Memoir snippet #1
In the ferry commute yesterday, I opted to scroll through my phone instead of working.
I noticed there was one screencast for 11 mins, which was kinda long. The thumbnail was the standard iPhone controls screen where you hit the start/stop of the screencast.
I ignored it for a while as I prioritized playing the other screencasts on my phone. When I watched them all, I finally got around in playing this.
It didnāt have any audio, but I still remember this day and why I decided to record.
My dadās face popped up, sort of smiling (without his false teeth, lol) and holding up a necklace, talking while trying to appear like he wasnāt winded by talking. He was seated where my momās desk was, facing a window while his back was turned against the wall clock thatās been there all my life.
This was the day when he started showing me all the little things he treasured all his life. I knew of its existence growing up, and heād tell me that me and my Ate will get these when heās gone. It was a future that was still too far away back then.
I remember feeling my stomach drop when that future started becoming a reality as he was showing me his watches and rings. They werenāt life-changing valuables but the items he were showing me had a lot of sentimental value for him, because he worked damn hard in the Middle East in order to get these little trinkets.
I remember hitting record on that screencast, because this was the first time he started openly talking about his mortality.
Heās always been afraid of death, of whatās on the other side, of what heāll leave behind if he goes. He battled COVID like a cancer patient fighting the fight. He pretended to still be strong and solid, which was what he was my whole life.
In the screencast, I see my face look mildly annoyed, the same expression that Iāve worn all my life when interacting with him. Dealing with him wasnāt easy, and with the knowledge and information I have now, I suspect he had autism, with all his rigidity in hygiene, cleaning, and social skills. He can be charming if he likes you but also can be very naturally annoying, with his repeated opinions and patterns.
My momās face then appears on the screen, and we continue talking until we said goodbye. Watching this yesterday sort of gave me relief that I have something to look back to when that dreaded day of being an orphan comes.
I went back to therapy for a while to deal with the anticipatory grief. My therapist suggested that I start a letter of how I love him and all the things I would tell him that he would like to hear before he passed. I kept putting it off, the words are all in my head and penning them down felt cringey. I donāt think I ever told him that I love him, and I was fighting this internal turmoil of him not being the father figure I wanted vs me loving him in my own way.
I remember coming back to the country a few months after this, and breathing a sigh of relief that my parents were still alive. I left them after two weeks knowing the possibility that I might never come home to a complete set of parents again.
I didnāt.
The next time I came back to the country was for my fatherās funeral. I didnāt use the word āhomeā because it didnāt feel that way anymore. My childhood house was sold and it was my first time staying at my parentsā new(ish) house. Gone were the familiar things I had ā my pink-striped room, that prickly rattan couch, the mugginess inside the house where the windows were all closed because they were too concerned of the dust in the house. I came back to a cool, airy new place without any imprints of the life I lived before.
I watched my mother become openly weak and lost. Sheās always resented that her life revolved around taking care of my dad and now her purpose was in question. She endured my dad for decades, only to be in this state where she doesnāt know what she would do without him.
Sheās doing a lot better now, but sheās not the same person she was before. And I left the country again knowingly scared that it might be the last time Iāll get to see or hold her in person. I do hope not. But death and grief have altered my life and my way of thinking that has spilled over to other non-personal aspects of my life, like work. I wasnāt the same gung-ho employee anymore, hungry for promotion and recognition. I couldnāt focus for 12 hours straight like I did before. Which is why I was exploring my phoneās videos in the first place while in the ferry commute home, when I could be working for an hour in order to clear out my inbox and respond to all requests people need from me.