It has been a tumultuous month.
The Lunar New Year came and went. And immediately after that, my grandma was admitted into ICU for the second time. She was on the brink of her last breath and the doctors were very pessimistic. She was not to have survived her first night there, but we kept vigil the entire night, and then the next night, and the next as well. It has been two weeks, and my grandma is still alive. I can’t imagine what my life would be like if we had listened to the doctors and pulled that plug the very first night.
Five days after my grandma was admitted, I went overseas. The trip had been planned almost half a year ago, so the five days that I was at the hospital, I was fighting within myself. Would it be selfish of me if I went? Would I regret it if I didn’t? Eventually, my mum, who had been very pragmatic and optimistic about the whole situation, asked me to go ahead. The evening before I left, I had whispered into my grandma’s ear about my trip. She opened soft, almost translucent eyes, and nodded her head slightly. I grasped her fingers with mine and held back my tears as I stood beside her for an hour. I then went home to pack my bags and made for the airport.
It had been a quick and tiring 10 days. During the trip, I realised how my expectations and views of travelling have matured over the years. It’s no longer about how many sights I see or how many things I buy; more important than the place of interest is the company. It makes the sky bluer and the bitter cold perfect for snuggling.
Damn, I’m already missing the weather over there.