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Allow me to grief…

4th of March, Sunday, 1:59 am. 400 km away from KL with JerryWho for work. I got a SMS from the Queen. My heart sank to a bottomless pit when reading it. Koula died in a traffic accident.

Koula was a volunteer in Suaram. We were not best of friends but we did exchange phone calls and emails once in a while. She was the best Suaram volunteer that I ever met. I just talked to her two days ago when my intern from Burma needed help and advice on his visa because his pro democracy organisation back in Burma was cracked down by the military government. That was our last conversation. I still cannot believe that she is gone.

I cannot forget Koula’s smile. She was such a sweet person. I cannot forget Koula’s happy-go-lucky attitude. She was a motivating figure and made people feel that there is always hope in life. I will not forget her passion in human rights. She was too young to die. If there is a God… why? I promised her that we will go for a fun-filled karaoke with the Suaram gang before she returns to UK.

I cannot handle death well. Who does? Koula is my second friend who died. The first one was my uni classmate. He was drowned during a holiday trip at the beach. I prayed so hard that he would be ok when he went missing. My mum asked me to be prepared for the worst. Guess what? The worst always happens when you least expected it. If there is a God… why?

There is a part of me that still refuse to accept her death. Not before I fulfilled my promise for the karaoke session. I am closing my eyes soon, singing with Koula and the Suaram gang for the last time. I will pick “leaving on the jet plane”. Then I will bury her deep down in my heart and may her soul rest in peace.

My deepest condolence to Koula’s family and her boyfriend.

Before I go to bed, I would like to dedicate this song by Sinead O’connor to my two departed friends:

A Perfect Indian

A Perfect Indian is he
Remembering him life is sweet
Like a weeping willow
His face on my pillow
Comes to me still in my dreams

And there I saw a young baby
A beautiful daughter was she
A face from a painting
Red cheeks and teeth aching
Her eyes like a wild Irish sea

On a table in her yellow dress
For a photograph feigned happiness
Why in my life is that the only time
That any of you will smile at me

I’m sailing on this terrible ocean
I’ve come for my self to retrieve
Too long have I been feeling like Lir’s children
And there’s only one way to be free

He’s shy and he speaks quietly
He’s gentle and he seems to me
Like the elf-arrow
His face worn and harrowed
Is he a daydreamer like me

I’m sailing on this terrible ocean
I’ve come for my self to retrieve
Too long have I been feeling like Lir’s children
And there’s only one way to be free

*Many thanks to Seng Guan for the photos.

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