did not think about training other nurses because it would take me away from bedside nursing, which is what I loved. I deferred promotions for the same reason, too, because a promotion invariably meant moving away from bedside care to administrative work, which I came to like later on, but still not as much as being hands-on with my patients.

Fast forward a few years and a few careers in a few countries.

From the time I left home, I wrote to my folks and my friends regularly. Wrote, as in with pen and paper. In 1997, I got my first e-mail address. I began writing via e-mail. Having no restriction of space, I wrote and wrote and wrote. To more and more and more people I knew. I was always particular about the importance of personal attention, so I refrained from mass e-mails until strangely enough, Dad passed away.

I was on holiday in another country at the time and unreachable because of the altitude I was at at the time. So I couldn’t make it home for the funeral. I came to terms with not being there for the funeral a month after Daddy’s passing. And then, I decided to tell my friends who did not know yet. It was far too tiring to even think of mailing a little over 20 friends individually. That’s when I decided to write a common e-mail informing my friends about Daddy.

That mail I sent out will be my next post.

See (more of you) then!

P.S. That last line is meant to be used by both, you and me.