All I can give you
is my undivided time,
here and now,
to listen to
what you have to say.
To sympathise,
to commiserate,
to suggest,
to advise.
There is not much else
that I can give,
or would want to give.
This is it.
Take it as it is.
On Reading as a Means of Coping
A few weeks ago, there was a sense of deep concern and foreboding in our household. In very quick succession, we had two of our family members who received notice that they could be coming down with a severe illness. I would have dearly liked to be able to report here that both instances were cases of false alarm, but alas the fact of the matter is that my stepfather has been recently diagnosed with what appears to be a severe and somewhat advanced case of cancer.
Amidst these discoveries, at a time which now feels like quite an age ago, I tried my best to carry myself with the usual and expected dignity of a Malay man: no overt or unnecessary displays of emotion or anguish, and to show concern without allowing the maelstrom of feelings to affect my day-to-day doings too much. I would like to think, in fact, that as I have gotten older, I am becoming better at being able to be genuine and sincere in my dealings with my emotions: not to hide them, or ignore them, nor to allow them to overpower me. I wanted to feel, without being buried or thrown overboard by those feelings.
So I reached for my usual method of coping in times of difficulty and anguish: I looked for something to read, that would help me make sense of what was going on. The idea is that with more that you know about something, the less mysterious, and hopefully the less scary that thing becomes. I reached out to Siddhartha Mukherjee’s The Emperor of all Maladies, a Pulitzer Prize-winning exploration of cancer, and the ongoing medical and scientific efforts to understand, treat, and conquer cancer. It was calming to know that this disease, which was and is eating up a loved one, had a name, and a history, and a present and future chronicle of valiant efforts to combat and defeat it. Learning and understanding helped me to know what it was that our family would have to deal with.
I had a similar episode for this, a few years ago. The demise of my father-in-law in 2018 threw me into my own form of soul-searching. Knowing what I knew of his life, and how he struggled to cope with his final years on this earth, I was struggling on my own with the idea of death, and what it means to live a good life so that one could welcome a good death. I went into a sprint of reading: books like Katherine Mannix’s With the End in Mind and Paul Kalanithi’s When Breath Becomes Air were my guides and companions in a process that lasted for many months (and, in truth, probably is still ongoing.) I went back to the Qur’an, sometimes reading the translations and exegeses to comprehend the meanings of the words, but most often, just reciting the words out loud and meditating with the melody and grammar of Holy Scripture.
There are many ways to cope with shock and sadness and grief – my weapon of choice is the soothing rain of words and understanding. None of this is going to take away the sharp pain of loss that I am bracing myself for, knowing that it will come, perhaps sooner than I am prepared for. But I also know that this is part of what it means to be truly alive.
In an interview with The Times Magazine, Cormac McCarthy, one of my favourite authors who had passed away only recently, had said that he considered only a short list of authors, including Melville, Dostoyevsky and Faulker, as “good writers”, and omitted many others such as Proust and James who do not “deal with issues of life and death”. In the McCarthyian scheme of literature and life, it is the contest with death that is the one and true genuine drama of human existence.
These words, these words
they come down upon me
like gentle rain at night
They tell me,
"it's going to be okay"
as my courage takes flight
Amidst the pain, amidst the blight
A thousand curses I defied.
On Being Grim
He looked right at me
and said,
“It is going to be grim.
You need to be strong
for your mother,
and your family.”
I just looked away,
desperately trying to hide
my breaking heart.
On The Threshold
“Sixty-four years on
this earth, and suddenly, now…
This, this T.K.O.”
Tentang Rerautan Wajahmu
Pada rerautan wajahmu itu
Terukir seribu penderitaan
Seumur dirundung pencelaan
Suatu penyeksaan yang jitu
Setiap garis terpahat kemas
Mencatat setiap penghinaan
“Apakah aku yang kekurangan?” -
ratib sang jiwa yang lemas
Sedu sedan kau redamkan
Berbuku dalam cembul sunyi
Tersekam nyalaan mahangeri
“Aku bukan milikmu lagi.”
On My First Day of Ramadan
The details are rather hazy to me now (as it often is with memories that bring shame to our minds), but I think I was seven years old, and I was then in Standard One. It was not our first year of fasting, but that year was my first year of fasting while in “big school” (as I thought of it then), and I was very careful to make sure that I would make it through the first day of fasting that year.
We had just come back from school – both Abang Ijan and I were at St John’s Primary in Bukit Nanas, and I think at that time we were in the morning session, because I am pretty sure it was still some time away from Maghrib when this incident happened.
First, an explainer: Abang Ijan and I are cousins, and we were just a year apart in age, he being just a year ahead of me. I was my mother’s only child, living in my grandparents’ home with another 11 or so cousins in the same house. Naturally, we spent a lot of time together, playing catch almost every afternoon and watching cartoons on TV, but Abang Ijan and I were especially close. He was the eldest of his three siblings, and I looked up to him naturally as a big brother. Despite my rather frail stature and my oh-so-geeky glasses, my primary school years went by largely without much incident or bullying – most likely because most of the kids in school knew that Abang Ijan was my “elder brother”.
Anyways, as I said earlier, it was probably that time of year when we had morning classes, because this most certainly happened at home, around maybe five or six in the afternoon. Abang Ijan thought it would be a good idea – the day being so hot, and it was our first day of fasting, to boot – to take a shower. And not just any shower, but in Atok’s bathroom!
Atok’s room was the inner sanctorum of the sprawling bungalow complex that we called home. Air conditioned, wood-panelled walls, carpeting – the room was always cosy and comfortable, and I am pretty sure now that it was only the audacity of well-loved grandchildren that made it conceivable for us to steal into Atok’s bathroom for a shower. Steal in, we did, and – as I am writing this, I can imagine eight-year old Abang Ijan winking at me, with an impish twinkle in his eye – as we were taking turns underneath the shower, Abang Ijan turned his face upwards and proceeded to glug a few gulps of the spraying water into his mouth. Naturally, I followed suit.
There was a certain naughtiness to it – drinking from the shower in the middle of the day on the first day of Ramadan. I am quite sure that I didn’t tell Umi about it, not that day itself, certainly. We pretended to be fasting as usual for the rest of the evening, and when Maghrib came, we ate as ravenously as our cousins who, presumably, did not quite descend to our level of mischief that day.
Now that I am older, I think of this incident almost every time Ramadan comes along. We are older now, and I don’t talk to Abang Ijan as much as I should, or would like to. I’m not quite sure what happened – although a lot certainly have, over those difficult years. But we’ll always have Ramadan, Abang Ijan.
Today’s Reads XII – Hyperloop, Hybrid Work, and Parenting
- Hyperloop: sexy idea, but too many technical hurdles, and uncertain economics, look to doom the dream of frictionless underground transit.
- “Hybrid work might represent the best of both worlds.” But are the bosses listening?
- “Anger is usually just sadness with nowhere to go.” A heartbreaking read about what it means to be a single mother, raising a boy, when everyday feels like a struggle.
Today’s Reads III
- This ought to be required reading for everyone seriously thinking about how to refit Capitalism for the 21st Century, in a way that promotes social value, and combats the scourge of Inequality. Does it mean that Capitalism can really only be saved by those who scorn its trappings and excesses? Watch this space…
- Sometimes mockery and satire is the only way to speak Truth to Power. Yet another gem from Reddit’s “Am I The Asshole” subreddit 😀
- FT’s Rana Foroohar argues that we are entering a post-neoliberal age, where the balance between Capital and Labour will begin to tilt towards the latter, after 4 decades of the Thatcher/Reagan consensus. In some senses, Malaysia is already on this trajectory, with recent revisions to minimum wage and other labour-oriented legislation. Will it be enough to stave off the pitchforks, though?