Sunday, October 28, 2012

28th Oct 2012


8 years ago, I rushed up the stairs of the nursing home where my mom had spent the day. There I found my grandparents sitting together. I sat across from them. We looked at each other with anxious, half-smiling faces. We heard a baby cry. I nearly jumped. My grandparents said it's a boy. At the age of 10, when all I wanted was a little baby sister, I blatantly disagreed. Just then, the doctor emerged from the delivery room. His sleeves rolled up beyond his elbows and his pants rolled up to his knees. He held his shoes in one hand. He looked at me and said, "Congratulations, it's a girl." I was over the moon! Not only because I had a sister, but because my prediction was correct. With ants in my pants, I tried to stay seated in the waiting room. A few moments later, the nurse emerged with a big flat tub. Inside was my sister. She whizzed past us into the nursery to get her warm. I got just a fleeting glance of her. A small, pink lump with short limbs sticking out and a head full of hair. Next to leave the delivery room was our mother. She was being wheeled back into her room on a bed. She looked tired and terribly worn out. I followed her into the room and sat on the spare bed, looking around me at all the people passing by, doing things. No one noticed me sitting there, but that didn't matter: I had a new sister.
The nurse walked in holding the baby. She walked over to our mom to hand the baby over to her. But in her weak state, she told the nurse to give the baby to me first. I was touched. I had expressed a desire to be the first to hold her long before she was born. The nurse walked up to me with very suspicious eyes. She curtly told me to sit up straight, back to the wall with my legs crossed. Then she gently placed her in my arms and stood over me, watching keenly. I took no notice of the nurse. In my arms was an incredibly tiny baby. She had a wrinkled up, chubby face, slightly closed but big eyes, lots of very soft, short hair on her head and little red hands. Her small hands and little stubby fingers were so cute and felt so sweet in my hand. I didn't get to hold her for long, but I loved those few moments. Holding a cute, warm bundle that filled up my arms completely. That was the start of a whole new life for me; one with a sibling that I waited a long time for.

Today, I don't remember what life used to be like before this hyperactive, monkey-ish, humorous, witty, silly sister of mine was born. But I can't imagine life without her now either.
Happy birthday Ilina!

Friday, October 26, 2012

Volatile moods

I can't take it anymore. This city. These streets. These buildings. These bridges. These cars. This house. This lack of activity. This lack of excitement. This static scenery everyday.

There is no greenery worth looking at. Nothing is lush. All the trees have a carpet of dust on them. The green is dull. There are no hues.

There are too many people. There is too much noise. There are too many shops. There are too many signals. There is nothing to do. There is no simplicity. There is no beauty.


It's claustrophobic. It's nauseating. It's disgusting.




Thursday, October 11, 2012

Jessica Ghawi


It's been two months now since I read in the paper about one of the victims of the shooting at the Dark Knight screening, Jessica Ghawi. She caught my attention because of what the article stated. Ironically, she had escaped open gunfire at the Eaton Mall only 20 days prior to the fateful day. The article mentioned a blog post she published after having survived the first shooting. I made a note to read it but never got round to doing it. But today, I did.

A Run On of Thoughts, the blog that she maintained, opens to her last post; The one speaking of her near-death experience. Reading that made me realize how much for granted we take each waking day of our lives. How lucky we all are to have been given another day. When we put something off for another day, what's saying we'd actually have that day? Life is so daily, but still, so unpredictable. Death is inevitable, unavoidable, but we never know when it's lurking around the corner. Should we never take steep turns then? Should we never skid off a cliff? Should we never unbuckle our seat belts? 
But more than thinking about when, where and how death awaits, I really feel for Jessica. When she saw through that first shooting, she was snatched away from the jaws of death in the nick of time. She must have felt like she was given a second life. She was barely given the time to assimilate what she had been through and change the way she wanted to. Her outlook changed, but did she really have the time to live that change? To begin to appreciate all those around her? 
How scary it must be to look at an injured person lying on a stretcher- bloody clothes, crying their heart out, staring death in the face - and thinking that could have been you. 
Oh so many ifs, buts and phews!