Alone with My Thoughts

That rainy afternoon, I felt like a kopi-o-siu-dai at the food center. At 3pm, it wasn't crowded at all. The weather made these two months out of the whole year one of the most comfortable periods to chill out at hawker centers and neighborhood kopitiams. Otherwise, the heat and humidity can be unbearable. Found a corner table by the side with nobody near enough to annoy me. There weren't anyone doing loud conversations either. Perfect.

Coffeeshops come in all forms. Coffee comes in all forms. I don't always need fancy or a pour-over or a piccolo latte. I also don't need them sited in a mall. It's hard to find a small cafe that one could describe as 'minimalistic'. It could be a local Nanyang style kopi-o-something at Toastbox or at a kopitiam or hawker center. 

The heavy rain had lightened to a drizzle. I sipped my coffee and simply spaced out. I had many thoughts floating through my mind, and surfing through those kept me occupied. I didn't even bother with reading anything or catching up on any emails on the phone. My work projects begin next week. For now, I'm content hearing the buzz of a city beginning a new year, and trying to normalize in a pandemic. 

I quietly mourn for the passing of those gone too soon. I rarely feel pervasive grief because, well, my nature. I'm very honest about that. Debilitating grief that shuts me down for weeks or months is reserved for the very very very near, and the very very very dear. That sort of grief would be why I cocoon and ignore most people until I emerge months later. I have done it twice, and I know that there will be a few more times. Many have gone home to the Lord and Shamayim in 2020, but I don't mourn for all because there wasn’t an emotional bond built. Superficial memories don't count. I now mourn for two special souls.

I mourned for J, who is my age, and had fought a good long battle with an aggressive and insidious cancer and passed on Christmas Day, 2020 in Tijuana. I'm glad he lived life on his terms. He made delightful solid music, he married the most wonderful girl and had a lovely 8-month-old baby girl, he made a film, he loved God and he loved life. I mourn for the man's much-loved grandaunt Aunty E, who passed on 4 January, 2021. She was infected with COVID-19, cleared the infections but was greatly weakened. She's had a full life and led it richly, and passed peacefully in her London home at a grand age of 97. 

The dead are never really gone in the hearts of those who love them. We remember. I definitely don't put on a display of emotions because this isn't how I manage grief, death, pain and loss. Funerals and drama are for the living, not the dead. No mass hysteria and no shared grieving, thanks. I prefer to lick any wounds in private. Solitude and peace are the best company. I keep the dead in my thoughts all the time, year after year. They pop up in little ways every day — in the way I make coffee, in the way I butter my bread or dip veggie sticks in hummus, in a little voice laughing at my ugly scrambled eggs, or how I eat strawberries, how I hold the door for someone coming in after, the choice of a drink at meals, et cetera. If there is grief, I cry. Usually a little smile or a grin comes up and I slow down for a few seconds to remember the vignettes of the past.