I must admit, the recent news of the demise of popular Suria actor/comedian Ishak Ahmat unnerved me quite abit. Frankfully speaking, I used to dislike his comedic style when he first appeared on the now-defunct Selamat Pagi Singapura programme with his own five-minute segment. However, over time, I grew to appreciate and even enjoy his dry wit and his sardonic humour and found him to be quite an indispensable character amongst the ranks of the Malay-speaking comedians here. Undoubtedly, his tremendous contributions to the entertainment industry and his amazing portfolio of work shall live on...
Less than a week ago, I read on Berita Harian about the tragic death of one of my ex-NS mates, Zulhilmi, who was involved in a motorcycle accident. The (front-page) article even stated that it was only his second/third trip on his first bike, which he bought right after he obtained his license. Zul, who was a couple of years my senior, had always been a jolly kind of guy, but truthfully, I never liked him very much last time because he was a perpetual lazybum in camp -- eating snake (ie. neglecting duties & work whenever possible) was second nature to him. Nevertheless, though it had been years since we both finished National Service and went on our separate lives, he never failed to approach me to utter his salutations if I were to see him either at heartland shopping malls or in town. We had never been on "chummy" terms during NS, and since I'm the anti-social sort who would steer clear of such "accidental" meet-ups with old schoomates/campmates/colleagues, I honestly never truly enjoyed those moments when we were saying our "hellos" and "how-have-you-beens."
Ironically, I feel a sense of loss... for an amiable "friend" who was actually nothing more than a stranger to me. Perhaps you may think I am somehow disrespecting a dead person. Or that if I really do feel bad about it, why didn't I just go down and wish condolences to his family? I guess I'm just not that much of a saint afterall.
As I was sitting in the train, on my way home from tuition just now, all these morbid thoughts, and more, were flooding my puny little brain. What if, in the not too distant future, I should meet my untimely end? Will I be just another Zul-kind-of-a-friend to those whom I know? Or will my death bring about an overwhelming sense of grief and loss like the demise of mr Ishak -- a bright spark that will be sorely missed?
I know my family might be obliged to miss me... of course. But will my adorable niece, who frequently writes me little notes to wish me good-day and i-love-yous in her amazing kindergarten-2 level scrawl (in rainbow colored script, no less) and leaves them on my study table, miss me? Will my "best" friends in secondary school, whom I've not met eversince my JC days, suddenly feel remorseful that we never kept in touch? What am I worth in the eyes of others... seriously?
Life is such a transient thing. It's like the fine, gossamer cobwebs laboriously spun in the night only to be destroyed by the morning's shower or the wayward afternoon breeze. This ephemeral quality of life should motivate us to make the best of it while we still can... but I ask myself -- have I done that? Have I made my life the best that I possibly could? Have I achieved what I truly want out of my life? And then I think of all those pretty little things that I covet -- the latest Sony gadgets. Apple gizmos. LG chocolate mobile. And the rest of those tangible stuff.
During these "moods", I will more often than not, think of my dad, and the many things he had missed since he'd been gone. Missed seeing his grandchildren grow-up. Missed seeing his wife grow grey-haired and old. Missed out on the yearly picnics at Sentosa. The zoo-trips. The lazy afternoons at Geylang and the wonderful iftars during Ramadhan.
There is so much of life that I haven't gotten enough of. I feel as if I'm still waiting for my life to begin -- but I wonder, sometimes, if these bouts of wistful musings that time and again address issues of seeking meaning from an otherwise meaningless existence, are simply just the deranged ramblings of a paranoid mind, afraid of getting old, and terribly, terribly, afraid of dying?
Perhaps I should start renewing old friendships; I want my funeral to be a crowded one.
