WHEN we reach the final chapter of life, where then do we truly go? How do we navigate our way back to a semblance of home when shadows obscure our path?
As we grapple with loss, we are left with unspoken questions and a profound sense of disorientation. Answers elude us as we confront the void where once there was certainty. Who can guide us when even the cosmos seems indifferent to our pleas?
As the sun rose for the 49th time since that fateful day, the unanswered questions lingered. Will he awaken tomorrow, lost in a world he no longer recognises? Did the Taoist chants that reverberated for three consecutive days ease his transition? Did the incense paper offerings smooth his journey to the beyond?
Objectivity seems futile when faced with the complexities of human grief. The mysteries of the universe beyond remain subjects of debate, while the anguish of the living stretches interminably, and moments of solace are all too brief.
In the aftermath, many catch fleeting glimpses of him — dressed in the clothes prepared for his final journey. Meanwhile, I longed for a chance to see him in my dreams. One morning, under the golden light, he appeared, his presence silent and unspoken. I awoke with the ache of a child yearning for his father, a pang of loss that words could not soothe.
TURBULENT DAYS
For 30 years, I embarked on an annual pilgrimage, a sacred tradition born from a miracle that seemed to transcend time.
Each year, despite attempts by others to alter my path, I remained resolute in honouring this pilgrimage. Now, however, the custom demands a three-year pause, a hiatus that feels like a chasm of uncertainty.
During those turbulent days of prayer, I clutched burning joss sticks with fervent hope, questioning whether the gods truly heard my desperate calls. I pleaded silently with all the deities I knew, and with every divine entity my father had revered, seeking a miracle that never quite materialised.
There were moments when it seemed as though the gods had intervened, pulling him back from the brink of oblivion. In the depths of sorrow, there were fleeting instances when he emerged from darkness into light, only to be snatched away once more.
When he finally departed for realms beyond our understanding, my anguish turned to frustration. In a moment of grief, I reached for a slice of beef, only to be halted by an inner voice — a reminder of the reverence I still held for him.
On the day of his parents' prayers, the heavens wept, casting a gloomy shroud over the proceedings. The sky, obscured and sombre, seemed to mirror our collective sadness. The chill in the air felt like a mournful embrace, as if his parents had come to reclaim him after years of separation.
I recall his younger days, walking narrow streets with a basket of delicacies made by his sister, selling them for a few cents each. As night fell, he would return home content. Perhaps, in his new existence, he can once again savour those cherished treats.
STORIES LEFT UNTOLD
In the hundred days following his departure, he is said to return more frequently. We sense his presence in the simple act of tossing coins, in the aroma of his favourite black coffee and in the comforting routine of home-cooked meals.
Every elderly person I encounter reminds me of him and every step I take feels as though he is watching over me, guiding me along the right path.
I yearn for more dreams where I can converse with him, to hold his hand and assure him of my commitment to caring for his wife. I wish to embrace him, to feel his presence and comfort once more. The gods' refusal to grant my pleas for more time is a mystery I struggle to understand.
What must I sacrifice to have him return for just three more days? There are so many stories left untold, so many actions left unfulfilled. I want him to witness everything, to see the promises kept and the life that continues in his absence.
As the seventh month approaches, a time when restless souls roam the earth, I find solace in the thought that my father is finally reunited with his parents and siblings in a realm beyond our reach. I fervently hope that in this new universe, they find peace and joy together, transcending the boundaries that once separated them.
In the end, how do we carry on? We find our way by holding on to the memories, cherishing the love that endures, and seeking solace in the belief that our loved ones are at peace, embraced by the cosmos that once felt so indifferent.
Tan Bok Hooi, author of six books (Malay and English), has a postgraduate degree in particle physics. He established Livefree, a consulting company focused on healthcare with emphasis on talent acquisition and consultancy. He can be reached at bokhooi@yahoo.com