Tata, you are dearly missed.

This post is dedicated to my late grandfather. Though for the most part unrelated to the general idea of this blog, but I still think I'd like to give tribute here.

How do you even start writing about something so raw like that? 

I guess I'll start when it all happened. I was just leaving the office last night, when I received a phone call from my mum. I heard her said matter-of-factly: "did you know that Tata (that's how I address my paternal grandfather) passed away earlier this evening?" 

"Oh." 

The sentence kind of registered in my head but then it sort of also didn't. How do you even respond to something like that? This is the kind of thing that usually happens to people on TV, not in real life. I guess at the age of 96, everyone kinda saw it coming. Heck, the moment he turned 90, I was already subconsciously prepared. More or less, I guess. 

But then again, he was healthy. How do you expect a perfectly healthy person to just... die? 

You don't. 

I don't even remember the first thought that came to my mind anymore, when I first received the news on the phone. 

I was dumb founded and while my mum was rattling on about how it all happened (he fell sick, not sick sick, but some mild discomfort in breathing and just didn't get better) and discussing logistics (when I should take a flight home, how many days I should be expecting to be away from work, etc) all I could think of was a jumble of thoughts: 

"I just met him last month. He used to buy small toys and playthings for me when I arrived home from kindergarten. He occasionally bought me slurpees from 7-eleven because he knew it was my favorite beverage. I used to playfully hit him when he greeted me after the school bus dropped me off. Heck, I just visited him last fucking month and he was perfectly healthy and he was talking to my boyfriend and he seemed so happy. And being the perfect granddaughter I had almost decided against visiting him because I dreaded waking up early and taking the 1 hour drive to visit him. All because I had rather sleep in on a nice weekend than pay my own grandfather a visit. Because I was just effing lazy. What if I acted on impulse? What if I decided not to visit that time? Would I regret it for life? 

I wished I had talked to him more when I had the chance. I wished I had talked to him more when he called. I wished I wasn't too busy working and conveniently "forgot" to call. Cliché regrets, yes, but it's true. Oh gawd, what if my parents were suddenly gone? Wouldn't I regret it even more? Oh, I would regret it so much I'd want to kill myself." 

My thoughts were spiralling. Externally, I was stoic. I was quiet throughout my ride home, and when I arrived home, I went straight to my laptop, booted the MMORPG I had been addicted to lately and started playing. 

I didn't know what else to do.

I'm flying home tomorrow morning, and now finally taking the time off my hectic work, I am finally able to come to terms with my own thoughts and pen them down.

Its bizarre, the kind of weird insignificant things that you remember most. 

I remember when he'd comfort me when my parents were the "bad guys" who made me cry. I remember he'd buy candy and small playthings for me when I came home from school. I remember him buying me Slurpee and I held my hands around the cup and he told me not to do that because I'd melt the ice faster and I thought he was so smart for knowing stuff like that. I remember when he told me his story of how he, as a young boy, took the scary ride from China all the way to Malaysia, had to hide from bombs and Japanese soldiers, and had to drink dirty water from drains when he was thirsty. I remember when he bought me two yellow fluffy chicks as pets and I remember him teasing me that he would kill and eat them when they grew into adult chickens and I ran to my room to hide my tears because I didn't want him to know he had hurt my feelings. I remember when he'd feed me lunch when I was too busy watching cartoons to feed myself. I remember how I made him wear one of my girly earrings on his old ear piercing hole which never closed up properly. I remember how I hit his buttocks when he said he wanted to poop, because I wanted to make the poop sensation go away. I remember how I pranked him by scattering  "pop-pops" (mini explosives that "pop" when thrown on the ground or stepped on) on the ground so that he would get a shock when he'd unknowingly step on them later. 

I also remember, more recently, how he would occasionally call me on the phone and I would be keeping the phone between my head and my shoulder and having half my attention elsewhere doing something "more important". I remember how he wanted me to visit and I almost didn't all because I wanted to sleep in. Despite how much he wanted to connect with me, I was too busy for him. I remember how, ever since I came to Singapore, I stopped noticing him grow older and more fragile. 

Somehow the relationship seemed like it was just on a pause, it always seemed like someday the good old times would resume, only now, it never will. Never again being able to speak to the person whom you had abruptly disconnected with without even realising it. How do you come to terms with that? 

You can't. That doesn't mean you don't get consolation. I am happy knowing that he led a meaningful and fulfilling life, blessed with 8 children and 20 grandchildren and 14 great grandchildren (and counting). I am happy knowing that I will always have the memories with me. I am happy to know that he loves me, and I love him.

Tata, thank you for giving me a wonderful childhood. You will be dearly missed.