In June 2010, I married my husband. Quite a few family members flew up to London from Singapore to be a part of the festivities. Among them, my grandmother - Jiddah - and two aunts - Aunty Yah & Aunty Noor. Between September 2011 and February 2013, my family lost all three of these amazing women to cancer.
I wasn't in Singapore for any of the deaths, but did see each of them a few weeks before their passing. All three women played a huge role in my life, they were all mums to me. They were a significant part of my lives. They guided me, protected me, fed me and most of all, they loved me unconditionally. They welcomed Julien into their lives with open arms. I am forever in their debt for everything they've helped me with as I grew up.
Aunty Noor's death has hit me the hardest. I was so unprepared - when I found out, I thought it was a cruel joke. She was meant to survive this, she was meant to pull through.
Aunty Noor used to tell us that we'd all take care of her when she retired and enjoyed those years, and not one of her (many) nephews and nieces would have grumbled at that. She was so loved.
When I was younger I used to get major separation anxiety. I hated being apart from my mum, especially at bedtime. When we had sleepovers at my cousin's place, I'd sneak into Aunty Noor's bedroom when everyone was asleep and climb into bed with her. It was the only way I could fall asleep. It was the only way I'd feel safe.
She was my first Valentine. Every year she would give us personalised gifts that she made herself. She never forgot a birthday.
When I broke my leg, Aunty Noor stayed in the hospital with me when my mum couldn't. She took advantage of me being immobilised to slather creams and lotions on my face. When they finally let me out of bed after a few days and was taking a dump in the bathroom, she found it hilarious that I had to do so with my broken leg on the dustbin, so she took a picture and emailed it to everybody. I had no idea until I was on a cousin's PC a few years later and saw the photograph.
She used to bite my nose as a child, and when I was older she told me she only did that to one nephew and one niece - her favourites. As I grew up and got taller than her, I loved hugging her. I loved trying to make her feel as safe as she made me feel when I was a kid.
I never doubted that she loved me.
I feel like my heart has been ripped out then shoved back in my chest three times, and each time I lose a piece of it. Now there's something wrong. It doesn't feel right, and it just constantly hurts.
It hurts that none of them will see my kids. They used to tell me how excited they would be when I finally have children. It physically hurts my heart to think about it.
It just hurts. Everything hurts. It hurts to look at my mum and think about how she must be feeling. It hurts to think of my Jiddah Yon (grandaunt) who's lost her sister, daughter-in-law, and now her daughter. I want to take all their pain away. If I could, I'd take it all, I'd bear the load for them if it meant I could stop the tears.
I don't know what I'm meant to do. Sometimes I feel like these past 17 months can't have happened. Life can't be that damn cruel. Right? Then I go back to Singapore, and they're not there. The 'welcome home' hugs that I always looked forward to are gone. The comfort meals they used to cook for us, the laughs as we sat around the table teasing each other, the holidays, the good times... They're all just memories now. Memories that make me smile in remembrance, but that make me bawl because I will never have new ones to add to the collection.
My grandmother's death pushed my mind towards television, it became my escape from reality. It was the only way I could deal. Us cousins bonded over a show that we'd discuss in a Whatsapp group weekly, that we'd rewatch together, that we'd quote lines from... I can't speak for them, but I would be broken without it.
Is that sad? I don't think so. We all deal in different ways, this is my way.
The pain doesn't go away. 17 months on, there are still nights where I stay up crying because I miss my Jiddah. I've just learnt to live with it. I've learnt how to stop myself from bursting into tears in public when something reminds me of them. But I still feel my heart crumble when I find something they gave me, or see an old picture.
Right now, when it's all fresh, I'm not in control as much. I try my best to stay upbeat in front of everyone because I don't want to make them cry. I choose to be strong for them. Then I get home, climb in bed, curl up into a ball and can't stop myself from cursing the world, from wanting to escape my life.
So please allow me some time to have not so pleasant tweets and spam your Instagram timeline with pictures of my beautiful aunt. I don't mean to be a nuisance, I just can't believe she's gone.
Finally, please join me in saying a huge FUCK YOU to cancer.
Thank you.
