Forgotten

Those eyes.

Those eyes used to gaze at me with love, but now look at me without a hint of recognition.

Those hands.

Those hands held me before I learnt to walk, now hanging limp and lifeless by her side.

Those lips.

Those lips always curve up in a smile and shower me with kisses, now frozen, unable to turn on the smile that lights up her face.

How does it feel like to be forgotten?

It feels like dying. Like being killed.

Like your existence is wiped away from the world against your will. Not just from any world. But from the world of someone who loves you and someone you owe your life to. And the worst thing is that there’s nothing you can do about it, to claw your way into being remembered or somehow try to redeem memories of you in that world.

I am always someone in love with life. Yet, somehow I always have this firm belief that my days are always numbered in my Maker's Hands. And that when ‘my time’ comes, I will not try to hold on to life. But sitting by her bedside, holding her hands, calling her, without her having an ounce of recognition in her eyes, I wanted to fight: fight for my existence in her memory. I wanted to claim my rightful place in her past and her present. Never in my life had I wished to be remembered. Never in my life had I wanted so bad to live beyond ‘my time’. 

Just a little bit longer.

My Ma’s cousin, my other mother, my second mother who was with the family even before my eldest brother was born; ‘Ka Nu’ we called her. She was nothing short of a mother to me. Since Ma was a working woman, she was the one who took care of me, kissed each wound, dressed me, fed me and clothe me. A single mother, she moved away from our home after her only daughter got married in a sleepy little town down south.

May, this year, I was in battling the peak of Delhi heat when I got a call from my cousin who told me that Ka Nu was sick and that she’s taking her to Aizawl for medical checkup. A few weeks later, I was informed Ka Nu had multiple brain tumour and that  the doctors told her she doesn’t have long to live. Treatment wouldn’t work at her condition and her age, I was told.

The only thing I did when I heard the news was that I got on my knees and begged God to allow me to meet her and bless her before her time is up.

God is good.

Within a couple of months, I underwent numerous changes in my life. Not a thing was pre-planned. I moved to Aizawl and a month later, I was on a bumpy road towards the southern part of the state.

It was raining when I reached the town. And though it was September, dark rain clouds hovered with mists fogging up the town. And to make it worse, the whole town was out of electricity!! It felt as if the universe knew what sort of emotional state I was in and conspired to make sure I stayed in that state.

I reached her bedside, held her hand and whispered “Nu, ka lo thleng tawh asin!”. Her eyes look at me without an ounce of recognition. My cousin called out to her, “Nu, hei Senmami a lo thleng asin. I koh I koh thin kha!”. No response as she stared at me. Fresh tears spilt on my cheeks as I cried. It was guttural, it was a heartbreaking sob triggered by the pain that has been knitting inside my core for so long. I didn’t care who was there, there was no room for etiquette. And as I sat by her bed, staring at the lifeless limp body, frozen by stroke; a fresh doze of emotions shot through my heart. It was a mixture of happiness to just see her and pain to see her in such a condition. Don't get me wrong! I had my silent "thank yous" to my Father that he granted my wish. 

But to be forgotten by the woman who raised you… the pain was magnificent.

Right at that moment, all I wanted and all I wished was to be remembered.

Sometimes, when you wish for something that bad, you start a ‘make-believe’ world. Just half an hour by her side, I started creating my make believe world.

I would like to believe that every squeeze of her hands tells me that she’s glad to see me, that she missed me; that I make her proud every single day. I would like to believe that every blank flicker of her eyes tells me that she loves me; that she’s happy that I came; that she remembers every memory that we’d made together.

I would like to believe that though the words are missing, though there isn’t a flicker of recognition in her eyes, somewhere behind the thick clouds that cover her, there is still that woman who raised me into the person that I am today.

And though I can’t see from the other end of the view, though I don’t know what it feels like to forget, there’s one thing I refuse to accept.

I refuse to be forgotten. 

And I refuse to give up the fight until I am remembered...

Dear Zac

Dear Zac,

I know we’ve never met and but I’ve known you from what other people have talked about. I don’t know when we will meet, but I know that one day, I will meet you and there are so many things I need to ask you. But until then, this letter will do.

Last weekend, I was at a cell meeting with my group of teenagers where we were talking about you and that one encounter you had. Zac, I’ve heard about you millions of times and I’m sorry I haven’t paid enough attention. I just realized today as we were talking about you that there are so many things I could learn from you.

I’ll be honest here, I hope you don’t get hurt. But Zac, my mother, I remembered was the first person who told me about you. And I never liked you from the start. First of all, I never liked short men. (Hehe!! It’s just a personal preference!) And secondly, I don’t like corrupted people who grew rich from cheating other people. My mother told me that you were that kind of person. And just that thought of you climbing a tree was downright… unattractive, I must say. So, I guess it’s safe to say that I never really admired you, or liked you. And after that encounter you had with God, she told me you changed, but doesn’t everyone??

But last week, while we were talking about you, I rediscovered so many things about you. There were so many things about you that I never really cared to look: the efforts you made, your rock-hard determination and your proactive ways. From my talks with my teen cell group, I guess I’ve come to see you in a different light. I’ve come to admire you and these past few days, I couldn’t stop thinking about you!! Sheesh!

How frustrating must it be for you when people refuse to budge when you wanted to see that one person? Did you stamp your feet and mutter ‘I am a government official, I deserve some respect’ when the crowd pushed you to the back that day? What went through your head when you saw that fig tree? How embarrassing must it be for you to climb that tree among that crowd? How awkward was climbing a tree with your tonga? By the way, did your tonga get caught in some branch revealing more than you wanted? (Just curious, you know. Cause skirts sometimes act that way!) Did someone make fun of you while you made the attempt to climb that tree? Did you bruise your knees, were there ants or insects in that tree that bit you while you were on that tree? 

I heard, that One person you tried to see that day didn’t have any plans to stop in your town. But after seeing you on that tree, he came to have dinner at your house. Well, that one encounter changed you. And in order to have that one encounter, you made an effort both mentally and physically. You were determined to see him and even climbed that fig tree.

Have you heard about Mahasen, the cyclone that was headed for Mizoram a few days back? Well, the 5/11 Aizawl tragedy and the (then) impending cyclone had me on the edge of my seat for a few days. I’ve been told that people back home were fervent in praying, asking God to somehow keep us from destruction. For the past few days, I have also been lead to have an intercessory prayer for everyone back home.

The D-day arrived and I was relieved to see on my twitter feed that the cyclone fizzled out before it reached Mizoram and changed its course. I was thankful then and there and I thank God for answered prayers. But then there were some people all over social networking sites joking and making fun of certain things about the cyclone and the prayers. It saddened my heart a bit to see how we take so many things for granted! Even the supernatural!!

Then I remembered you.

God changed His plans because you made an effort. Jesus never intended to stay in your town, he was just passing by, but because you made such an effort to meet him, he changed his plans. Likewise, I realized the cyclone fizzled out because so many people stood in the gap and prayed for deliverance.

And it’s not only about the cyclone.

It made me realize, if your efforts could make God change His plans, so can mine! I am a lot like you Zac, and I’m nothing like you at the same time. But in the end, we are both imperfect people perfected by grace.

But there is one mega-huge thing that I should not overlook. Zac, after you met Jesus, you changed your old ways! Now that is a challenge that I should take for myself. A self-reflection that I need to carry out daily: Have I changed after I’ve met Him??

I hope to meet you one day, and ask you certain questions face to face! Like how short are you exactly!? Hehe! I’m short too, but I wonder who, between us, is shorter? Or did you grab some of the fruits and eat them while you were on that tree? (I would have, if I had been in your place.) Mindless little nothings that would start a good conversation once we meet. I hope you will have some time for me when we meet and I hope you don’t have a long queue of people to ask you such questions! But then again, even there is so, when we finally meet, we will have forever (and I mean, forever, literally) to talk!

So until then,  Zac, thank you. You’ve taught me a valuable life lesson. You’ll be in my mind for a long time to come. But, don’t worry! I don’t have a crush on you. Again, I’m not attracted to short men! Heh!

Much Respect,

Seni

P.S: I hope you don’t mind me calling you Zac. You full name sounds so ancient and I realized I could never relate to you in person when I call you Zacchaeus. J J J

Private Moments

I flipped over in my bed and let out a sigh. I have been staring at the shadows dancing in my ceiling for the past two hours. Sleep definitely doesn’t come easy these days. “An hour before midnight is worth two after” or so they tell me. Somehow I can force myself to retire by midnight, but going to sleep soon after has always, always been a fight.

There’s something really healthy that I have been practicing for this year (my post-Hlimsang stage, heh!). I go to bed early and I rise with the sun! Yep! I never really knew I was a morning person until a few months back. I often find myself praying with a smile while my heart leaps as I watch the sunrise; watch the sky change into different shades of blue; hear the birds sing with the break of the new day. Oh yes! My favourite soundtrack to the scene I just mentioned is Phil Wickham's "You're beautiful". Lately, I’ve realized that the devotionals I had in the mornings are clearer, crispier and deeper than those I would have at breakfast hours. When you wake up to such beautiful mornings, getting through the day with a light hearted-mood is a breeze.

Lately, I often catch my contented reflections on windows and moving vehicles. And I have to say, with His Grace and Mercy, just within a year, I have come a long long way.

Just a year ago, I was always busy putting on my happy mask while my insides were torn and shredded. I fooled the world into thinking that I was fine and that I am a survivor despite suffering from one of the worst heartbreaks and a massive doldrum  in my life. I was always careful to put on a smile and multiple layers of perkiness and mirth when I am around other people. But when the day is done, I would drag my heavy feet and my weary heart to a lonely room that I won’t care to clean for days at the end. I would lie awake at night, sometimes cry on marathon phonecalls with my dad (the only person I could show my true colors to), pray while wondering if God ever heard me at all and wonder if I’d ever get through the night without… dying!!  Sleep would somehow catch up with me as the first ray of light hits my curtains; my day would start an hour past lunch and the same cycle of  a broken girl hiding behind a happy mask would continue!

But as cheesy as it may sound… Love heals! J

I fell in love with a Jewish Carpenter!

Need I say more?

I no longer need to prove myself to the world that I am a survivor, that I am strong and that I don’t need a man in my life. Because I am not! I’m weak and fragile; I cry when no one is watching; I often swallow a hard lump of hurt when someone calls me fat or say something shady about my dad. I am massively scared of being judged and I know that even with all the academic degrees I hold, I am nothing better than stupid! I am useless in the kitchen and till today, I don’t know how to build close friendship with girls my age! And all throughout my adult life, I always longed for that one man who would accept, complete and love me despite my flaws and imperfections (Yes! Pimples and all).  

But, that deep sense of security that springs out from a heart who knows she is well loved is something that I have never really experienced before. I realized I don’t always have to be perfect or strong or smart because I know I am loved even when I am not so.

A heart who knows that she is loved no longer spends her nights tossing about worrying about her tomorrows. A heart who knows she is loved no longer needs to put on her mask of empty joys and smiles that don’t reach her eyes.  A heart who knows she is loved is secure enough to believe that even if she might never meet a man to love her, she has already met The Man who completes her being. Instead, her quiet smiles, her calms and her serene rest springs from her inner joy – the self-realisation of being loved.

But there are nights like this when sleep don’t come easy while there’s a little voice at the back of your head that tells you that you have to be up and running by the break of dawn!! But tonight, I plugged my earphones as I browsed through my phone for some soothing music to fall asleep to…

But soothing music and falling asleep were the last thing that happened as I plugged on my earphones as Chris Rice belted out his "Smile" in his perfect warm honey voice. I found myself out of my bed, kicking my sheets away and up on my feet. The next thing I remember was dancing in the dark, my earphones firmly plugged and my phone steadily held. I no longer need to gaze at the shadows dancing on my ceiling as I become the shadow dancing, hopping and swaying barefeet across my moonlit floor…

Well, sleep has to wait tonight…

I am having one of my private moments with my Jewish Carpenter!

...You...

Dancing with the shadows,

Couldn't help but face the dark.

Shadowed Past bruised my heart

So I bruised yours in return!

And there are times I bled your pride

Shamed your name

Cloud your fame

But all the while you held my hand.

They tell me love, sweet love

Gives you fireworks;

Makes your heart go racing;

Gives you wings to fly.

They tell me love, Sweet love

 Feels like falling;

 Sweeps you off your feet;

Makes you want to soar.

But, love is what you showed me...

I get lost in the shadows,

You show me  the light.

My storm blew;

You bend quietly till it pasts.

You held my hand though it bleeds yours;

Wiped my tears instead of yours.

You’d rather be the last so I could be the first;

The dark sky, so my star could shine bright.

You gave me hope against hopeless hours;

Forgiveness through forsaken times;

Gravity to keep my feet on the ground;

Strength when my fight is gone!

So the next time, they ask me what love is…

No, I won’t tell,

I’ll show them…

… You...!

(Found these lines scribbled and tucked away in some random folder. Brings back some really good memories.... Ah!! That feeling of being in love!! 

I shall miss it terribly...)

New Hopes and New Years

Happy New Year.

It took me a whole week in the New Year to update a blog. But this week in the New Year had been so hectic that I hardly have time to sleep. I sleep on an average of 4 hours a day. So naturally, bad skin, pimples, dark circles and swollen face are my badges of honor these days. Not the best way, but indeed a blessed way to start a New Year. 

2012 has been a hard year for me. A very hard year. Heartbreaks, breakups, health problems, family problems, deaths in the family, academic doldrums; I've had them all. I've watched my hopes and dreams crushed without mercy; castles that I've built for years crumbled to dust and carefully laid plans turned to nothing. Prince Charming rode into the sunset without me and I've said goodbye to a dear old Grandpa, who has been a patriarch in the family for decades. My bouts of depressions were sometimes so severe that many times, I feel like giving all up, go home and be a hermit (Ok! I just went overboard there!). But in spite of everything, God had plans for me.

The Mayans were right. At least about me! Heh! 21st December marked a new era in my life. Heh!! I'll let you in the details later...

So all in all, I'm glad to be here in the New Year with new hopes and dreams. I feel this year will be a good year for me. I'm blessed with new friends and new people in my life (with ages ranging from 21 through 70), people who pray for me when needed and laugh with me when times are good. I've finally learnt how to count my blessing and not my loss. I've also learnt how to let go and forgive myself for the wrongs I've done. Well, who am I not to forgive myself when God does?!

It's just been a week into the New Year and I'm already making miraculously speedy progress in my research - something which has been collecting cobwebs and mildew for the past year. It has been such a good start to a new year.

So here's to a Happy New Year, a new year filled with new hopes and new dreams...