但願人長久
When I was 4 or 5, my 婆婆 died. The only memories I have of her are almost like a sick caricature: of her struggling to live with dignity while paralysed in bed; and of her coffin moving in slow motion into the incinerator. With that latter memory comes the sound of my mother crying and the feeling of my wet hand holding on to my younger sister's. And then the concept of death was and what it robbed from us became very clear to my little self. It took me a very long time to get over the image of my grandmother entering that gate of fire. I suffered from nightmares and I cried every night afraid that my mother and then I, eventually, would suffer the same fate. Suddenly, separation was real, death was tangible and this terrified my 5 year old self so much.
It was very convincing that death should be on the opposing side of life, but because death and memory often are linked to each other so inextricably, I'm not sure if they even hold any binaric relationship to me any more. My grandmothers perhaps lived harder whilst being dead, that in death they were with us even more often than they were alive. And that maybe in death a certain being holds more weight than while alive. Living is the hardest part of life and I'm not sure if dying is easier. Or even harder. Considering I'm not dead yet.
但願人長久 is a poem/song that I associate with my late 嫲嫲. Not because it was her favourite song, but because when I finally forced myself to acknowledge her death and remember her, this song played. It has no correlation to death whatsoever, but funnily enough, longevity. But there's longing. And as we are a thousands miles apart between heaven and earth, and between dimensions and states of being, the moon is still visible from wherever you are. You see that? The only reason why I cry now is because I find you sporadically in my head in an image that has grown too soft and faint.
I will not pretend that both my grandmothers have been exceptionally close to me. But I know given the chance, we'd love each other very much all over again.
千里共嬋娟
It was very convincing that death should be on the opposing side of life, but because death and memory often are linked to each other so inextricably, I'm not sure if they even hold any binaric relationship to me any more. My grandmothers perhaps lived harder whilst being dead, that in death they were with us even more often than they were alive. And that maybe in death a certain being holds more weight than while alive. Living is the hardest part of life and I'm not sure if dying is easier. Or even harder. Considering I'm not dead yet.
但願人長久 is a poem/song that I associate with my late 嫲嫲. Not because it was her favourite song, but because when I finally forced myself to acknowledge her death and remember her, this song played. It has no correlation to death whatsoever, but funnily enough, longevity. But there's longing. And as we are a thousands miles apart between heaven and earth, and between dimensions and states of being, the moon is still visible from wherever you are. You see that? The only reason why I cry now is because I find you sporadically in my head in an image that has grown too soft and faint.
I will not pretend that both my grandmothers have been exceptionally close to me. But I know given the chance, we'd love each other very much all over again.
千里共嬋娟
