Surcease success

So. Where to start?

With my ever increasingly infrequent entries to this little space on the infinite web I can call me own, I can only start where I suppose I last left off though it is nowhere near an accurate reflection of the time that has passed nor the events that have occurred, much less of how important some of these events have been.

But begin I shall:

I do not (thankfully) have a stomach ulcer. I do, however, now have mild gastric according to that much-sought-after doctor in Ang Mo Kio (which has left me with heartburns if I eat meals late). I believe it to be an occupational hazard because there are really some days when I have absolutely no time to even sit at my desk for more than a few minutes before running off somewhere else, much less have time to feel hungry. But in my defense, I argued with the doctor that I love food and eat A LOT (all those who agree, say 'aye'). He calmly pointed out that eating the equivalent of two meals in one at irregular hours does not a gastric-immune person make. So what do I have to avoid?

1. Smoking.
2. Chilli/ spicy food
3. Tea
4. Coffee
5. Stress

Erm, hello? That's 3 out of 5 things that my life cannot do without. Nevertheless, I held out for a week (during medication and regular meals) before succumbing to the lure of Starbucks' mocha yet again. It was only a week I know, but it was a sad caffeine-free week no less.

And when the doctor found out which school I was teaching at, he looked at me and said, "Don't expect too much from yourself. You need a break. MC tomorrow." Nice old man, the doc.

His MC while it lasted, proved useful for a week of lesson planning, which was promptly disrupted by more unforeseen circumstances arising.

While I had opted to be in a function committee for an event to be held in March, and was really prepared for the crunch in the beginning of this year, in addition to being subject level co-ordinator, planning for a new level, writing proposals for school awards and preparing for dialogues, everything came to a halt when one my students passed away due to complications from surgery.

Sadly, before I could even register what that meant, the administrative work and delegation that sprung from the accidental death overshadowed everything. An efficiency of standard operating procedure (or lack thereof), the unfeelingness of which disturbed and pissed me off without my realising it.

Four days (including the weekend) of phone calls and smses, of colleagues screening calls to avoid extra work, emails and coordination, attending the wake, the service, the cremation, counselling students, being vigilant and sensitive, proferring hope and support, being composed while watching people cry and hug, parents crumble and collapse, wondering about life and death and God, worrying about where children go when they die, seeing a wax doll of a body in an open casket with yellowing fingertips and a bruise on the wrist where an IV tube had been...where a spritely cheerful girl had been.

The dead do not grieve.

Grieving is for the living, for the pain that memory brings. All the rituals of burial and mourning - earthly processes for earthly beings.

But it is hard to grieve for someone so young, who until the end respected her parents' wishes so much she hung on until they told her she could go; someone who at 14 never complained about feeling ill and always had a joke to tell and a smile to give, who would apologise for giving a parent's letter that was crumpled and ask for permission to eat a sweet to help her get by when none was needed. She was so strong that she gave strength to those she left behind, who knew she wouldn't want them to be sad because she was happy. Happy in heaven.

According to the bible, "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." All those who knew her well knew the strength of her faith in Christ. Her life retold itself in the days after her passing, and with it the meaning of faith to everyone who heard, including me.

I know and believe God exists. But I've never felt what this meant, what it really is to have a God-common-factor among all believers, the consequences of those who don't share and love the same God, what happens when we really go Home to the Father. I did not know just how comforting it could be, the promise that "we'll meet again some day".

It all sounded trite, and still does. Nevertheless, its meaning runs deep and particulary poignant for those who feel the devastation of loss profoundly i.e. me.

I don't profess to know the significance of religion and faith in all its entirety, but if it has anything at all to do with the guarantee that we will meet the people we love again, then maybe we need to take it more seriously.

Time. Faith. Grieving. Deadlines. Living.

I need to catch up.

I need to catch myself.