Welcoming 2020

Capturing snapshots of the memories written over the past new years ~~

2017 was the year of endings. The year I bid goodbye to the place I've grown to love so much. The year I leave the life that have been very forgiving of my often recklessly "unwise" mistakes. The year I unwillingly leave friends who have become family and my support system.

2018 was a year of uncertainties. The year I wandered around months of qualms, before stumbling upon a beautiful reason to get out of bed everyday. The year I have to rebuild my life after what felt like centuries of "accidental" comfort. The year I ventured into a new job, move to a new city and started learning the art of adulting.

2019 was the year of beginnings. The year I learn to be comfortable with my own skin. The year I saw my flaws with absolute clarity and learn to be okay with it. The year I attempt to unlearn bad habits, failed; but choose not to give up. The year I befriended my anxiety and stock up my less than a teaspoon of self-esteem.

and 2020, I hope will be the year of discoveries. The year I learn about mysteries of the world and of my own potentials. The year I discover kindness in myself and the people around me. The year I discover what it really means to be an "adult" in my own dictionary.

Cheers to the last few pages of the 2019 ❤

Best of both world

After months of changing my decision every 5 mins, I have finally come to a conclusion. The truth is, big life decisions scares the crap out of me. I always find myself being caught up between all the things I want to do in life. Too much ambitions and so little time (and money). So, I've decided to do both. Work and study. Commuting between Johor and Kuala Lumpur every week. So many people are doing it today to catch up with the fast changing world. I don't see why it is such a big deal if I bandwagon into the culture. Let's give it a few months. I really hope my body and mind can comprehend the bucket list of things I need to do to satisfy my inner being. If I fail, it's alright. At least I've given it a try. That's the beauty of being young and reckless. I have all the freedom in the world to experiment the many flavours of life. 

Cheers to exploring the best of both world! 

Poem #6

Perfect Broken Home 

A perfect home is a lie, 
for even a picture perfect family face miseries 
and has ugly mysteries; 
A perfect home is a lie, 
a lie that may be necessary, 
to hide the cracks behind broken histories, 
to freeze only the beautiful part of the story.

My broken home is perfect for me, 
I believe in this lie religiously,
though there are definitely moments of jealousy, 
when “ideal” families tell tales of wedding anniversaries 
and birthday parties,
together as a family; 
though there are times I try to create fake memories 
of us all going for a picnic or a movie, 
together as a family.

My broken family is perfect for me, 
I believe in this lie religiously, 
though I sometimes do try to imagine how my life would be,
if there’s no choosing between mummy and daddy, 
if for once I could say “I am going home” to a home that is ours, 
not to mum’s house or dad’s. 

My broken home is perfect for me, 
I believe in this lie religiously, 
for I know there’s also beauty in this story, 
although even I sometimes can’t see. 

In this story, 
I get to see 
dad finding love again after every heartbreak; 
In this story, 
I get to be there when things ends badly 
and mum is left lonely;
I get to hold them softly, 
tell them gently, 
“Don’t worry, you still have me”. 

My broken home is perfect for me,
I believe in this lie religiously,
As a kid, 
I was happy that I get to list down the “aunties” 
dad sees into likes and dislikes, 
the more chocolate they gave me 
the more I’ll tell daddy good stories.

As a kid, 
I was me happy that I get to mercilessly guilt mum 
into buying me gifts 
for the nights that she have missed 
my goodnight kiss, 
As a kid,
I believe that this is the picture of a happy family 
how mummies and daddies are supposed to be. 

My broken home is perfect for me, 
I believe in this lie religiously,
 It is nothing like you see in movies, 
we are as normal as can be, trust me. 
My broken home is perfect for me, 
a lie maybe,
but one that I will hold on firmly.

A Brief Family History

      Where do I begin? There is no beginning to this story and there will never be an end. It will and always will be an ongoing process of story writing with its characters changing over time.

      As for now, I will go all the way back to the early 1930’ in a beautiful little village in Punjab when a little baby boy was held into the reassuring safe hands of a young farmer, Mal Singh. Baby Jaginder Singh is now the new member of the Sindhu-Brar clan which descended from the Bhatti clan through Jesul Bhatii. Despite the simple, wonderful life in Punjab, Malaya seems to offer more for the ambitious Jaginder Singh. Thus, he sailed to Johore, a foreign land which will later become the home to him and generations after him. His brother, Sardara Singh soon followed and they became the first generation of Mal Singh’s decedent in Malaya. Jaginder started off by selling clothes from India and later venture into some money lending business which was apparently a common job description for early Punjabis in Malaya. As arranged by family, he marries the beautiful sixteen-year-old Gurnam Kaur who is the daughter of Gobind Singh, a police officer from India who was sent to Malaya by the British. She was born in Malaya but had to move back to Punjab after her mother’s death as her father was arranged to remarry. Jaginder Singh and Gurnam Kaur are the proud parents of six children and the youngest, Mhinder Singh happens to be my father.

      Growing up, my father was a typical Punjabi boy, with his patka and his kara and his undying love for his chai and dhall. After finishing college, he was posted in Keningau, Sabah as a Medical Laboratory Assistant where he met my mother, Collen Sigar, a young Lun bawang women from Sugiang Baru, a little village in Tenom. They met in the hospital where my mother had to translate for her aunt who does not speak Malay. My mother is the child of Sigar Minagung, a strong Lun bawang man who migrated from North Kalimantan at the age of seven. Lead by his father, Minagung Tabed, they walked through the thick jungles of Borneo for eight days with the hope of a better life. They had nothing more than their heart and soul when they arrive at Sapung, Tenom. They built a house in the interior of Tenom and settled there for generations to come. It was in this little village that he met the love of his life, Sifai Udan, a young Lun bawang women who also migrated from North Kalimantan for the promise of a better life. She came to Sabah at the age of twenty with her cousin brother and started a new life here. They got married and had seven children with my mother being the third.

     I was born in Keningau, Sabah in 1995 but I lived in Pontian, Johor since I was barely 4 months old. Our small family of four started off by settling in our late paternal grandparent’s house and continue to relocate around Pontian throughout the years. My parents decided to live a separate life when I three and since then I have two places I call home and now three, with Sarawak being on top of my list.

Poem #5

Humble Gift
by Venesa Devi

Words are all I could give,
so dearest please,
accept my humble gift.
Memories are all I could let you keep,
in case I am ever to be miss.
Love is all there is,
may it be enough to fill your heart with bliss.
Happiness is not a promise,
life will still be the way it is,
where sorrow and hardship sometimes visit;
but dearest remember this,
I will still be by your side always,
and that I can promise.

Restoring Faith on Humanity

I grew up believing that we live in this world alone. Regardless of how many people you have around you or how protected you are by the people you love, in the end, only you will be there for yourself. No one else and nothing else matters. No matter how many good deeds you have done, how much sacrifices you have made, in the end, it will not matter. A rather realistic and perhaps cold way to look at life but I have always believed that that is how life goes and I was not planning to change that belief.

Until the day I lost my beloved sister in June this year. A tragic and unexpected loss. A nightmare.

My lovely sister, Susan Mahinder.

My beautiful, 28-year-old sister who has been one of the most influential person in my life and my idea of how a strong and independent women would be like was suddenly gone. I was not ready to lose her and never will I ever be. It was a devastating blow to me and my small family.

It was at that moment of complete darkness that I restored my faith in humanity.

My sister had been diagnosed with Nephrotic syndrome since early January and have been in and out of the hospital ever since. Although we are naturally worried for her, we are also well aware of the fact that it is not a deadly disease and there is a high possibility of a full recovery. Above all, we know she is strong enough to face the challenge. Unfortunately, we were wrong as she got an infection in her last stay in the hospital and was immediately in a very critical stage. Within less than a week, we lost her.

I was having my examination in University Malaysia Sarawak in her final days and was unable to be there for her. The moment my exam was over, I flew all the way to Sabah only to know that it was too late. When I got to the hospital, the entry of the HDU (High Dependency Unit) was filled with people I hardly know. They were my sister’s friends that I have never even known existed. People around me, including strangers, melancholically hugged me. Still shaken and feeling as sad as sadness was possible, we have to immediately decide on how the funeral would go about as it is in our culture to have the funeral the very next day. Something that have always been a taboo to talk about.

We had no choice but to have two separate journeys back home. My brother and mother driving from Kota Kinabalu to our village in Kiulu. While I followed the hearse to the mortuary where they will prep my sister for the funeral and where I have to choose a coffin for her before we go back to the village.

How do you choose the best place where the person you love so much lay in eternally?
How should you decide what they should wear for the last time everyone they know will ever see them?
It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever made in my life.

When I finally got to the village, everything was ready. The house was filled with friends and families. Our kitchen was occupied by neighbors from the village who prepared food for us and our guests. They even brought with them the ingredients needed to cook the dishes. I was overwhelmed by the sincerity as this was not something I am used to. My sister and I grow up in completely different surroundings since we are from different mothers. My sister and her mother live in the nurturing and caring society in the beautiful village in Kiulu while my brother and I grew up with our mother in the more individualistic town in Johor. People coming together to help us go through our difficult times was something I don’t expect in this day and age. They did anything they are capable of doing, be it cooking for us or comforting us or praying for us or arranging for the service in church and even helping us bury my sister in the lot prepared for her. These people were not paid or even requested to do so. They do it simply because they choose to do it. They do it for the sake of goodness. Not expecting anything in return.

People helping us during the funeral

Their altruism does not end with the funeral. I was living the village for the next two month before I have to go back to my university for the next semester. My experience with them in the preceding two months was incredibly beautiful. There are so many times I almost felt to tears as I witness how they treated us with so much love and care. They made sure someone will come to our house every day so that it won’t be too lonely and sad in there. They occasionally bring fruits they have got from their orchard to us. In fact, a kind old man build a little garage with his own hands for my sister’s car as it needed shelter. It was their kindness and warmth that assist us throughout those difficult days. These are small things that made a huge difference in my life. Changing my whole philosophy of life.

So, I was wrong. We are never alone in this world and kindness is everywhere. Even in the darkest and most unexpected time, there will be a brilliant light of a kind heart.

My sister has always given me inspiring stories about life. Perhaps this is her last inspiration for me.

Thank you, dear sister.    

   

Freezing Time

I can't believe it's been almost 4 months since I've left matriculation. Seems like it's only yesterday I've waltz away from my high school years and into matriculation. The ongoing flow of time make those little moments in life a lot precious. One moment we're deciding on which college to enter, the next we're already on stage receiving the degree. Time has been the most powerful instrument of ageing, the unstoppable act of nature we sometimes think will never happen to us. Weather we like it or not, it will happen. We will live life like an ongoing journey with no stop until the end of the road, death. Despite that, there's always way to freeze time. Be it taking memorable pictures or writing poems, making movies or recording a song, or simply living in the moments. We all have our own way of keeping the version of ourselves as we know it now safe in the memory box for the future version of ourselves to reminisce and smile upon. These are some memorable photos of my matriculation days, one of the best time in my life. This is how I freeze time.

Matriculation 
27th May 2013 - 29th April 2014

Buka puasa with classmates and mentor.
One of the first highlighted moments of the first semester. 
When strangers becomes family.

MEMBERS OF ROOM F.2.24
Caring for the care. Funny for the fun. They are the perfect roomates. Waking up to each other's alarm, coming back after class exchanging funny moments, making fun of each other almost all the time, giving the worst birthdays prank ever. I would't want it other way. 
( Shida, Atirah, Syafiqah, Venesa)

MT 9

Class of 2013/2014

The friends who laugh with me in times of joy and held my hand in times of despair. We were introduced as strangers and leave at the end as family. Perhaps the best thing about matriculation is being a part of this wonderful family.