To Rest In Peace

We were at the Pusara Abadi Muslim Cemetery this afternoon for the burial of Sanusi, Kak Kiah's son-in-law, who died quite unexpectedly this morning. We'd last seen him in the middle of the week on a visit to see his mother-in-law at NUH. He hadn't looked well then, being very thin and obviously under the weather, complaining of the flu; nothing like his usual cheerful self. But there was nothing to suggest what happened today. He collapsed this morning, dying, I assume, of a heart attack.

Can't imagine the degree of grief felt by Aida, his wife. First her mother's dreadful stroke and now this loss. Good to see the family gathering around in necessary support.

It's difficult to see anything at all positive in all this. But Noi rightfully pointed out to me as we were exiting the cemetery, having visited the graves of Nosiah's father & brother before leaving, that it's a place of deep calm and peace. I always feel a strange kind of hopefulness there.

Peace In Our Time

A happily rambunctious morning today, nicely contrasted by a richly peaceful Friday Prayers at the masjid on the hill. 

Learned a new Arab saying from the khutbah: One who does not possess something cannot give it to others. The implication is that if we lack peace in our hearts it's impossible to offer it to others. That's pretty wise, I reckon, and meditating upon the insight in itself contributed to the richness of the experience. And the silences between words of weight helped.

(The teh tarik & vadai that followed provided a slightly different kind of peace.)

(And just to get a bit more rambunctious about all this, for anyone who disagrees with the above I can assure you there is nothing at all funny about peace, love & understanding.)

Embracing Uncertainties

It's that time of year when some people in my line of work start planning in earnest, whilst the remainder stay fixed in the unforgiving present. As ever, I find myself on the wrong side of the divide. Or possibly the right side. You never really know, do you?

Time For A Moan

Today's been a day about me, me, me to an even greater extent than usual. Let me tell you why. I woke up around the dead centre of the night with a pretty bad ache running down the left side of my neck. It felt like the sciatic pain I sometimes have to deal with on my left leg and lower back had decided to migrate upwards. (Complete nonsense medically, of course, but it felt that way.) I thought the ache might subside. But it didn't. It evolved over the course of a restless hour or so into a grimace-inducing genuine pain, until I just had to get up and find some Panadol, with Noi supplying the necessary water. It was about two hours to dawn and I lay just about coping with a slightly subsiding ache. And then day officially arrived.

I'll not say anymore - because it's so boring - but I got through the necessary with the assistance of further pain-killers - the ones in the extra strong red packet. And now my neck feels a bit better, thanks.

Shakespeare has a great line about toothache in Much Ado, but I'm struggling to remember it. Not the bit where Benedick makes an excuse of having the toothache. I mean the For there was never yet philosopher that could endure the toothache patiently. (Just googled it.) Well, it's even more true about a pain in the neck.

Sort Of Heartbroken

When the story finally broke big about what Man City had really been up to and the cheating was obvious to all, I suppose I was a bit amused, and thought about posting something suitably cutting and sardonic. I didn't think about taunting City fans at work because there aren't any, but I'm pretty sure I would have done if there were. But something stopped me from gloating and I'm glad it did.

This wasn't out of a due sense of pity, I'm afraid. I'm just not that nice. I think what made me hesitate was a vague feeing of unease that what I was reading pointed to a degree of corruption that could make me fall completely out of love with the beautiful game now it's been ruined through egregious but inevitable greed. And the more material I've read and listened to since has served to add to my discomfiture. 

Case in point: an excellent podcast from the the Sports Agents concerning whether the Premier League is about to eat itself deeply depressed me when I gave it an ear today. Aside from the excellent journalism of Christoph Winterbach and the team at Der Spiegel I heard no positives. All's bleak & comfortless, I'm afraid.

Just Listening

I was talking to a colleague last week about music, and for some reason started to expound some of my ideas about the nature of listening to it. Even as I was talking it struck me how odd my ideas must have sounded, especially to someone not particularly interested in music. At one point I referenced just how much my thoughts were not exactly my own and how grateful I was for being influenced at a formative period in my life by those of Robert Fripp on all this.

I mention this today in relation to my stumbling across a striking version of his soundscape Pie Jesu this morning. I'm not sure how exactly the original has been cunningly mixed in with an orchestral arrangement of the original improvisation played by the brilliant Metropole Orkest, but the results are stunning. I'd melted entirely by the end.

Plus the music on this recording is preceded by some fascinating comments by Robert himself on the nature of listening from his own experience. Next time I feel I need to explain myself on this topic I'll just direct them to this and a man who really knows what he is talking about. 

In Extremis

It looks like there's no hope of any form of recovery for Kak Kiah. She's in a small room now, on a very strong painkiller, allowed 24-hour visiting. If she makes it back home she will be in a vegetative state. The family are likely to need to make big decisions in the next two days or so.

Very sad. And we got news today that our friend Norharyati's father died yesterday - in a hospice, not unexpectedly.

The comfort is that these have been long lives, well led. Ultimately the best any of us can hope will be granted.

A Good Place

Spent some time at NUH this evening visiting Kak Kiah. Was struck by my sense of the hospital as being in some significant way a good place to be despite the obvious fact that it deals in pain and, sadly, downright suffering. Paradoxical. Pointing to one of those everyday truths that underlie the mystery of existence.

A deep contrast to yesterday's truth about a very bad place dealing in its version of pain.

Bad News

Made a tough day even harder for myself by reading a piece about the plight of the Rohingya as it stands currently in the west of Myanmar. Not much of a 'feel-good' story - except for the brilliant journalism involved, at every level, and for the faint possibility that, if attention can be paid, perhaps some good can come of this. Perhaps.

Some Hope

We managed to get up to NUH in the early evening to visit Kak Kiah. Yesterday's fall was due to a stroke. They operated and got rid of the blood clot, but she's now in critical condition. It looks like the next 24 hours will be decisive as to whether she pulls through.

She looked pretty bad, frankly, when we first went into the High Dependency Neurological Ward, but after a time we realised she knew we were there and was making attempts to communicate with Noi. It sounded like she wanted a cup of tea. So there's hope in that.

And, as I've come to expect from NUH, the level of care looked excellent. As I've made clear in the past, Nurses are my favourite branch of mankind (womankind? personkind?) and everything I saw in the ward just now served to enhance that opinion. When Noi realised Kak Kiah was intensely irritated by something on her right leg one of the nurses came right over to explain what they'd already figured out the source of the irritation - a necessarily very tight dressing of a wound - and she would be given some painkiller through a drip as soon as they could unhook one of the drips that just had to be there for another 30 minutes or so. Impressive, very. And reassuring.