Today I'm feeling surprisingly happy!

When I took this photo; surrounded by shopping bags and boxes, holding someone else's wishtlist in my hand, I didn't think it would feel like... this.

It all started in Malaysia, almost by accident. Friends and acquaintances messaged me:

And I thought: Why not? It's just a favor, right? A little side hustle.

What I didn't expect was how much I'd actually enjoy it. There’s something oddly sweet about walking through a store with someone else’s wishlist in your hand. Picking up boxes of cookies or makeup or bags, imagining how excited they’ll be when it finally reaches them. Shopping — not for myself, but for them — turned out to be more fun than I thought. The funniest part? I forgot to buy anything for myself.

Somewhere between their lists and my own tired feet, my shopping plans just slipped out of my head. When I finally sat down at the hotel room, surrounded by all those bags, I realized not a single thing in there was mine — and yet, it made me happy anyway.

Sometimes happiness is quiet like that.

Sometimes it’s just being useful.

Sometimes it’s being a small part of someone else’s story.

So now, whenever someone sends me another list — “can you find this? can you get that?” — I don’t roll my eyes anymore. 

Instead, I smile and think:

Well, let’s fill another cart with happy.

Hearing the song did not just let me remember things. It also made me realize how much I miss my mother. It has been 3 weeks since she left me, but I still have so many questions that I know I will never find the answers to. Some people probably have it figured out, but I still have not. Maybe because sometimes, it is easier to just throw stupid questions out in the air than face the answers right in front of us. 

How much of your character is taken away from you when your mother dies?

I am pretty sure that I am never going to be the same person as I was when my mother was still alive. I am not certain if it is a good thing or a bad thing. Honestly, I do not care. But I want to know how much of my whole thing did she take with her and how much is left with me now. I read once that us — the children — were inside our mother's tummies only for nine months, but their hearts forever. I think it is true because I felt it. But if she kept me in heart for so long, what happened when she died? When she left this lonely cruel world, did she take a part of me that she loved the most? And if yes, does that make her happy up there? Does being allowed to take something from the earth — from the people she loved — make dying worth it?

I also ask sometimes, how exactly can you move on and live a life with that gaping hole in your chest?

They say you cannot really get over a loss of a loved one — that you just get used to it. But do you, really? Do you really just get the hang of not ever talking to the person who witnessed how you achieved your greatest successes and made the most unforgivable mistakes but loved you all the same? Then why do I feel so terrible when something great happens, and I just realize that I can no longer call my mother to tell her about it? I can tell other people, yes. But no one can replace my mother. Her words of encouragement and pure adoration. The assurance that she is proud of me no matter what. The hugs and kisses translating that everything is going to be okay — that it only gets better. Even if it really does not.

How is it possible to finally accept that you are going to spend the rest of your life without her?

Growing up, my mother was no nonsense, and all about raising me to be exceptional woman. I was always expected to be above standard, even with whatever chaos that surrounded me at any given time. It was no secret that she loved me more than anything in this world and as I got older, my mother suddenly shifted to be a friend; someone I could call and she was always there. The loyalty was unmatched. She was my best friend.

A parent's death is never easy. But this one, was definitely hard to swallow. It doesn't get easier to process.

You won't feel like you can relate to anyone anymore. This may come across as a bit selfish, but after an unexpected death — especially both of your parents — you become a shell of yourself. And you start to subconsciously not want to deal with anyone. Unless they've been through it. No one understands how you feel, so you sort of file everyone in a category as just someone being kind during your current hardship. And in a weird, completely unselfish way, you do not want them to. You even start to think of ways that you can get "Thank you, I really appreciate it," stamped for automatic reply.

But the fact is, everyone feels sad for you and they all want to support you. But because the situation isn't exclusive to them as it is to you, you find yourself uncomfortable with the comfort and feeling alone. I remember chatting with Neeraj and telling him:

"The hardest part of this whole ordeal, is that you've been ripped apart, and you can't breathe, and your whole world is falling apart. And to everyone around you, it's just another day."

Particularly, I remember receiving group chat messages of the usual memes or videos we'd often share and looking on social media and seeing my entire feed being completely normal. And it's hard. Because to you, nothing is normal anymore.

On the day my mom died, the community came out of the woodwork. And I mean that in the most literal form. We had people come from all over the country, some asking how they can contribute to anything, food was coming from every corner of the city, and flowers and cards and messages and calls. You never know how much you are loved and valued until this moment. I even had friends I hadn't seen since high school to come to my mother's funeral service. All the love is incredible and it got me through for sure. I had friends and family who were there for me and checked on me everyday, no matter how much I didn't want to talk. But I also had friends and family that I would have been that supportive person for, that I never heard from — some even to this day. My mother had 11 brothers and sisters, 7 of them passed away, and the whole 4 came to her funeral. But no matter what, family drama will come to the surface that people cling to. Jobs will wonder when you're coming back because you just have to get those emails out. And companies will apologize for the death, but still want their money no matter what kind of situation you've just got into. Some people who claim to be your best friends might not be there to hug you in person because they're busy with their lives, some of them might also busy complaining and comparing your sadness to theirs — that will make you look very very selfish if you get upset. They'll text me sending long messages saying "You are not alone," or "I will hug you soon," at the end of paragraph but fuck it. Who cares? The fact is you are sitting on your bed, alone, and not a single soul is there with you because it is your life anyway. It is not theirs. And you'll be very grateful because you have someone who truly understands you, who's really putting your comfort above anything. By all means, you still want hugs, but his presence even if it's only through video calls every night until you fall asleep; it means so much to you.

Friends will become question marks, family will become strangers, and situations become accentuated. But in a time where you need all the support, you have to not let that disrupt your energy. You are not obligated to comfort anyone, no matter how strong you are. And you do not have to take on anything that doesn't help you heal. All you can do is focus on the people who supported you and loved you. Let any disappointment be background noise.

Yet, the support you receive will be a direct reflection of you and your parents.

"Hold me close, hug me tight. In the moment when I'm not there, I am there."

The door is always open.

Every day I expect you to walk out that door and never come back. Each morning I wake up in bed next to you, wondering if, by nightmare, I'll have to sleep alone without the comfort of your embrace. I listen to the words "I miss you," holding on to them if ever each time will be the last. I want to capture every detail of your face. I want them ingrained in my memory because someday, those will be all I have. I place my hand on the lines of your jaw, and lay a kiss on your lips, laced with a goodbye just in case.

I know we aren't forever and I've accepted that as a fact. I am easily replaceable by somebody better who deserves you more. You're too good and I'm just bad for you. You will get that perfect life and a future where all your dreams come true, even if I won't be in the picture. I'm alright. This isn't paranoia, but being at peace with inevitability. You don't need to worry at all because I'm nothing but grateful for you. You were the best thing that happened to me. A piece of you will always remain within me, and I hope I'll be ready when it's time to let you go.

For now, I'm making the most of these moments we have together. While I can put that smile on your face, I'll take every chance I can. You still look at me like I'm your most favorite person, and I will always wonder how I could have been so lucky to get a chance to see you. You were on the way toward a whole life ahead you, but somehow, you came and joined me on this little detour. You've still got a bit of time to live the rest of your life, so for now, come dance with me and relish in the temporary. Let's see as much as we can until you don't want to see me anymore. Let's be happy together until you're happier apart.

July 21, 2023.

Sometimes the alarm goes off and I press snooze like it actually says stop. Like it says TRY AGAIN ANOTHER DAY. Like the apocalypse is seconds away, so who really needs to get up and shower, you know? It's weird to be considered happy by everyone I know, when waking up feels a bit like failure. I am always looking for the right words— like, "Emotions are separate from depression." Like I am goofy and loud and laughing, but that doesn't negate the emptiness. Like a jack-o'-lantern is still hollow even it's smiling.

I know there is no right way to be alive, I know there is sometimes just this: Survival. And dirt. And crawling our way out of the thick of it. I know there is only this, my heart, and it's beating and how goddamn beautiful that really is. And then the confusion of not seeing beauty. Of not getting it. Of seeing art in a museum and wondering why everyone is in awe. 

You ever look at the ocean and not understand what you're supposed to be excited about? You ever wake up and press your finger and your chest and not understand how you are so alive but nothing feels like it?

Sometimes the alarm goes off, and I press snooze. But I still get up. That's something, right?

February 27, 2023.

I write to you,

raw emotion and childish intrigue

concealed behind pretty sentences.

I am too much of a coward

to be honest by looking at your face,

so I use coy mystery to communicate my helplessness.

Can you unmask the longing behind these fancy words?

Last night, I turned to Jack and Johnny for comfort.

This morning, Hendricks whispered something delicious

into my ear.

And now, wide awake and sober,

I turn to you, in the hope that you tell me what it is

the hell I am hoping for.

January 2, 2023.

December 13, 2022.

There are some places I expect to find him; like the songs we shared, the smell of his favorite perfume or the places we spent time together. I know heartbreak will find me there, and I've learnt to make some peace with that.

What's much harder to cope with is when longing finds me in the places we never shared. The mornings of grass we never sat on, the sound of birds I've never known, the plan of owning a dog together he never asked me to. The hardest part of all of this is that I keep finding little pieces of him when I'm not looking; in places I didn't know he'd been.

December 12, 2022.