I remember next to nothing from the first three weeks or so of my illness - except for Noi's reassuring presence - but one detail sticks in my mind, floating free of all context, but associated with the Missus somehow. This was the idea that sharing a cup of teh tarik and a slice of cake with friends represented a peak experience, worth striving for. And when I found myself again in ICU this simple notion became central to my thinking, especially when the tubes were removed from my throat and I was able to actually drink water again (though very gently and with considerable trepidation. I had to pass something called the swallowing test, which I failed miserably the first time round, and there was even some loose talk of a tracheostomy, for reasons I cannot fathom.)
Anyway, I mention all this as context to Noi and I scoffing some tasty curry puffs from the hawker centre at 353 Clementi Avenue 2 washed down with a jugful of her very own teh tarik this afternoon, around 5 o'clock. I've generally made it something of a rule to remind myself to celebrate these little occasions - now I need no reminders: it's automatic. I'm put in mind of that wise uncle of the wise Kurt Vonnegut Junior and his - the uncle's - pithy: If this isn't nice, what is? Might even adopt that for myself and pretend it's mine - would probably get away with it.
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