Never Strangers When We've Become Friends

Mantle Clock. Photo by Doris Lim

It’s been a tough week. Around August every year, I get a little soapy. A little weepy sad. A little melancholy. There are many events in August that I like to forget. Blank out, wipe out. It’s like losing a little data that you remember backing up on those 4 inch diskettes that you either misplace, or mishandle; like placing them on car dashboard or on top of the TV. Back in the days when TV was actually almost like a piece of furniture. My old Sony could support a mantle clock! What is a mantle clock, you ask; why its a clock normally placed on a mantle of course. Marking time…

Back to my being self-indulgently and sentimental, August is for me; a time of reflection. I’ve lost good friends and relatives over the years. Some after a period of illness. Some suddenly. Others to tragedy.

~ Lilli

Mei’s eldest sister suffered from cancer and was at Mt Miriam, waiting. I couldn’t think of another word to better describe that period. One day, Mei said, you’ll need to go this evening if you want to see Lilli and speak with her. That sounded so final. So sad. Chris and I went with another friend, whose name I’ve cannot remember.

Lilli was the only patient in her ward. Her other friends have left. At her particular ward, few check out alive. She was sitting on her bed, her body twisted at an odd angle. Her long wavy hair all gone, she sports baby fuzz on her crown and a wretched look on her face that scream pain. Chris and I slowly walk to her. Her raspy breathing and hissing voice stop us. “Please don’t touch,” Lilli pleads, not looking at us as her head was turned in awkward manner. “Everything hurts; this (pause) comfortable position”

Chris and I didn’t say much. I had wanted to plump up her pillow. Pour some cold water into her glass. Make her a hot drink. Wipe her brow with a moist face towel. Moisten her lips. I had to do something, other than watch her suffer.

Yet, we stood rooted to the spot, hot tears pour from our eyes. Her pain was excruciating and we could feel it envelope the ward.

Finally she heaved a sigh and spoke again slowly and with great effort, “Forgive everyone, everything.”

Her words seep deep into my being. I don’t remember going back under that huge rain tree to my car. Or the drive home. Or when Lilli passed on. Everything became a blur but her words burn like fire and etches in my mind.

~ Marge

Quiet, smart, pretty Marge’s only fault in life was her high tolerance of pain. I remember that as young teens, she would ask me if my monthly periods hurt. This type of question is always out of the earshot of the other girls who would balk at such queries. Their answers would have frightened and disturbed gentle Marge.

“Tell me, what does it feel like when you have your period,” she would ask again. I would tell her it’s a hundred times worse than bad diarrhoea and feels like someone has stuck a knife and twist it around your innards. She said: Oh Dee.

It was years later I fully understood when she confided that she was still walking around teaching when her water bag broke. At that time, none of the other girls had given birth and we didn’t have Goggle to help us understand all the things that good, polite Convent girls don’t ask out loud.

Her other colleagues rushed her to the hospital when she complained that she felt a little uncomfortable and seem to have accidentally urinated when walking fast. When she reached the hospital, her baby nearly popped out. The doctors and nurses were amazed that she didn’t feel that much pain.

Child bearing was easy for Marge, her recovery quick and fast. She was so happy with her two small girls and her loving husband KK. They lived in a comfortable and well decorated home.

One day in August, her neighbours bought a plastic pool for their kids. They went away for the weekend and forgot to upturn the pool. It collected rain water and hatched mosquito larvae. Marge’s maid said she would climb over the fence to upturn it, fearing that the mosquitoes would turn out to be Aedes mosquitoes.

In Malaysia, there are some fatalities from Dengue Fever. Most of the time, it’s not life threatening.

The maid’s words turned to be prophetic and a few days later the entire family was diagnosed with Dengue fever. However only KK and the children were admitted. Marge had a low grade fever and looked well enough to rest at home. Later the maid told me Marge had a full dinner, finished her rice and dishes and apologised to the maid, as she didn’t leave any food for her. Marge kept saying she was so hungry and ate a whole mango. After that she felt ill, and became very tired. She couldn’t walk upstairs to her room and asked for the maid to bring her school work downstairs for marking. When she felt giddy, she decided it was time to go to the hospital.

Beautiful, gentle, Marge slipped away quietly that night in the hospital. It was from dengue hemorrhaging fever. 

I believe she didn’t feel that much pain and just went to sleep.

The pain stayed with KK, the children, her family and friends.

~Ying

“If you want to have lunch Dee, it’s got to be the following, char koay teow, char koay kak, kalinga mee, kali mee, lor bak, Hokkien mee or curries. No way am I going to eat grass like you, Dee. This woman ain’t a cow, get it?” Ying would rattle on the phone. That was a prelude to our weekly Saturday lunch date, should I forget and suggest otherwise.

Ying was one tough cookie. She ran her family business supplying marble and goes to the quarry for inspection and QC. Working mainly with men. Sometimes I think she’s ballsier than a lot of men I know. Her word was good, she was fair and boy could she eat. Anything that’s deep fried; with good wok hei (heat from the frying pan) is worth a chow-down. Her all-time favourite was one of her aunt’s Roti Babi, a Hainanese version of egg battered deep fried minced pork stuffed sandwich. She used to drool over that and describe in detail how to make the perfect One!

Ying hardly ever takes any veggie or fruit. She used to tell me how much she enjoyed her jaunt at English boarding school, in particular the breakfast of bacon, sausages, hash brown, fish and vinegar chips and fried breads.

A bad diet and stressful job is a deadly combination. When Ying was diagnosed with C it was stage 4.

Geok and I went to see Ying towards the end. She aged so much with the chemo, looked so fragile when we looked in. All I want to remember is Ying as a young girl who loved to play netball and sports. She loved skiing and she loved life. She loved a good laugh. We lost a great friend.

~Charles

Alina rang a little past midnight. It was urgent and she cried out, “Charles has died. My Charles has died. He died”

I was shocked and my mind went blank. Not Charles surely. He has had a heart attack but managed to drive himself and Alina to the hospital the week before. He had an angioplasty and stenting and was in ICU but made a speedy recovery.

Alina told me, “Close friends visit at home Dee, anyway, you won’t be able to joke with him in ICU, no fun, cannot talk and laugh loudly,” she reasoned.

How true. All the things that sum up Charles and Alina’s life. I have never seen a couple in their 40s and 50s so much in love. Every day is their honeymoon. Every night, their first. They love to party, drink wine, sing and dance. Charles was always good natured and such a nice man. He was so logical sometimes to the point of being annoying but I would eventually agree with his reasoning. He was right, you know but he would explain gently again and again until his opponent understood, or sometimes choose to differ. Most of all Charles was such a good friend to everyone.

In the 6 months leading up to his departure, Charles said he needed to sleep early. He was tired. He was sorry to be a party pooper. Yet he will stay until the last beer is drunk, the whiskey runs dry and waltz Alina to her carriage and away, away they to Paradise, they will fly.

~Dad

We lost Dad in 92. I remember that for years later,  I refused to celebrate my birthday. It was almost exactly 18 month to the day that his doctors told me glumly that Dad was very sick. Cirrhosis of liver. His liver had hardened and causes the lining of his stomach to bleed. The digested blood made his stool, almost tar like and it would stick to the WC every time he went.

In the 18 months that he had, he returned to his catholic faith. He made peace with a number of old friends and would chat and laugh over the telephone with them in the afternoons. Mom got baptised and the two of them married in church with me as their bridesmaid.

My friend Anne, baked them a wedding cake, took photos, sang songs and celebrated his life. My relatives were overjoyed. Uncle Eddy loved Dad the most. Everyone was so happy.

I like to blank out the part when Dad died. The sad parts. The hard parts. Hard to remember. The pain of loss so acute.

He was laughing and joking with me until the end. When his stomach bloated so big and hard, he’ll say, “Now I finally understand what it’s like to be very pregnant. I can’t see my toes anymore; can you give me a pedicure, Dee?”

Suddenly I’m 4 years old, pretending to sleep in front of the TV, so he will carry me to bed and tuck me in.

Doris Lim is a popular freelance writer who blogs as Little Fish on travel and food stories here. Be sure to check out her other inspiring stories and follow her Instagram @SmartDoryID & Facebook to check out more places to eat delicious street foods or dine in the best restaurants!