The last 3 months and Sayonara

The last 3 months...

You taught us how to make salted fish meatballs. 

You spoke in all the old Hokkien that I have forgotten with the lack of use day to day. 

You taught me there's such thing as good days for haircut in a month. 

Even though I was there for your sake, you maintained old gentleman propriety all the way to the end, through and through.

Whether it was in making sure I got home safely, or telling me to get you if anything arise in the middle of the night. 

Or in all the meals we had together. 

The nyonya fishes you bought just for me and you made sure I was accountable to eating.

In how you tried sparkling water and liked it, Korean fried chicken which wasn't your thing and consistently still enjoying fries at the old age of 95.

And even to the very end, in how you worried everyone would be of heartache when your time was up and it was Sayonara.

My earliest memory of you is one in Klang where you asked me, or rather chuckled proudly, about your grandchildren. 

And of you in the big container lorry, packing away all our boxes and furniture for the big move back.

Despite all the proper rankings on your side of the family, there has never been a proper calling name for you, who is simply Uncle to us.

The hope was for you to have a peaceful death in your sleep and I'm glad it happened. 

R.I.P., Uncle. 

Turning over to the other side

There was a time when I couldn't imagine still being here today. 

Where the darkness whispers 'one slit is all you need', Your goodness have won instead. Over and over again. Every single time.

Thank you Jesus.

Without You, I would not be here today.

A decade old roommate.

'I love you'... 

'Thank you'... 

'It's ok if you want to leave'...

Bold words spoken last night. 

To the stubborn old 84 yo lady.

You stepped in and help raised me.

So many years of sharing the room.

Of locked doors and using the key. 

Of putting up with my shouting. 

Of my mess. 

Of forcing a cup of milo in before school. 

Of blue pea flowers.

Of laundry. 

Of marketing. 

Of cooking. 

Of sewing. 

Of buying my clothes. 

Of keeping house. 

It's because of you, that I learned sleeping on wood is perfectly fine. Because of you, I walk properly. 

Because of you, I eat daun kaduk and bitter gourd now. 

Because of you, no orh kuih or kaya can ever be up to the standards you have set. 

Or that unreplicable fried rice with things I hate in it as a kid, but dearly missed now. 

I'm glad you traveled to Melbourne with me. 

That you had that chance to fly and have a holiday experience on Puffing Billy and the 12 Apostles with me. 

Be free now. 

Rather then be here with that attitude of 'old already useless'.

I'm sorry I couldn't defend you or look after you in your old age.  

I rejoiced every time they shared a story and were annoyed by one of your stubborn actions or quirks. 

Because that is the only 2ee I know.

2ee with spunk and an attitude. 

R.I.P 2ee.

Thank you for letting me say goodbye.

I love you. 

12th June 2024

Class woes

Lesson 1 I learned to use the 3rd inner part of the 3rd finger.

Lesson 2 I was told to make a hole in between that would allow another stick to slip through, so I had to use the 2nd inner part instead to make way.

 

And then there was no further comment on that except to keep practicing and improving. 

 

Until today. Lesson 5 & 6 (because I missed one and had replacement).

We spent maybe 5 minutes on the position.

11 o'clock to the bass drum. Everything has to be reachable in place.

Then it was all about the fingers. A whole hour went by just talking about my fingers.

Apparently using the 2nd inner part leaves me with less room to bounce the stick.

So it was back to the first handling. Which gives me cramp from lack of use.

Then my fingers were too stiff, I was holding it too hard, and so on and so forth.

 

I was upset. It seemed like I wasn't getting things right no matter how I tried.

To sum it all up, I was warned it's the years of holding it wrongly that is messing me up right now.

And if I don't get it down correctly, I won't be able to go far.

But I don't even remember how I held it all these years.

No one ever mentioned what was the right way.

At the end he realized maybe the problem wasn't the thumb and where it landed on the middle finger, but the rest of my fingers blocking the way.

I acknowledged it could be because I am used to curling everything up for the piano.

We even checked out my flexibility on the piano. *eye rolls*

This is suppose to fix all the wrongs.

It's suppose to be fun.

But putting that leap in the heart when I hear someone play a beat I like, into my own playing is...hard.

It's harder to overcome that feeling of failure than I thought it would be.

 

A new season

Why does it feel like my whole heart was going to be displayed bare and raw on all the heads?

I thought I have gotten through it.

The disappointment of being lied that class was going to resume in February but instead was left hanging. 

The whole ordeal with skin peeled off 3 days before Christmas because it was decided during the last practice that we needed to turn our sticks around for a louder effect. 

The switch meant the balance point was higher and that was where finger meet corner of steel and loses some skin. 

No one even noticed it bled during practice, even when I got blood all over the drum head. 

And then to be told after the Christmas performance that I was dragging. 

Yes. I know. I was so afraid I was going to scrape the same location on my finger again. 

Just like how now I'm afraid I am going to be a disappointment from the start. 

For it sounded horrible. 

Even I could tell. 

I had no idea what to play for him to showcase what I know. 

So I did something lame just to have anything come out. 

Because. Yet. In spite. Despite. Dang it. 

I want this.

I still want this. 

Not because of some lack of people situation. 

Maybe not even a God calling thing. 

Just a selfishly human desire to hear oneself and be happy. 

I want to make happy memories of playing.