On the evening of the 28th, we were going home from dinner when Alwyn called to say that Ah Ma had breathed her last. When I got the call, I felt strangely calm. You know, the same way you feel get a call that your dinner reservation has been confirmed. No big deal. Nothing surprising. Nothing new.
I got to Ah Ma's bedside 15 minutes later.
She didn't look like herself. She was so peaceful. Her face was relaxed and at peace. I can only hope that was how she really felt.
Tears all around. Everyone was in various states of unravelling. Everyone was falling apart. Everyone was trying to cope with grief in their own way.
Dad was sitting on a little swing outside in the garden. He looked numb. When I asked if he was ok, he said he was.
Mum was crying openly and hugging Joanne and myself. It's funny. When Ah Ma was alive, Mum and Ah Ma would always have these great big fights. I guess Mum will have to find a different "sparring partner" for her next title fight. :)
Alwyn was crying quietly and wiping tears from his eyes with one hand while Chrissie (his girlfriend) would hold and pat his other hand. Alwyn was the closest to Ah Ma in her last year. Thank you Alwyn for being there for Ah Ma when I couldn't.
We stayed there for maybe an hour. It was so unreal. I couldn't quite believe she was dead. I half expected her to suddenly sit up. I wished it was all a bad dream.
And through all of this, Ah Ma lay quietly on her bed. Unmoving, but surely moved.
Elvis has left the building...
Sunday, August 04, 2002
Ah Ma - Part 1 - The Bedside Story
On the 28th of July 2002 at 7.40pm Malaysia local time, my grandmother Lui Lan Hee (Ah Ma to us, her grandkids) moved on to more important affairs than that of the flesh.
Yes, I mean that she passed away.
That ends yet another chapter in my life, a chapter that has lasted a whole 28+ years. There'sno more Ah Ma around, and I'll just have to deal with that dose of reality eventually.
On Sunday (21 Jul 02), I got an email from Alwyn (my cousin) at 5am that Ah Ma was in dire straits (my words, not his). By 10am, there were two tickets on SQ waiting for Joanne (my sis) and I for our trip back to Malaysia. I wanted to see Ah Ma before she passed away.
She didn't look like herself. I don't remember her ever lying down quietly. Even in her sleep, she seemed lively and vibrant. Yet, here she was, lying on a bed, eyes closed, occasionally moving her left hand (her right side was paralysed) and shaking her head. She couldn't open her eyes. All she could do was shake her head and twitch her left arm. And even those few gestures, I never knew for sure if they were meaningful gestures or Ah Ma's last frustrated attempts to make her failing body obey her. If the latter, I'm not sure Ah Ma succeeded.
Oh I know that she somehow knew we were there by her bedside. I don't know if she could hear us, or if she could feel us touching her face and holding her hand. But she knew. The biggest sign that she knew was when a tear escaped her closed left eye.
Her one tear. I've since more than matched that one tear with a zillion of my own.
I visited her every day, a couple of times each day. And each time I saw her, it seemed like she was slipping just a little closer to God. Everytime I saw her, I would hold her hand, kiss her forehead, talk to her, tell her that we were going for breakfast/lunch/dinner and that we would be back to see her in a little while. I'll always wonder if she could hear me, if she could understand me, if deep inside, she was smiling at my clumsy attempts at humor.
And everytime I saw her, I alternated between wishing she would die soon and wishing she would get better. Oh I knew she would never recover. But that didn't stop me from wishing it. And yet, I wished she would pass quietly and painlessly rather than drag on for months as a shell that was all but legally dead.
Well, I guess there's nothing more to wish for now.
Yes, I mean that she passed away.
That ends yet another chapter in my life, a chapter that has lasted a whole 28+ years. There'sno more Ah Ma around, and I'll just have to deal with that dose of reality eventually.
On Sunday (21 Jul 02), I got an email from Alwyn (my cousin) at 5am that Ah Ma was in dire straits (my words, not his). By 10am, there were two tickets on SQ waiting for Joanne (my sis) and I for our trip back to Malaysia. I wanted to see Ah Ma before she passed away.
She didn't look like herself. I don't remember her ever lying down quietly. Even in her sleep, she seemed lively and vibrant. Yet, here she was, lying on a bed, eyes closed, occasionally moving her left hand (her right side was paralysed) and shaking her head. She couldn't open her eyes. All she could do was shake her head and twitch her left arm. And even those few gestures, I never knew for sure if they were meaningful gestures or Ah Ma's last frustrated attempts to make her failing body obey her. If the latter, I'm not sure Ah Ma succeeded.
Oh I know that she somehow knew we were there by her bedside. I don't know if she could hear us, or if she could feel us touching her face and holding her hand. But she knew. The biggest sign that she knew was when a tear escaped her closed left eye.
Her one tear. I've since more than matched that one tear with a zillion of my own.
I visited her every day, a couple of times each day. And each time I saw her, it seemed like she was slipping just a little closer to God. Everytime I saw her, I would hold her hand, kiss her forehead, talk to her, tell her that we were going for breakfast/lunch/dinner and that we would be back to see her in a little while. I'll always wonder if she could hear me, if she could understand me, if deep inside, she was smiling at my clumsy attempts at humor.
And everytime I saw her, I alternated between wishing she would die soon and wishing she would get better. Oh I knew she would never recover. But that didn't stop me from wishing it. And yet, I wished she would pass quietly and painlessly rather than drag on for months as a shell that was all but legally dead.
Well, I guess there's nothing more to wish for now.
Thursday, June 13, 2002
Anger, pain and emptiness - Firings at work
Before you go on, consider this a warning. This isn't exactly a
politically correct piece. Those of you who know me probably know me
to be a blunt (read that as tactless) person. Well, this is me when
I'm not even TRYING to be tactful or politically correct.
What happened today (13 June 02) sucked. It's one of the worst things
that have ever happened in my professional life. You probably know
that I got along very well with all the 3 guys, especially Patrick
and Bruce. Well, today, I didn't just lose three coworkers. I lost
three friends.
I left work rather late today, around 7pm. By force of habit, I
wandered over to the center aisle just to see if anyone was still
hanging around.
Then it hit me. Three cubes. Three cubes in various states of being
cleared out. Three cubes that used to house three friends. Three
friends that I wouldn't get the pleasure of working with anymore.
Most times, Pat would be at his desk at 7pm. He'd have this cool new
toy he just bought off the net. Or perhaps another box of cartridges.
Instead, now there's a dumpster in Pat's cube. It's full of all the
cardboard boxes that Pat always left lying around his cube. Pat's
books are stacked neatly on his desk, probably the first time I'd
ever use the word "neat" to describe anything about his
cube. His red blanket, you know the one he liked to wear around the
office, was lying neatly folded on his green chair. No smiling face.
No barely organized chaos of books and papers and stuff.
I look across to Bruce's cube. The first thing that hits me is that
Jet Li is missing. Bruce's cube is also mainly empty. There's the
laptop in the docking bay. There's a bunch of books. Looks like
nobody has started clearing out his cube yet.
I go over to Rick's cube and peer in. His shelves are painfully
empty. No toys line the shelves. No bike helmet. Several cardboard
boxes that used to hold his toys lie on the floor.
Right about then, it starts getting too painful for me. I fall onto
the couch. The couch where I used to kick back and chat with those
guys. I can feel tears coming on. Not really good form to be seen
crying in the office, so I get up to leave when something catches my
eye.
I feel very very bitter when I throw away the plastic name plates
that used to hang at their cube doorways. Those nameplates don't
belong on the wall. After all, Bruce, Pat and Rick don't sit there
anymore.
OK, so that's my evening. How do I feel now?
I think this is all very fucked up. I can see why Bruce/Pat/Rick
played airsoft in the vicinity of the Rational compound. I can see
why Beth/Dale/HR/whoever would feel compelled to fire them. I can see
why Bruce/Pat/Rick would be pissed as all hell. And especially Pat,
whom I think took it the hardest of the 3. Pat was always someone who
put his heart into what he believed in. And whether or not you agreed
with Pat's opinions, you have to agree that he busted his ass for the
team. He loved working for the team, and so he gave his all every day
at work. He didn't like the way things were being run at work, but
that never stopped him from trying to help the team.
What does the future hold?
You might want to agree with Bruce/Pat/Rick that this is the
company's loss. Or you could think that a big company would hardly
notice the loss of 3 peons. Whatever. The fact is that there are 13
people left holding the fort here. This is one helluva shitty time to
be a member of this team.
I'm not our boss. I can't show you the silver lining of this whole
mess. But I can say that if we don't pull through this together,
there will be no team left to speak of. So here's what I'm asking.
Be there for each other. This incident has hit all of us, some harder
than others. Be ready to offer a listening ear if your teammate needs
one. Take a moment to take a walk with a friend. Morale is lower than
it has ever been. If we don't pull together as a team, there's not
gonna be any team left to pull together.
Focus on the task at hand. The tier 1s have shifts to handle, cases
to work etc. The tier 2s have escalations to work, people to mentor
etc. But ALL OF US have one common goal: we can't let this team sink.
In the eyes of upper management, we are a bunch of numbers (SRs
handled, number of solutions approved, first day closure blah blah
blah). If we don't get the numbers, we don't have a team. That's the
crude simple truth.
OK, enough of my preaching. It's 2am, and I really should be getting
to bed.
If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading this, now get back
to work. :)
Bruce, Patrick, Rick, this one's for you.
politically correct piece. Those of you who know me probably know me
to be a blunt (read that as tactless) person. Well, this is me when
I'm not even TRYING to be tactful or politically correct.
What happened today (13 June 02) sucked. It's one of the worst things
that have ever happened in my professional life. You probably know
that I got along very well with all the 3 guys, especially Patrick
and Bruce. Well, today, I didn't just lose three coworkers. I lost
three friends.
I left work rather late today, around 7pm. By force of habit, I
wandered over to the center aisle just to see if anyone was still
hanging around.
Then it hit me. Three cubes. Three cubes in various states of being
cleared out. Three cubes that used to house three friends. Three
friends that I wouldn't get the pleasure of working with anymore.
Most times, Pat would be at his desk at 7pm. He'd have this cool new
toy he just bought off the net. Or perhaps another box of cartridges.
Instead, now there's a dumpster in Pat's cube. It's full of all the
cardboard boxes that Pat always left lying around his cube. Pat's
books are stacked neatly on his desk, probably the first time I'd
ever use the word "neat" to describe anything about his
cube. His red blanket, you know the one he liked to wear around the
office, was lying neatly folded on his green chair. No smiling face.
No barely organized chaos of books and papers and stuff.
I look across to Bruce's cube. The first thing that hits me is that
Jet Li is missing. Bruce's cube is also mainly empty. There's the
laptop in the docking bay. There's a bunch of books. Looks like
nobody has started clearing out his cube yet.
I go over to Rick's cube and peer in. His shelves are painfully
empty. No toys line the shelves. No bike helmet. Several cardboard
boxes that used to hold his toys lie on the floor.
Right about then, it starts getting too painful for me. I fall onto
the couch. The couch where I used to kick back and chat with those
guys. I can feel tears coming on. Not really good form to be seen
crying in the office, so I get up to leave when something catches my
eye.
I feel very very bitter when I throw away the plastic name plates
that used to hang at their cube doorways. Those nameplates don't
belong on the wall. After all, Bruce, Pat and Rick don't sit there
anymore.
OK, so that's my evening. How do I feel now?
I think this is all very fucked up. I can see why Bruce/Pat/Rick
played airsoft in the vicinity of the Rational compound. I can see
why Beth/Dale/HR/whoever would feel compelled to fire them. I can see
why Bruce/Pat/Rick would be pissed as all hell. And especially Pat,
whom I think took it the hardest of the 3. Pat was always someone who
put his heart into what he believed in. And whether or not you agreed
with Pat's opinions, you have to agree that he busted his ass for the
team. He loved working for the team, and so he gave his all every day
at work. He didn't like the way things were being run at work, but
that never stopped him from trying to help the team.
What does the future hold?
You might want to agree with Bruce/Pat/Rick that this is the
company's loss. Or you could think that a big company would hardly
notice the loss of 3 peons. Whatever. The fact is that there are 13
people left holding the fort here. This is one helluva shitty time to
be a member of this team.
I'm not our boss. I can't show you the silver lining of this whole
mess. But I can say that if we don't pull through this together,
there will be no team left to speak of. So here's what I'm asking.
Be there for each other. This incident has hit all of us, some harder
than others. Be ready to offer a listening ear if your teammate needs
one. Take a moment to take a walk with a friend. Morale is lower than
it has ever been. If we don't pull together as a team, there's not
gonna be any team left to pull together.
Focus on the task at hand. The tier 1s have shifts to handle, cases
to work etc. The tier 2s have escalations to work, people to mentor
etc. But ALL OF US have one common goal: we can't let this team sink.
In the eyes of upper management, we are a bunch of numbers (SRs
handled, number of solutions approved, first day closure blah blah
blah). If we don't get the numbers, we don't have a team. That's the
crude simple truth.
OK, enough of my preaching. It's 2am, and I really should be getting
to bed.
If you've gotten this far, thank you for reading this, now get back
to work. :)
Bruce, Patrick, Rick, this one's for you.
Wednesday, April 10, 2002
Anniversary of a Broken Heart -- An Update
It's been a year since Juli and I broke up.
Over the last year, I think my heart has healed quite a bit. It
doesn't hurt (as much) when I think about her. I don't cry at the
thought of what could have been.
But the pain still lingers like an old war wound that just won't go
away. The scars are still there. The scars still itch a little every
now and then. It's probably one of those things that you never quite
outgrow.
I suppose that's part of growing up and moving on.
I talked to Juli last night for more than 2 hours. It was like a
glass of fine wine. It's smooth and comfortable. Sweet. But also a
sharp bitter acidic taste.
It was painful at first, but as the conversation grew longer, I
started feeling more comfortable. It felt like I was talking to an
old friend. The chummy feeling that your friend knows you inside out,
a friend who knows all your bad points, so there's really nothing to
hide. There's no posing and posturing. You're just you, stripped bare
of all niceness.
A couple of parts in the conversation were very painful for me. The
part where I told her I already bought the ring for her. The part
where I told her that I should have been less demanding of her.
Whatever... That's past. That part of my life is over. The girl I
loved no longer exists. She's no longer the person she was one year
ago. Heck, neither am I.
Time to bury the past and embrace the future.
Over the last year, I think my heart has healed quite a bit. It
doesn't hurt (as much) when I think about her. I don't cry at the
thought of what could have been.
But the pain still lingers like an old war wound that just won't go
away. The scars are still there. The scars still itch a little every
now and then. It's probably one of those things that you never quite
outgrow.
I suppose that's part of growing up and moving on.
I talked to Juli last night for more than 2 hours. It was like a
glass of fine wine. It's smooth and comfortable. Sweet. But also a
sharp bitter acidic taste.
It was painful at first, but as the conversation grew longer, I
started feeling more comfortable. It felt like I was talking to an
old friend. The chummy feeling that your friend knows you inside out,
a friend who knows all your bad points, so there's really nothing to
hide. There's no posing and posturing. You're just you, stripped bare
of all niceness.
A couple of parts in the conversation were very painful for me. The
part where I told her I already bought the ring for her. The part
where I told her that I should have been less demanding of her.
Whatever... That's past. That part of my life is over. The girl I
loved no longer exists. She's no longer the person she was one year
ago. Heck, neither am I.
Time to bury the past and embrace the future.
Tuesday, April 02, 2002
A bad experience
I had dinner at Mi Piace on Saturday night. Mi Piace is a busy italian
place in Pasadena old town, Los Angeles.
The adventure starts off with them not accepting reservations for
parties of less than 4. That leaves me and my dinner date pretty much
out of luck. We decide to turn up at 8pm and see what happens.
We're told that it'll be a 30 minute wait. So we wait. Hmm....
there's nowhere to sit. Everyone's just lounging around, waiting for
a table. It's crowded, and uncomfortable. My shoes weren't made for
standing around.
Finally, after 45 minutes of sole killing waiting, we finally get a
table. Our server whisks us to a small little table set in the corner
of the restaurant.
We sit. We look around.
There's a sea of people lounging around waiting for their table.
They're crammed all around my table. It really doesn't help any that
my table is more than a little low, so their butt is at table-level.
It doesn't sound like much until you experience trying to eat with
someone's butt in your face.
To be fair, the food was very nice. However, I feel that the overall
experience was really marred by bad seating and a long waiting period
which was made more uncomfortable by not having a proper waiting area.
place in Pasadena old town, Los Angeles.
The adventure starts off with them not accepting reservations for
parties of less than 4. That leaves me and my dinner date pretty much
out of luck. We decide to turn up at 8pm and see what happens.
We're told that it'll be a 30 minute wait. So we wait. Hmm....
there's nowhere to sit. Everyone's just lounging around, waiting for
a table. It's crowded, and uncomfortable. My shoes weren't made for
standing around.
Finally, after 45 minutes of sole killing waiting, we finally get a
table. Our server whisks us to a small little table set in the corner
of the restaurant.
We sit. We look around.
There's a sea of people lounging around waiting for their table.
They're crammed all around my table. It really doesn't help any that
my table is more than a little low, so their butt is at table-level.
It doesn't sound like much until you experience trying to eat with
someone's butt in your face.
To be fair, the food was very nice. However, I feel that the overall
experience was really marred by bad seating and a long waiting period
which was made more uncomfortable by not having a proper waiting area.
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