Intermittent grief

I would love to be able to schedule grief, so that it doesn’t come unexpectedly – especially at times when I genuinely need to concentrate on plastering a smile on my face.

I despise melodrama and hate seeing people cry. I’ve never been much of a cryer myself and have learned ways to deflect sad emotions through the years. My other half actually once told me he thought I can be pretty cold – I don’t disagree and perhaps this is why.

My sister died 2.5 years ago and my world fell apart. I took three weeks of compassionate leave to grieve. Some people thought I went back to work too soon but I felt the need to be distracted by challenges and routine. It helped. A bit.

However, in the last six months grief has started to catch up, and has come with random and peculiar triggers at unexpected times.

1. My birthday last year. I spent the morning fielding greetings and feeling great. I had just finished a long, luscious skin care routine and started to get excited for the special night out RocketMan planned. I made birthday noodles for lunch and thought I’d kill time by watching the live action version of Disney’s The Little Mermaid.
   
   *slurp* Halle Bailey makes up for a beautiful Ariel *slurp* but why the heck did they make Flounder so fugly?! *slurp*
   
   Then the first lines of Part of Your World came in… and I am destroyed. What a waste of bloody expensive eye depuffing cream. And birthday noodles.
   
   
2. At work, while working on a spreadsheet with complex formulas. I was in the middle of consolidating data to figure out dates for a marketing plan. The date came to September 24. The day she died. I started tearing up so went out to walk around the block to catch some air. Got back and realised I didn’t save my spreadsheet. Went to the toilet to cry some more.
   
   
3. Watching The Morning Show, Season 2 Episode 10: Fever.
   As Billy Crudup’s Corey confesses love for Reese Witherspoon’s Bradley. It may have been the backdrop of Covid-19 within the narrative. Took me back to the first few months of the pandemic when it felt like a novelty to stay indoors and wear masks. Nobody knew knew what was coming then. I started feeling sorry for everyone who didn’t expect losing loved ones. I started feeling sorry for me.
   
   
4. Buying Christmas ornaments. I chanced on a Hello Kitty glass bauble at Liberty. I started sobbing in the middle of the very small and very packed Christmas shop to the horror of last minute yuletide shoppers. She loved Hello Kitty and I loved her.
   
   
5. New Year’s Day soak. Was having a Natasha Beddingfield-slash-Julia Roberts moment, enjoying the lush smell of my bath oils and foamy bubble bath. Grabbed my flute of champagne to toast to the promise of a good year ahead and was reminded of how she wanted lots of champagne (and a DJ) for her debutante ball. She didn’t live to be 18. She’ll never have another bubble bath, another glass of bubbly, and she won’t ever see our home. I could’ve drowned in a bath full of my tears.
   
   
6. The other day, we had a deep and meaningful conversation about retirement while walking around Epping Forest. It was an “adulting” conversation tackling what we’d do about assets and property. I used to say I’d take care of my sister when we are “next in line” but now she’s gone I sometimes wonder what my purpose is. Spent the rest of the walk miserable.
   
   
7. At an industry awards. Total merriment at a very packed networking reception. Bumped into someone I’ve not seen in years and we started giggling and chatting like schoolgirls. She then says “I’m very sorry about your sister,” which, whilst unsurprising, took me aback. I wasn’t ready for that. Suddenly I’m tearing up in between giggles like a looney. Thank God for waterproof mascara.
   

There were some more incidents that caught me off-guard. I’ve learned to equip my bags and pockets with little handy tissues and wipes just in case.

I suppose this is all a part of the grief journey, except I’m not quite sure which part of the journey I’m in. I keep looking back at the past couple of years, and I’ve got more questions I don’t really know who to aim at. It’s become a physically exhausting mental game – trying hard to not suppress emotion vs trying hard to keep cool and push on.

Writing it all here, somehow, is some sort of catharsis.

Until it starts all over again.

Marites, this tea is not your business

In the Philippines, the name Marites has become synonymous with gossip/scandalmongers and Nosy Parkers. These are people who love sniffing, spilling, and asking for the tea.

A few weeks ago I found myself confronted with an acquaintance from yesteryear who made me realise how truly toxic Mariteses are.

MARITES: How are you? Had the urge to look you up cos we haven’t spoken in so long?!

I looked up our message history. The last message I had from them was over five years ago, probing about a previous relationship. I clearly did not respond then because

1. Marites is not really a friend
2. it was a trauma-triggering question
3. it was an old issue and we have all moved on
4. I refuse to discuss past issues with randoms
5. it’s none of their business.

Anyway. I responded this time, thinking it was just casual pleasantries. “All’s well and steady. Thanks! Hope you’re good.”

Wrong move. This gave them an opening.

MARITES: It’s been so long! Glad you’re happy! I know we haven’t spoken for so long but I want to know… What happened to you and your ex?!

Well… hello there, audacity. I tried to remain calm.

“Hi. Ex is an ex. But lots of things have happened since. Like I’ve a new partner and we bought our place… and my sister passed away.”

Maybe pushing the dead sister card will shut them up?

I was wrong.

MARITES: Oh yeah. I saw that! Did she get sick?! Anyway what happened to your ex? Are you annulled?

FUCK MY LIFE. No condolences, no I’m so sorry for your loss, no niceties about the death. More pressing about ex issues. At this point, I was enraged, bothered and quite frankly, amazed at the sheer insensitivity. Is this person for real?

Kill ’em with kindness, a voice said.

“Right. Yes she died of complications from Covid. Yes, annulled. But let’s not talk about past issues. Anyway, have fun and enjoy your day.”

Reader, she then went on to give me unsolicited opinions about why my previous relationship did not go well, and what she thought of my other half.

I didn’t bother responding and thought it was about time to delete and block them altogether.

This situation made me reflect on how society has become so entitled when demanding access to information we desire (but not actually need).

I have seen public figures berated for some of their life choices, and crucified when they act in a way that doesn’t fit fairy tale narratives. Never mind that more often, these life choices and decisions do not affect their ability to serve honestly or entertain the public. People want more: “they owe us the truth, they are public figures and celebrities after all so they should cater to the public – we need to know the why’s and how’s, we need to know everything!”

And it also goes from the smallest of societal units to larger communities, too. People demand to know as they feel they deserve to know.

But people forget that everyone has the right to be quiet, and you can’t just ask questions because you want to, just because you can.

I genuinely believe there is dignity in keeping silent. Your family doesn’t have to know everything about you – a shared bloodline does not mean a shared soul. Your best friends do not need to know every single opinion you have even though you disagree with theirs. Your peers do not need to know what your salary and bonus is. Your spectators do not need to know why your relationship did not work out. Etcetera, etcetera. You have the right to remain silent.

Because no one owes anyone any information. The desire to feed one’s curiosity is never going to be more important than one’s right to privacy.

“Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. ”

And that, my dears, is the T.

KiKill ’em with kindness, a voice said.Kill ’em with kindness, a voice said.