(a)
what the photograph meant and what the sculpture meant to you probably differs from what they used to mean to me then and what they mean to me now—which has taken on a whole new interpretation. however, it still underlines the exact same theme to me: it is more of a symbol of collective grief, rather than peace.
i remember what one of my seniors in university shared in her account, that none of these losses make sense and none of it ever will and i think what she said does make sense.
halfway through 2021, we've lost a lot of people. i know i did. i know i am not the only one and i understand that people have probably lost more.
i don't know if i'm the only one who's keeping tally though, of how many funerals i have missed (it's my way of coping). and i am still trying to process my grief, in my own way, and i hope you do too. i hope you're not alone in your journey. and i hope even when it does get lonely, the world shows you kindness again and again.
we could use some of those; kindness, gentle words, faint lingering smile.
(b)
every loss has rendered me unable to function properly for days, or even weeks on end.
sometimes, it's not so much about losing the person itself. sometimes, it's the sense of unfulfilled recovery, the constant stream of losses, the relentlessness of it all.
you were still trying to process one loss, when other news of passing came through your inbox. you haven't fully recovered from mourning someone and now you have to deal with this newfound grief as well.
and whenever i feel overwhelmed by the number of funerals i have missed this year, or not being able to concentrate because i keep coming back to the thought of "oh, they're no longer here. what if i want to talk to them? what am i supposed to do now?", i'd like to think that it's selfish; because out there people have probably lost more, and to compare with their losses, mine is probably not that painful. these people that i've lost, our lives weren't intricately woven together, we were loosely intertwined, therefore these losses should not be as crippling to me as the people's losses may have.
but still, it feels like that boba which somewhat stuck halfway in your straw: you keep trying to suck it out to no avail after all.
(c)
that, or the fact that i never recovered from losing my nana. it was late september, in 2019, when i felt my world tilted, veering terribly close towards the abyss. see, my nana was my mother long before my mum became one and some of you probably understand what it's like to lose a mother, or if not a mother then to lose half of your soul.
it’s like there’s this growing emptiness within you that you keep trying to fill in with the books that you like to read, the films you enjoy to watch, the music you can’t stop listening to and singing to despite you can’t sing.
but then again there are limits to what joy could serve you. there will be days when not even your comfort food can bring you some type of consolation that you crave, that once can only be assuaged by that person’s warm, loving embrace.
it’s never easy and you don’t heal from that wound, ever. from that point onwards, you (just as i do) simply co-exist with grief.
