From the Pen of a Writer

Two years back, I wrote a story for my friend. I wrote about her father who died of colon cancer. I wanted to give her something, something that would help her reminisce of her late father, something that would give her strength to carry on. And she was so grateful to have seen the story published in the newspaper. It gave me a sense of achievement; to have done something special for a good friend and had her appreciate it.

A year later, my Godmother (who was also my aunty) was diagnosed with the same disease. I watched in agony how her body started to decay, giving way to the disease, though all she wanted to do was to live on to see her grandson grow up. I remembered once, her five-year-old grandson gave her a peck on her right cheek. She smiled, letting the pale face drown. It was as though she was well again. We all knew her birthday was around the corner but could only pray silently, hoping she would make it through.

My Godmother passed away on January 1, 2009. Her birthday was on January 2. We only sang her a birthday song by the coffin after the wake service.

I had been writing since my secondary years and had always enjoyed doing so. I told myself I was going to write about her and get it published in the papers like I did for my friend’s father. But until today, I could not bring myself to start writing.