Did I really meant what I wrote in the title? Yes I do.
Many of you don’t realize that I am alive and I lived through everything that I wrote in my blog.
All through my childhood, all through the days at the medical college, I so very badly wanted tell someone my story. I wanted someone to believe me. I wanted someone to hold my hand and tell me it is ok, I am there for you.
It was impossible. Because there was no one I knew whose mother was having an affair with her (cousin) brother, whose father had another wife, whose sister was living in the same city, yet nobody knew where she was.
This was something that was real only in my world.
But what is even more worst was that, if I did tell someone about my family, then they would start judging my father, my mother and my oldest sister. I couldn’t let that happen. They are my blood and I love them. Situations and circumstances make people do things that are not the norm. I am the only one who knows the whole situation and I don’t judge my family. I couldn’t bear the fact that someone would tell that my father is bad man or my mother is a bad woman or my sisters are bad. I love my family,but unfortunately my love for them didn’t take the pain in my heart away.
It was eating away my soul day after day. There was only one question in my head, Why me? Why was I the chosen one? What did I do wrong? I have never hurt another person and then Why am I the only one getting hurt?
3 years ago, I took my kids for a holiday in Bukit Tinggi near Genting Highlands, Malaysia. The room next to ours was occupied by a Malaysian Chinese family with three kids, dad, mom, grand dad and grand mom.Each morning the grandmother would bring the kids out in to the balcony and show them the wild birds that came to eat the berries near our cabin. My oldest daughter asked me, Why Mama, why don’t I have a grandmother? Why doesn’t my Ammachi spend time with us?
At that moment I told her a twisted truth that because her grandmother lives in NZ, and because the air ticket is very expensive, it is not possible for her Ammachi to spend time with her, even though Yaya and her siblings are the best thing ever happend to her Ammachi.
I felt guilty for lying to my own child and I knew one day I need to tell her the truth. We stayed in Bukit Tinggi for 1 week and each night while my children slept, I wrote my story.
I am someone who didn’t really enjoy writing, until then the only thing I ever wrote was my 20,000 words dissertation for my master’s
degree and it took 6 months!!.
Although I cried each night while I typed, I also felt a sense of peace that I never felt before.. I felt finally I could tell someone what I went through. Kind of opening the pandoras box, knowing very well that it might bring more heartaches later.
The total word count for my story was 26000 words! and I wrote that in 6 days.
When I came back to KL, I printed the story and placed it in an envelope and Yaya and I went to our bank and kept it in the locker. I told Yaya, she can open the envelope the day she turns 18 and it would answer a lot of her questions.
Then came the move to Canada and I started to blog. Mostly to annoy the Malaysian government, because I knew they( government) can’t arrest me and jail me using Internal security act.(ISA). Even my blog name Malaysian In Canada was chosen purposely, just to let the Malaysian government know that, I am a Malaysian and I live in Canada.. A childish way of saying “neh neh neh boo boo You can’t catch me!!!”
Then one day I blogged about my grandmother. My kids never got a chance to see my grandmother and I thought I should write about my childhood. I wanted them to understand a little bit about being a malayalee. It was hard for the kids, especially because I never taught them to speak Malayalam. For them Vishu and Onam was all about getting Ang pao( kaineettam, money) from their mother. I felt may be one day they would read my story and can understand what it is like to be a Malayalee.
When I started to blog, I never ever dreamed that anyone would want to read my blog. All I wanted to do was to capture the magic of my childhood, but unfortunately in my case the magic and heartaches were inseparable.
The heartaches, that most people refused to believe, understand or even comprehend was/is very much part of my life.
Before you criticise, you got to remember that I am very much alive and that your criticism will not change the story, but it does affect me, because I go back to asking the same questions that I have asked all my life, Why me?
The only way I can write is by knowing that someone out there believe me.
My blog isn’t a place for affirmation or criticism. It is a place for me to tell my side of the story. If you don’t want to believe my story, please leave. This isn’t a Hotel California, where you can Check in anytime, but you can never leave.
I need to write, so I can find some sanity. But I don’t have the strength to convince you anymore that this is my real story. Actually there is nothing more that I can do to convince you that this is real.
I have been asked many times about my identity. The only reason I don’t want to reveal my identity is because of my sisters. Sally is right now at the pinnacle of success. Where she is now is because of her hard work and determination. Any scandal can affect her career and as her sister, I won’t let that happen. So those of you who know me, especially my classmates from the medical college, please respect my need to be just Sarah.
I love my family and I wouldn’t want to hurt them in anyway.
I noticed that my profile view has hit 20000!
Thank you all for reading my blog.
Update:just found this link
Bukit Tinggi.. my favourite place on earth.