Family, Home & Country

It is almost a year to the day, when I made a difficult journey home. It was unplanned for and it was just 2 weeks before mum was due to visit me. Instead, I was travelling the other way. Mum had been admitted to an intensive care unit, unable to breathe on her own. It was discovered, she had a brain tumour and whether she would recover from it was indeterminate. It was very difficult for family who were there with her then, to see her hooked up to machines. Mum unable to speak, indicated she wanted to go home and we knew that by fulfilling mum’s wish to be released from intensive care unit at the hospital, to return home, she would never make it. Hence, my long flight back. I couldn’t quite process how I was feeling but I knew if I didn’t make it back to say goodbye, I would never have forgiven myself.

The week running up to my flight, knowing that mum was poorly, was a difficult time. In a lot of ways, I had been estranged from her and my family for many years. So there were many painful memories that came back to me. As well as a sense of guilt for I had not been there for them for the last 9 years. That week also brought back memories of the time when we lost dad. I was much younger then and even then, I was not the responsible young adult that I should I have. I was too busy and engrossed with whatever it was that was going on in my life. The grief I felt for the loss of dad was deeper, perhaps it was because I was younger and I was closer to him than I had been with mum. Dad and I had many father - daughter moments. I remember an old joke we had in the family when we looked at a old B & W photograph of me as a baby in dad’s arms, dressed like a boy… I was unfortunately, not quite a son he would have liked! In comparison, mum and I have had many moments of conflicts, contention and basically a struggle of domination over my life which has caused me to walk out and was disowned. A very James Dean moment, I think.. But I did think then in my petulance I was a rebel with a cause!

So now, a year on from taking mum’s ashes out to sea and as I was reminded recently, it will be 20 years this November, since Dad passed on, I cannot help but think whatever happened to all that time that has passed. My memories of Dad seems a little dimmer as years go by and I wonder what he would have thought of me now. Would he have been angry, hurt and disappointed with some of my decisions in life? Would he have been as accepting and comforting as he once said ‘ Whatever happens, I will always be there’. My memories of mum are often tainted with some tinge of frustration and anger but I know that over the years, since I have moved away, mum had become a much better person. She did mellow. She did finally learnt that there were some boundaries she had to respect and not cross. I can only attribute this to the patience, persistence and strength that Sis had shown over the years.

Whatever it was that was right or wrong, mum did have a good 10 years after Dad passed on. She travelled. She had no grand children to worry about. She wasn’t always in the best of health, but she had lived a life quite full compared to many of her peers. I came across some old photographs taken of mum when she last visited, her usual frown when she has a her picture taken, Caerphilly Castle was in the background. Sis and I always told her ‘Mum, please smile.. Stop frowning for the camera!’. I would like to remember mum as someone who, despite being from a very poor family and was sent to work at a very young age and perhaps was bullied as young servant girl, she brought us up to be independent, forward thinking and as sis and I would always say ‘we are head strong because of mum and it was good training, else we would have crumbled!’

So as my little family gets smaller, there’s just the two of us sisters left, it made me realised how the bond between us is something to truly treasure and cherish. No one else in the world, grew up with me and share some of that history with me. No one else could quite love me with all my flaws, cracks and what have you as unconditionally and yet be my strength when I needed them to be. Over the last 2 years, it seems to me, we share a lot more in common or have certain similar quirks, it’s quite endearing and yet quite scary. When all fails, we just do the Freudian thing ‘Blame mum and dad. We are flawed, tarnished and traumatised by them both’.

This brings me to the question as to where is home then? I would say, home now is here in Wales and I suppose for many years, it has been so but I didn’t want to commit to it. I didn’t want to alienate myself from the place where I was born and brought up. It felt like a betrayal. An act of disloyalty to say, Wales is my home and not Malaysia. However, my rocky start in Wales and having come through all that, Wales helped me challenged myself and my old ways of thinking and living. By being different as I am and being thrust into a different way of life, experiences, relationships and people - I became even more aware of what it means to adapt, to respect and acknowledge even the most subtle differences between myself and everyone else. Not to pre-judge, assume or make unjust comparison. I can only hope, others offer me the same respect and acknowledgement. It is not often easy and continues to be a work-in-progress!

Does this then make me any less of being a Malaysian? The answer to that is a definitive no. I will always be proud to say I am Malaysian and even if I choose to any some point in time to formally relinquish my citizenship, I will still consider myself Malaysian. Despite the political and social challenges I have read about, heard about in Malaysia, I believe Malaysia as I know it, are the sums of the culture, attitude and spirit of its peoples. Politicians do not make a nation, people do. In that macro view, I do feel angry and sad at what Malaysia as a country has become. However, it is very heart warming and inspiring to see people from a multitude of ethnicity stand together in moments of hardship and speak for what they believe is right, at the risk of being arrested. The respect of differences was never easy and there will always differences and that is what makes being Malaysian so unique.

So what does it mean to me, being Malaysian? First thing that comes to every Malaysian’s mind - love of FOOD of course! Well besides, eating being a favourite pastime and besides, the variety of culinary delights like no other in the world, Malaysians are a melting pot of so many things. We speak so many different languages. Most Malaysians speak at least two, if not three languages and god knows how many other dialects, regional or otherwise. We also have our very own version of the Queen’s English, called Manglish and sometimes we are quite proud of it because no one else can understand us! We are totally politically incorrect, most of the time - no shame, not malicious in any way as we play-up, joke and exchange banter on typical ethic stereotypes. Malaysians have a way of easy tolerance with each other and understands that it’s ok not to agree with certain cultural practices but, there is no need to criticise or offer opinions on something alien to one’s upbringing. These are just some of the quirkiness of being Malaysian that will always be part of who I am and I cling on to them unashamedly because it makes me unique to the rest of the world.

I suppose over the years, I have straddled two lives - past and present, two countries and estranged from my real home, which is my family. Time to let go of things I can no longer hold on to and just be happy to have memories which are unique to me, of a different time, a different place. The healing of what had gone on for years has begun and now it is for me and all that is left of my family to embrace the years to come, knowing that each of this moment forward is important.

So Pa and Mummy, you can both rest well now, your daughters are well. We are good. Missing you both - well not all the bad bits, but we will always miss you both in our own way.