Dear Departed, only you know what’s in my heart towards your loved ones that are still on this planet, and only you know how I feel without pretense.
Dear Departed, only I know that you have watched over me all throughout my life. You are my Guardian Angel. You are with me everyday.
There is a ghost in my bedroom at the place that I’m renting. Even though there is Ghost in my bedroom, yes, dear White Ghost – and I was scared of you when you first showed up in my dreams – I am embracing you. You are going to be OK here at this place so I wish you peace. You are a Ghost, a departed spirit and you have been around me during the time that I’ve lived here, but I have no animosity or fear towards you. Let me give you a hug, dear Ghost. Sleep well every night, OK!
Yesterday I saw a corpse. He died while I was close by. His daughter sobbed and sobbed. The doctors and nurses updated on the logistics in midst of what felt like a chaotic situation.
I held her like how her dad would have wanted to have her held. I would not let her go. I held her like how her dad would have held her. Strong embrace, locking embrace, not letting go, I held her, I told her. Your father loved you very much.
I held her like how I was held. I have been held like this. Not letting go. There was no shame. No embarrassment. No stopping. Strong, gripping, not letting go. A long, long time, I held her.
I put my hand on her scalp. And I told her that she was loved by her dad so very much. I am so sorry. I am so sorry. Your dad loved you so very much. She cried in waves.
While I was looking at the corpse, the body is only a shell, whereas the soul has departed. What is this life? What is the meaning of this life? It seems futile and I am angry.
Anger: for having being put through the illusion of life, what a joke, to come, to love, and then to be taken away. All this effort, only to end with nothing.
Is this life really just a dream, like the Chinese say?
I was woken up all night thinking about what is the meaning of life?
I am a middle aged woman now, and I am becoming more of an aunt than a little sister. A cool hip aunt, as I like to think, one’s mother’s youngest sister – is like my role these days. Though the cashiers still call me Miss, though I still enjoy wearing heels and lacy things, I am not a young girl anymore. My butt is sagging, my thighs have cellulite, and my body is changing. It is funny how even though I still feel 8 years old in my spirit, others are looking towards me for comfort and reassurance, and I have to disguise my emotions so that I can be there for them, but I’m still too young to called Granny, and I’m still too young to call other people, Dear. Or Sweetheart. Or Hon. I have to be strong and be genuine. When I say, “Everything is going to be OK” I have to really believe it first. But how can I believe it? I have seen what most people have not seen and it is such a responsibility and I’m wondering whom can I unload the burdens to, without burdening them? People in my age group are running for presidents, taking risks, leading countries, raising children, all trying to be strong and carrying on, in this prime of life – suddenly finding oneself the responsible adults only to have face the questions that have become more irresolvable.
God, I don’t know how else to do this but I can look to you.