2001-11-08 - 10:38 p.m.
#98: No Need for Talking About My Dads Eye Condition
Note to self: I've forgotten how thoroughly addictive it is to keep up with current events in a niche group. Not to mention distracting from more important tasks, as well as tiring me out to prevent me from engaging in these aforementioned important tasks. Boy, my lack of attention span sure sucks sometimes, doesn't it? I blame TV, as it makes the perfect scapegoat. Damn you TV. Damn you. I shall stop now and go on with the rest of this journal entry.
Well, my dad decided to forgo the advice of the optometrist here and get a third opinion from another expert back in ye olde Malaysia; risking more aggravation of the condition of his right eye. I think he was slightly suspicious about the validity of the doctors diagnosis here in Auckland.... I would be too, I guess, if the doctor used the words "haemorrhaging" and "immediate medical operation required" in the same sentence. It's as if he's hoping the shock sustained from the former would somehow influence the likely outcome of my dad agreeing to the latter. The fact that it was quickly followed by "Our clinic has exactly the right person to do the work" was probably a big hint too. Fortunately, the doctor who would normally be on hand to do this (expensive) operation was not so the day we visited; so we were given time to "thing things over". Which was just about the right amount of time for my dad to board the next flight to Malaysia. Strange how natural that sentence sounded in my head, yet utterly ridiculous when put to paper; I guess I'm thinking of complete strangers who might stumble over this diary (ha!) and is unaware of the peculiar family arrangement I'm currently part of. It is, indeed, most peculiar; but I shan't bother with talking about it today.
Anyway, he went back last Saturday and we got a chance to look at some of the surprise changes to Auckland International Airport while we were checking in. It was not the renovations, which had been going on for several months now and would have difficulty surprising anyone who goes to the airport on a regular basis (which seems to be like.... Almost half of Auckland. Now you may be wondering to yourself: Is this city so seriously boring that families pack themselves and their littluns to go to the Auckland airport for a DAYTRIP? The answer is: Yes. Yes it is. It is a rock. One that has been up the lower colon, to be precise.). No, I'm talking about the knee-jerk-reaction changes instated due to the events of September 11th that SHOULD have been there in the first place, instead of hastily brought about only after the fact has occurred.
First of all, the flimsy decorative aluminium fencing barred area for check-in counters now has an x-ray/scan machine stationed at every entrance where passengers can pass through; along with two security guards manning those machines and a small squared off curtain area for further examination of suspicious items in luggage. And passengers too, presumably. The rather sad looking setup, and the fact that all the security measures in question could easily be wheeled away, would have made me smile if only the situation wasn't being taken so seriously. So I giggled away inside my brain, instead. This is why some people say I'm crazy even though it's not true. Really.
Second of all.... Were the people at the check-in counter always so chatty? I mean, sure they're paid to be friendly (but not fast and efficient. Unfortunate) but my paranoia, heightened due to the tighter airport security in place, was sparked by the fact that she seemed to be asking highly random and specific questions about Malaysia when my dad "claimed" to be from that country. It was almost like a mini psychological and general knowledge test to make sure our nationalities were as we claimed. It was a good thing that my dad got all the answers right, otherwise I can almost imagine a situation like this:
Check-in Service: So, have you ever been to [some obscure resort island off the coast of Borneo]?
Edwyns Dad (who has deemed to remain nameless in this short): No, I'm afraid that doesn't sound familiar--
Check-in Service: [snatching up nearest microphone] CODE RED! CODE RED! We have a situation #1138 at check-in counter 23: "Afghan terrorist disguised as little old chinese man with super thick glasses!" I repeat: "Afghan terrorist disguised as little old chinese man with super thick glasses!" TANGO! BRAVO! EPSILON!
Edwyns Dad: Excuse me, do you mean.... me?
Check-in Service: The terrorist is attempting to communicate! Possible hostile action is high!
Edwyns Dad: Now see here.... [waves passport at her]
Check-in Service: The terrorist is wielding an edged object in a threatening manner! Oh god, get security down here right now!
Random Burly Security Guard (let's call him.... Robbo): Sir, I'll have to ask you to come with me quietly.
Edwyns Dad: But--
Check-in Service: He just used offensive language!
Robbo: Get down on the floor! Get down on the floor NOW, you dirty non-turban wearing Afghan terrorist scumbag, or I'm gonna send you back home in a bodybag! And you! Random passerby!
Random Passerby: [points at self] ?
Robbo: I see you have a McDonalds takeaway bag in your hands! Thank you sir for continuing to support the American economy in troubled times! I'm going to have to ask you to submit to a full cavity search now!
Random Passerby: What the--? Hey! [is borne away by two other security guards who appear out of nowhere]
Check-in Service: Was he a terrorist, too?
Robbo: He was looking at me funny. Damn dirty terrorists are everywhere, I tells ya. Heck, I check the toilet every time I sit down to make sure them terrorists don't be hiding in the bowl.
Edwyn's Dad: Erm....
Robbo: What? What the heck you bothering me for? There could be a terrorist out there right now and you're blocking the way! [wanders off]
Edwyn's Dad: [sweatdrops]
Well okay, so that situation was unlikely to pop up.... But I had to type it out. The paranoia in the corner of my brain just wouldn't stop until its voice could be heard. And it didn't help that my mother saw someone with a McDonalds takeaway bag being stopped at a security checkpoint into the passengers area. I'm not sure if his bag was searched or not, or if he WAS forced to undergo a full cavity search.... But still, that sort of visual setup just stirs the imagination with a big dirty stick, doesn't it?
In any case my dad went back to Malaysia, got his third opinion, and rang up on Tuesday to relay the new situation with his eye. Apparently he DID need to go for an operation.... Just for different reason from the one the doctor here gave him. And the word "haemorrhaging" did not enter the conversation he had with the third doctor at any point. So he's planning to fly over to Melbourne (there's that feeling of ridiculousness again....) sometime later this week to have that particular operation and he's asking my mother to come along as well to provide support. I will not be going of course, as I still need to work out my own situation over here. Yes, the time my parents will be away (again) will give me time to set things up and surprise them (or just my mother) when they come back. Besides, it was too expensive to fly all three of us over anyway. Ah well.
Was basically forced to go to a church service (healing ministry type) at starepoint last night (Wednesday). Despite the fact that I tried to rope Kunfei (who recently got his car back and visited me! What a coincidence for the night too. O.o) and Zeb (who was feeling a little bit under the weather at the time) in a selfish and devious scheme to help me escape from this Christian inspired hell, it all fell apart in the end from lack of thought (specifically: mine) and I had to go anyway. See, this is what happens when I don't have a car. If I had a car I could have jumped in and tore off into the sunset and never look back at what I've left behind. At least until I needed money for the gas anyway. Yes a car and a job with a stable income go hand in hand, don't they? Oh, and a drivers license too.
My mother reasoned that I had to go to the service, ostensibly to stand in for my father and put in a request when it came to the "those who need healing, please come to the front" part of the service; which I was willing to do.... even if I was somewhat embarrassed by the fact that I had to stand in front of a congregation of people to do so. But the OTHER, hidden reason was for, of course, the part of the service where the pastor says, "those who need to be saved by the Lord, please come to the front". I was about as enthralled by the prospect then as I was the last time and ignored the call and my mothers jabbing finger by playing Bantumi on my cellphone. Boy, there are times when those mini-games are useful, aren't they? It even helps me to forget about the fact that I'm feeling increasingly alienated and removed from the people who I say I share the same faith with. I think it may be time to rethink my position, though I'm none too certain my mother would like it. In any case, with whatever faith I have left in God, I hope that He says my dad safely though the operation....
You know, it's kinda funny. My dad's going to be having a major operation in a few days on one of the most delicate organs of the human body, going under (presumably) general anaesthetic to do so: And I'm not really scared. Am I so shocked by the development that I can't react properly? Or am I simply blocking out the possibility that anything bad could happen because of his advancing age? I'm guessing it's the latter. You'd have to be some kind of masochist to want to think of the possibility of someone dying in the middle of a medical procedure that's meant to aid life instead. I mean, going over the top and saying random, completely out of the ordinary and insane stuff that could happen to cause death is one thing, but this is small event and overwhelmingly real with its simplicity. It just isn't funny if it isn't absurd. Maybe ironic, though.
I remember one time back when I was in Malaysia, visiting from Australia, and staying at my grandmas house; I was about 12 or 13 at the time and my parents were out to dinner with a couple of friends. I was in my dad's room, one of the few air conditioned rooms in the house, and was randomly flipping through the TV channels and cursing the lack of anything good on (because Malaysia TV was, as it is now, really crap. And there are only three of them. Christian-influenced censors may be bad here in the west, but Islamic-influenced censors are even worse, believe me. They're not quite as lenient as the Christians have become in recent years). And then suddenly I started thinking about death. It was very odd. I mean, one minute I was on blank, channel surfer mode, and the next I was thinking about the fact that everything is going to die.
I started bawling, REALLY crying my eyes out then; and then I got on my knees and started praying really, really, REALLY hard that nothing bad would happen to my parents that night. I really wasn't the most devout of Christians (not even at that point) but boy did I really believe in the power of God, the Son and the Holy Spirit right then and there. I didn't stop crying and praying until my parents got home, where I heard the car pull up and burst outside and hugged them both and started a whole NEW sobbing fit all over again. That was.... weird. They'd just gone out to dinner afterall, why would I have gotten so teary eyed at that point? It just didn't make any sense to me at all when I thought about it afterwards. Do all kids go through this kind of stage when they're growing up? My parents assured me that they had this kind of breakdown about when they were my age (or so I interpreted by their explanations as they comforted me) so I'm curious.
I haven't cried that much about the subject of close family deaths since or after. Not at my grandfathers funeral (admittedly I was only 5 or 6 at the time), nor at my uncles funeral in Sydney back in 97. Admittedly about my uncles death, it was tinged with a certain black humour: he died on my birthday. Well, the day before my birthday, but it was close enough. And only several days before Christmas, the supposed day of the birth of Christ. That's the kind of thing you have to say with a smile, even if it's a sickly, twisted one. Oh, and screwing up with the Catholic mass at his funeral, god that was an embarrassment.... I still can't even THINK about it without cringing involuntarily. And between you and me, it's a good thing I wasn't asked to give a speech. I'd probably have screwed that horribly too. Ohhhhh.... My stomach's starting to hurt from acute embarrassment....
But anyway. What's this talk all about? Optimism is the key, as sappy as that sounds. No point in wishing the worst when you want to wish for the best! So one should just stop worrying about it. You know, I actually LIKE writing in my journal. It's just that I can't muster the initial enthusiasm to do it more often. After the first couple of sentences, the words just all flow out, you know? I guess I shouldn't push it too hard, otherwise I'll run out of things to say.... Like now. So bye!
