Last weekend, my older sister got married to her partner of ten years.
The night before, I had received news that a man I met in Scotland last year had passed away suddenly, leaving behind his partner of eleven years.
I was going to just write about how these two incidents have affected me, then along came the deaths in Norway, China, and of Amy Winehouse.
I shall continue to share what I had been meaning to share, but now with a concession that emotional fragility is now being shared between many around the world.
I feel like I have been living out one really long day since arriving back in Kuala Lumpur on Thursday night. I have barely been sleeping, partially because a part of me is still in another timezone, partially due to the anxiety and frustration of a freshly reconsidered relationship, amongst other things I can’t really put my finger on. I have surprised myself with this, knowing that everything that I do is my own doing… I have the power to put my own self at ease, yet I have decided not to. Perhaps it is because I know that these days, I don’t give myself time to give in to my humanness. So for the past few days, my excuse has been jetlag. Pretty crazy to see how much you can get away with when you tell people that. Today onwards, I get back into my busy mode. And I’m expected to pull my head out of my arse and get going again.
Saturday was a great day, obviously. My sister Melanie was all nervous and giggly. I’ve never seen her like that, well not in a long time at least. She grew up very fast, being the oldest in the family. She’s had a reputation for being a headstrong woman, occasionally excessively so. But she revealed a rarely seen side to her that was deservedly advertised. I remember the day I introduced her to my mentor at work – a popular announcer on Malaysian radio whom I had known as Johnboy. It was at an extreme sports event. At the end of the day, Johnboy sent me a text confessing that he thought Mel was cute, or hot, or some other generic pop term used to describe attractiveness. Despite the unconventional difference in age, he easily convinced my family that he was a keeper. Mel and John grew to be the sort of couple that you just knew would last through the ages, with or without marriage.
Claire and Frankie had been together for eleven years, definitely had the same vibe going. So finding a message from Claire on Friday night, informing me of Frankie’s sudden demise a few weeks ago, left me shocked and extraordinarily sad. I went to Frankie’s Facebook page, and saw the flood of wall posts from friends and family… dedications, video posts of his performances, news of a tribute gig, and most notably, Claire’s messages of love and longing. I cried uncontrollably.
Strangely enough, I had only met Frankie and Claire once, when my then-partner Stuart and I visited Scotland last year. Stuart’s friend Kyle heard of my coming to London, and invited us both to stay with him in his humble hometown of Dundee. It was quite a culture shock, a teetotaler being taken on day-long pub crawls, trying to interact with people who spoke an English I could barely understand. Kyle’s uncle Frankie turned up with Claire on a pub quiz night and after the game invited a bunch of us to their nearby apartment for some lounging and random jamming. Their place was small and inviting, filled with an amber glow. We brought up food and drinks and ate, laughed, sang, and I’m certain at some point I fell asleep but without offending anyone’s company. Frankie and Claire’s warmth and hospitality were one of my great memories of Dundee.
Knowing about the paths of two similarly long-term relationships going through two completely contrasting journeys is what has been shaking me up. To be frank, I was initially unfazed by news of my sister’s engagement. Now, I am terribly grateful for them. Fueling this appreciation is an incredible new fear, a fear of this neverknowing of where destiny will lead each set of lovers to, irregardless of the benefits of time or strength of a relationship.
I have yet to experience a long-term relationship with someone, or at least one that has been physically tangible. And I marvel at the courage and determination two individuals have when they decide to go the distance together. I am inspired by randomness but now realizing its magnitude, and how serious a business it can be, is making me feel more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.
My events managing work recently led to the staging of The Sound Of Music in Kuala Lumpur. I managed to catch some parts of it, including the scene where Maria, frightened of her growing feelings towards Captain Von Trapp, confides in Mother Abbess. Mother Abbess tells Maria that God has given her the capacity to love, but whether that love is manifested in living a pious life, or falling for someone, is Maria’s own prerogative that she must acknowledge. Or something like that. I’m crap at paraphrasing. But whatever I got from that scene, I took it to heart: this aptitude approach to love and our implementation of that.
As a young girl I used to believe, like many young girls, I would find the man of my life by the time I hit my late teens, then stay with him for several years, then get married at an age young enough to keep up with the life and times of our brood. I can’t imagine how different my life would be if that really happened! Pregnancy is an experience I would embrace if it happens, but my idea of motherhood has now, more than anything, evolved more into the idea of the passing on of human responsibility. I yearn to nurture tiny people, from my own womb or otherwise, and learn things from them too. I want them to celebrate compassion with me, and use it to change the world.
But in the meantime, I will give my love to the best of my capability, to people, creatures, places and things that nourish me and keep me whole.
Mourning is born from Love. May the rest of us live on ever stronger in faith, purpose, righteous energy, and as warriors of Love.
Yours in arms,
Davina
PS Dear Claire, if you are reading this, I never got round to telling you that Stuart and I absolutely loved your singing that night… Stu said you had a Joni Mitchell kind of quality! I am thankful that you shared your talent with us, and I do hope that you will carry on creating greatness with your voice and guitar. I think it is something you will always owe to yourself. Hang in there and stay amazing.
