On my *longest* flight home, I watched one of my favourite movies on the in-flight entertainment.
“'Without pain, how could we know joy?' This is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.”
“There are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. A writer we used to like taught us that. There are days, many of them, when I resent the size of my unbounded set. I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me a forever within the numbered days, and I'm grateful.”
― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars
There is nothing more stress-relieving than having some me-time in the kitchen with my hands kept busy and mind distracted. I love the aroma of baked cookies emitting from the oven, it is like therapy to the tired soul and mind. The blast of hot air that gushes out when I open the oven seems to whiff away with it all the nonsensical troubled thoughts and helplessness - albeit for just a moment, but nevertheless, very very mollifying.
I don't know what it means to be mentally prepared. I only know I am not prepared, and I never will be prepared enough for loss. The brevity of life and the unpredictable unexpected scares me. Fear and pain is so real.
He is a man of few words. Many know him as someone who is strict and stern - "a grumpy old man" may sometimes be an apt description. He is quiet, usually, and often sits in his room, listening to his radio. He doesn't seem to be the sociable sort unlike grandma, and to many he may be difficult to hold a conversation with. But my grandpa is more that all that. He is and always will be my loving and affectionate grandpa. When I was young, he would always put me on his lap and rock me to sleep with that self-composed tune of "London bridge is falling down". He is tall and lanky, but very strong and healthy. I had to run to keep up with his walking pace. We visited the market every early morning and the uncle who tended to the vegetable stall would always ask, “你的孙女啊？” And he would reply “是咯，我的孙。我们来买菜。” Before we headed home, he would bring me to that heavenly candy shop where I could pick any and every gummy and candy I wanted. I loved that. Satisfied and happy, we would then head back home, hand-in-hand (really, it is much easier to keep up with him that way). When it was time for my afternoon nap, grandma would prepare my afternoon milk bottle and send me to bed together with my grandpa who took his daily siesta. Sometimes I would keep talking and to make me keep quiet and try to get me to sleep, he would make cat noises (meowing and scratching sounds) to "scare" me enough to shut me up. I have no idea why and how that worked, but it did. In the evenings, grandma would bathe me and grandpa would do the powdering and dressing up. He dried my hair with the towel and powder-puffed my neck and arms. Grandpa loves sweet desserts. When I was older, I would go over with ice cream and gramps and I would enjoy having it together. Grandma always said he was like a little kid, still loving ice cream at that age. I would ask him as always “好不好吃？” and his classic reply, “好吃，怎么不好吃？” These and all the other little moments we had, I will never forget.
How does one prepare for loss? I know I can't prepare enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment