Note:
This is not a political piece (although my political biases would show). This is the sentiment of a daughter who has recently lost a father. This is how I felt one night during my father’s wake services. There are a lot of people tonight, maybe double the number from last night.
Maybe because of the tears blurring my vision, or the lack of sleep, or weariness from so many days of crying and thinking… I couldn’t make out the people’s faces.
I see lips moving… I hear consoling words… I feel hugs and pats on the back… but somehow, it feels like a dream.
I look at my mother, and see that she is silently crying. I remember the doctor’s advise to keep her hydrated. So I tell my cousins to bring water.
And they brought her water. A bottle of mineral water. My cousins said it was a gift, a donation. 2 boxes of bottled water.
But my mother refuses to drink. She even refuses to take the bottle of water. She said, “Ayoko nyan”. Confusion sets it. I look at her and I look at the bottle of water. Now, I completely understand.
Overheard from 2 female airport ground crew:
