Tribute: Forever Twelve

Not mentioning ain't not remembering.

People say time will heal all. But I feel otherwise. If time is such a great healer, why my dam of tears threatens to burst forth whenever memories of her surface? 

And why my heart still aches?

Perhaps there is still a sliver of truth in that saying. For time has two faces. Time may heal wounds, and yet the same time leave scars. Call it the law of conservation of energy if you like.  

For brave ones, scars are beautiful. Scars are proof of them surviving the nightmare, a witness of whom they have become. As for the fragiles, scars are ghosts. Scars are unsolicited but ever lingering presence that haunt them to their dying days. 

I am neither brave nor fragile. Just somewhere in between steel and glass. I call myself aluminium, an element not so easily shattered but malleable to external forces. In the grey area that is neither black nor white. An awkward phase where most people belong to.

My heart is not broken. It just could not be, scientifically. If my heart is broken, I would be long gone. My body would have decayed beyond recognition, becoming one with the earth. For dust we are and to dust we return. A new generation of life repeating that cycle. 

No, my heart is not one to break, but a part of my feelings is. From time to time I feel the aching sensation somewhere beneath my chest, though exactly where I could never pinpoint. 

Whatever makes humans human? This is a question as old as humanity itself, and we are still nowhere closer to answer that today. But I would like to believe it is our soul that gives rise to consciousness in our brain, and makes us human. Our entire essence that bridges our mind and body together, making us whole. And I feel that part of me has been ripped off. 

It happened when she was taken away from us prematurely, and all was left for us was to stumble blindly in the darkness. Death, of death. The only commonality humanity ever share with each other ambushed us without warning. 

And yet, I would defy death by remembering her. 

She, was my only elder sister. The only one who shared a lot of commons with me, and not with our other sisters. And that common connections matter a lot to my younger self. Who would I look up to, when she was no more? 

She, was only a pretty twelve year old when she left us for heaven. Or at least that is what I choose to believe in. Never wanting to forget her face, I have her pictures kept close to me. And whenever I feel like seeing her, I would flip through the pages of my photo albums.

We, shared the same high forehead, straight hair and chin. But she had a much fairer complexion, slightly slanted pair of eyes and less full lips than mine. As for her voice, I am ashamed of the vagueness of it in my head, the side effect of passing time. 

We, were both exposed to books about the same time. But she was a much more independent and fast reader than I was. She was an explorer, an artist with a creative and imaginative mind. A far better painter, a far better gamer. A far better me. 

And I still remember what she loved most - the horror genre. While I was and still am a fairy tale/fantasy genre kind of girl, she was already braving the horror frontiers. Her slight obsession to drag me along into her world left me intolerable to the smell (and taste) of egg yolk to this day. 

It was a silly tale really. It went like this - 

Long long ago, in a small island off a peninsular, a little girl of six years loved to eat eggs. And breakfast could be just sunny side-ups with bread.When supper came she would loved to have half-boiled or hard-boiled eggs. 

It was lunch one day, and the little girl was happily enjoying her fried eggs and rice when her sister had the TV on with a Chinese ghost movie. To the little girl's horror, something disgusting flashed through the screen while she was chewing on her egg. And from that day onwards, the little girl can no longer tolerate the smell and taste of eggs. The end. 

Eggs just became disgusting all of a sudden. And a similar thing happened while I was eating a chicken dish while a Thai horror movie was on - no thanks to my sister again. The force of association seem to be strong within me, and the lesson I get out of that was to avoid eating whenever a horror movie is on.

But she didn't just stop at the screen. She, had an extensive collection of ghost stories which always gave me the scare to look at. "Singapore True Ghost Stories", "Goosebumps" and "Mr. Midnight" were only a small part of her bible. 

I never really quite understand her choice of books. But that was because I had this silly, childish fear right before I sleep every night that some monster was out there to get me. I could only sleep if I wrapped myself up from head to toe like a mummy with my blanket despite the warm night because I believe that would deter my imaginary friends from dragging me out of bed into the horror realm. 

It did not help when I tend to replay horror scenes in my mind for days after a scary movie. And so I could not help but asked her why and how she could stomached all the scary stuff. Her response in itself was like an advice to myself - by confronting our fears (i.e. watching and reading all the scary stuff), we may be able to figure out what could help us free ourselves when we have to face similar horrors. 

She and I, we were actually quite different. She, was able to express her feelings and emotions quite well. She would said "I love you" to mama, and was comfortable with hugs and kisses. No wonder, my mama's golden girl. She loved all sorts of TV programmes, including HK dramas. No wonder, my Ah Ma adored her most. 

She, was athletic. Enjoying a game of basketball when all I could remember was my younger self ducking the incoming ball. She, her favourite food were fried chicken, roasted duck, noodles, dim sum, fried rice and mango. While mine was milo, vege and tofu. 

She and I, we do share the same passion for somethings. Pokemon, Digimon and Diablo were a few. We were also McDonalds loyalists, with our collection of Happy Meal toys filling up two big boxes in the storeroom. I still keep those toys as I could not bear to give away my childhood treasures. They were a part of me that I refused to let go to this day. The same kind of feeling when I savour ice Milo and Chicken McNuggets - young and innocent. Naive and ignorant. A kind of bliss when your younger days slipped by. 

She and I, were bittersweet memories of my earlier childhood. She had always been there since I was born, and I took it for granted that she would always be there until the end. She, was supposed to be the first in everything ahead of me. Two years my senior, she was supposed to be first in the family to complete major public exams, the first one to attend university. I always assumed that she would be first in the family to experience things. And It unnerved me greatly to be doing things she never get to experience before. It feels wrong. 

The happy thing about being the younger sibling is the privilege of being allowed to be ignorant about things. Your parents do not expect you to know things, as the eldest usually would have already paved the way for you and your younger siblings. 

The analogy is like cutting an apple. 

During the first attempt of apple cutting, one does not know what type of knife to use; does not know the best way to hold a knife; does not know the perfect position the apple should be in; does not know the necessary precautions one should take to keep one's fingers intact. But after the first attempt, the second would naturally be much smoother and less messier than the first. The same analogy applies to the fate of younger siblings. 

Younger ones in the family are often blessed with past experiences and knowledge from the eldest. They can be ignorant because they do not have to do things by trial and error, as the eldest have already been through the process. 

And I struggled with the responsibility to carry her mantle. To be the eldest after her departure. I struggled to leave the comfort zone I took for granted. I became unsure of my place in this world. And she did not know, without her I was lost. A weak boat on the verge of capsizing in the waves of murky thoughts and emotions. Stranded and without guidance from the torch of a lighthouse that was no more. 

But that boat survived the first waves of the brutal sea. And as I am in the midst if preparing to enter the next phase in my life, I paused in remembrance of her. I could not see what lies in the road ahead of me, but I let myself imagine for a moment if things would turn out differently if she was still here with me. 

I thought of Josh Groban's "To where you are", and wish upon the night to see her smile of approval that I have become me as best as I could have managed. 

P.S.
Here ends my tribute to my beloved elder sister - Melissa Chee. But this is not the end as you will always be loved and remembered, this I promised you.