In the Hospital

As I write this, my aunt, my dad's younger sister, a widow with no children, lies in the hospital, in a coma, after a stroke that she suffered a few days back. It is terrible, this waiting, watching, this horrible awareness of our powerlessness. Her vulnerable self lies exposed for all to see. Shorne of her dignity, she lies with the essential, but ugly tube that gives her oxygen. She breathes in. She breathes out. And we watch through the long hours, with bated breath ourselves. Sometimes she half-opens her eyes, and I could swear she recognizes the worried faces of family members keeping vigil by her bedside. And then again, you can never tell.

I remember lines from a poem I wrote a few years ago:

In the Casualty ward,

Only the workers are casual.

Patients of every age and background lie in varying degrees of pain. They groan, cough, moan, snore, sleep. The younger ones cry sometimes. We almost envy them these involuntary sounds they make. At the bedside by which we sit, there is only silence.

I leave you with a poem that has been haunting me ever since this nightmare started.

Because I could not stop for Death - Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. We slowly drove – He knew no haste And I had put away My labor and my leisure too, For His Civility – We passed the School, where Children strove At Recess – in the Ring – We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain – We passed the Setting Sun – Or rather – He passed us – The Dews drew quivering and chill – For only Gossamer, my Gown – My Tippet – only Tulle – We paused before a House that seemed A Swelling of the Ground – The Roof was scarcely visible – The Cornice – in the Ground – Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet Feels shorter than the Day I first surmised the Horses' Heads Were toward Eternity –

One Morning on My Way to Work...

Now you know why I'm so bushed at the end of the day!

Updates

I was shaken out of my self-induced lethargy recently when the one and only Calliopia ordered me to update my blog since it was getting mouldy... and believe me, when Calliopia tells you to do something, you'd better do it.

Since I am about as uninspired and uninspiring as only a PMS-ravaged woman in a bad mood (throw in a persistent backache from washing the bathroom tiles a little too enthusiastically) can be, I thought I would do my bounden duty and get it over with by giving some updates of how I've been spending my days, and a few random thoughts - and I do mean random - to fill up the space.

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I hardly ever get to watch TV, especially movies, anymore, so I decided to indulge myself this weekend. Among other things, I finally got to watch the much-hyped Jackie Chan/Jet Li starrer, The Forbidden Kingdom after practically everyone has watched it. I've always loved kung-fu films, and this one was a special treat because unlike the westernized, Americanized, technicalized kung-fu films that are churned out by the dozen, this one really brought me back to my childhood days when my sisters and I would huddle up and watch those "authentic" Chinese films, complete with terrible dubbing. For a long time, I thought that was how the Chinese spoke... words still coming out of their mouths long after their lips had been clamped shut. C'mon, I was just a kid. Anyway, The Forbidden Kingdom has those typical elements of beloved Chinese movies of yore, like the drunken master, the hero-in-training, the ill-destined heroine, the silly antics and even slightly yucky eating habits. Definitely unbelievable, definetely enjoyable.
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I watched a sex-tape that had "leaked out", something that I don't normally do. I mean, I'm not that frustrated... yet. But this time, the girl was particularly young, and sadness overwhelmed me after I saw it. It just hit me so hard that our society has become so sick that young people feel the need to resort to gimmicks such as these to feel important and loved. And here we were, passing on the tape, no less implicated; let's not dwell on this too long.

I also watched a movie on cable TV which had Jonathan Rhys-Meyers (have I got it right?) the guy from August Rush. The movie was called Match Point. It's about this married guy who falls helplessly in lust with a woman, persuades her to have an affair with him, and then kills her because she gets pregnant and wants him to leave the guileless wifey. Quite a study in human psychology. I enjoyed it in a warped kind of way.

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Last Saturday, a group of youngsters - school kids - came together for a Clean Mizoram campaign. They cleaned up the commercial areas of Aizawl as best as they could, and they were cheerful and earnest in what they did. I just knew there are good kids still around, despite all the flack they get because of a few rotten apples in the cart.

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My Internet connection has been temperamental, to put it mildly, and hence the sluggishness about updating my blog. My bills came, and there was nothing sluggish about the way I've been billed. I don't even want to talk about it. Let's just say I may work off my debts in a few years' time if I work at my regular job and take all the part-time jobs available, and butter up my dad into making a few concessions, and wash dishes in restaurants, and babysit neighbors' kids... well, you get the idea. This lady not only has PMS and back pain, she's in a very bad mood.

So I went and bought a new car (on loan).

Oh yeah, I also straightened my hair. I know, my poor hair suffers everytime I go through an emotional crises. It was straight to begin with, until I decided to perm it, streak it, and so on and so forth. Now I'm back to being me, with my regular hair. However, I have now a new-found respect for people who straighten their hair on a regular basis. The amount of time and patience it takes to go through one sitting is incredible. And, people, I was not allowed to wash it for three days. Believe you me, I did not smell good. Ah, the things we do for the sake of beauty! But what fun! I bet guys don't have stories like these to tell.


Rambling may be fun for me, but not for you, methinks. So ciao until next time.

Forget it!

I swear I'm losing my mind. The reason? I just keep losing things. Have you ever felt that suffocating panic rising from your chest and lodging itself firmly in your throat when you just could not remember where you put that vital piece of paper, that article of clothing, or that library book? It's similar to that feeling of utter panic when you see a familiar face, but just can't put a name to the face, and the owner of that face is pumping your hand with vigorous enthusiasm and glee at having found you, long-lost friend/ colleague/ neighbour/ lover (?!), etc. Anyway, you get my drift. That has been happening to me with alarming frequency lately. Well, not that last bit.

Last week I ransacked my room trying to locate my educational certificates (yep, the originals), upending every drawer, cupboard, painstakingly going through every file. I still haven't found them. I even roped in my mom and together we excavated through the accumulated mess. Nothing. However, I did find a few interesting articles: old cards from friends I hadn't heard from in years, a few clothes I'd totally forgotten I had, my missing silver earrings, and tons of loose sheets and official correspondence which had cluttered my desk and shelves. My room looked so much better. But still no certificates. Therefore, I looked much worse off than when I started.

I had a mini-scare when I lost a VERY IMPORTANT key my dad had entrusted to me a couple of days later. When I panic, everything tends to be a blur (and that's not just because of my myopia), and for an entire day - what was supposed to be a relaxing Sunday- I went through the whole drill again. Thankfully, after many entreaties sent heavenwards, I found it exactly where I'd left it - on the shelf above my computer.

Today I misplaced my handset, and had a mild panic attack, until I gathered my wits and looked inside the car, where it was resting innocently between the handbrake and the gearstick. Whew. I have also lost innumerable books, pieces of jewelry, a brand-new nokia handset, not to mention money. I also forgot to turn up for a class I was supposed to teach at IGNOU as a favor to my friend. I swear I'm responsible about my duties, but there are days when you just can't beat the evil beings conspiring against you. And maybe it's in my genes. I once waved to my dad who was giving a lift to some guests from another state, and they all blankly stared back. Upon enquiry, I was told later that he had actually asked those strangers if they knew "that kid who was waving at them so cheerily". Since they obviously didn't, they wrote me off as someone who was either slightly bonkers or had mistaken them for somebody else. *Sigh

Well, at least I also forget to remember the many offences and injuries commited against me :) So I guess that's one good thing about it. And short of taking those wonder drugs for memory improvement so frequently advertised by shady characters, I don't think there's a cure for my malady. I'm losing all my things, including my marbles.