Monday, December 17, 2007


i saw her lying there tonight, her eyes half-closed, cloudy with cataracts, and i recalled the day my grandmother came home for us to say our guilt-laced farewells.

i remembered i could not say anything. i wasn't even sure if she could hear me. i just sat by her bed, staring at the floor. i couldn't even bring myself to hold her hand. the woman in front of me, with morphine in her blood, wasn't my grandmother. my grandmother left me the moment she stopped talking because she was too sedated to say anything.

now, my grandmother's sister-in-law is back in her eldest son's house, just as my grandmother was back in my house then. i held her soft hands and stood close to her face so she could see me. still, i could not say anything eventhough i knew she could hear me. i just stood by her bed, staring at the liver spots on her arms.

i will never ever be a geriatrics specialist. never.

lishun at 10:00 PM