(….This is an interlude … between Kat Tales ….)
Just because this picture fits nowhere,
and just because I had another bout of insomnia last night
(I’m functioning in the opis right now with zero minutes of sleep),
and just because the next post on Kat Tales wouldn’t
kinda make sense without it …
Here is the picture I took when I was still reeling in shock
from Yasmin Ahmad’s passing.
I don’t think I’ll ever forget the moment,
because I was a blubbering baby in a bar and
I had no idea what to do with myself.
Nothingness
I had spent the whole day, at the desk, doing newsy stuff. When
you get into ‘news desk’ mode I think it becomes automatic.
You become a news automaton.
“Can we get someone to call someone to check on Yasmin please?”
“Make sure somebody calls so and so later at night to check”
“If she passes, we may need to change page this this and that.”
It’s not callousness, it’s just news desk operations.
So I was doing all that with my bosses till 8pm, 9pm, 10pm …
I was saying all those things but it never. Never. dawned on me
that it would actually happen, right?
I just really thought she would be okay.
That we were just checking.
Really thought she would be all okay.
Finally get to leave the office close to midnight
and had to go that music/dance event organised by Hennessy
at Kiara to pick something up from a friend.
Amir called, said he was banned from going into the
event because he is Muslim, (okayyy…) and asked if
I fancied joining him in Wabi.
Why not, I thought.
So I did a quick collect-and-go and then headed to Wabi.
On the way my boss called, thinking I was still at the desk,
asking “Did Yasmin pass away?”
I had been asked this question several times that day so
I just said “Well I just left the office, I don’t know, but the last
I checked she was still the same, boss.”
“Alright, I’ll check with the office then”.
And then I reached Wabi and did the usual vacant, trivial
chit-chat, the kind you make when you’re really quite
tired but you’re glad to be out of the office, nursing a
mighty fine glass of whiskey.
“I’ll be in Penang in just a few hours, yippee,” I thought,
thinking about my 7am flight.
And then I read it on my phone. And I think
something went ‘pop’ in my chest.
I completely blanked out.
And as Amir and Stanley continued chit-chatting
around me … I just sat there, shocked.
I shall cut a potentially long story short by saying
I teared up, went to toilet, came out, steadied myself,
teared up again, went to toilet, went out, came back in,
and stared into space. (Repeat this in entirety three times)
I wanted to talk to people who felt like I did but it was so late,
and people were either at that dang Hennessy event or sleeping.
I wanted to go home but then I realised I didn’t want to be alone.
Told Amir and Stanley and they went Oh dear, bad news,
but I don’t think they understood how upset I was.
So I just sat there, like a brick, for ages.
But…I don’t think I was even that much of a fan-fan?
But…I don’t even know her leh? I asked myself.
Why the hell was I so bloody upset?!
And then I thought, screw it.
I’m going to the hospital.
I’m obviously not going to make the funeral.
Of course, why didn’t I think of that, I must go to the hospital.
Said my goodbyes and just went.
By the time I reached DSH, it was too late.
The body…just left, the security guard told me.
The little crowd was still outside, lingering,
as if they couldn’t bear to leave either.
As if just being there meant being just a bit closer to
her, breathing the air that had felt her skin.
I walked out, and saw Pete, leaning against
the railing.
That skinny man just looked like he was hit by a truck.
But when I walked to him, it was he who asked me
“Are you okay?”
That was all it took, pretty much, for the waterworks
to begin as I hugged him and said “No, I’m not okay,
it’s not okay..”
It’s not okay..
…
Don’t cry, he said.
And as the crowd became smaller, people leaving one
by one, it was just him and I, sitting on the roadside,
not talking, not doing anything at all.
Soon it was just the two of us left.
That night just felt like the dreariest night
ever, even if the moon was shining
and the weather was balmy.
As we stood up to go, and we said goodbye, and I
entered my car, I watched Pete walk away.
I will never forget the way he looked, walking in the middle
of that road, his tall, lean figure slightly hunched, head cast
downward. He didn’t have to cry, his whole body
spoke of his sorrow.
On the ride back I was going through why I felt so strongly about
her death.
When you deal with politicians, journos,
public relations etc, for so long, all the time,
you become used to the fact that these are in fact
people who play the game, or who have to be
neutral, maybe even a bit unfeeling…or people
who say things but you never really know what they
truly think or feel. And you always wonder
what they are actually like, if they can be liked perhaps?
And you resign yourself to the fact, feeling a little
uncool that you are memang very emo, very cornball, very
cheesy, and that you’re gonna have to … maintain lah sikit
when it’s time for work, yes?
But here’s the thing. I never thought about it, but
Yasmin Ahmad was one of those that I admired
because she was just so blatantly herself.
I would see her movies and go ‘that’s pretty sweet’,
or see some commercials and go ‘okay that was abit
toooo saccharine..” but she wasn’t hiding any of it.
I always loved the fact that in her blog she wrote this:
I am optimistic and sentimental to the point of being annoying, especially to people who think that being cynical and cold is cool. Everyday, I thank Allah for everyday things like the ability to breathe, the ability to love, the ability to laugh, and the ability to eat and drink.
How wonderful, and how real.
I can’t even begin to say how I wish I had written those words.
And so I went home, and I wrote for her.
Cheesy mah cheesy lah, tiu! I thought.
It was so okay dealing with all these people,
knowing that hey, a person like her was
there, somewhere, sparkling and lighting things up.
Someone who really wore her heart on her sleeve.
It was okay because asalkan ada orang macam
tu, you could deal with all the other crap, kan?
And then poof.
Out of all the filth and f*cktards in this place,
the gem had to go? The gem?!
The country has HOW many sincere gems like that?
Versus all that scheming, ladderclimbing, highfalutin
hsjs@*2@h!>I!)$@h*7#’.?sQjw&8…..
Sigh.
Okay.
Breathe in.
Back to work.
Anyway, it was with this state of mind, and no hours of sleep,
that I was to hop on a plane a mere hours later…and arrive in
Penang, to see my dear friend Kat.
I felt like a zombie.
But it was so wonderful to see that smile…
(To be continued in more Kat Tales …)
Even now right, writing all this,
I think I still can’t accept it, you know.
a.r.g.h.
