Almost Forgotten

The weird about my PMS is, I tend to find the oddest stuff possible when my mind's wandering around. This PMS struck me hard enough to allocate time for such eccentricism, I've almost forgotten how is it to be emotional at these precise times.

I don't why but I felt compelled to find for that someone whom I felt very close to through her writings. It was, I think, some time after Form 4 and I was once again clueless and not very sure where I want to go. I was stuck in a science class which was in fact not really the biggest mistake I've made, but close enough. I used to read her column in Section 2, now known as Startwo. I still remember her column comes out every Monday, together with the other columnist Mary Schneider.

Then as I stayed in the library after school, while waiting for my friend as he was the only Add Maths tutor I can ever understand, I somehow chanced upon finding her book, which was a compilation of what she wrote during the earlier editions, the ones which I will not find because I was too young or haven't existed. It was almost like her travelogue, most of it concerning the sights and sounds she experienced being "out there" (I used to call travelling "out there" because I felt hopeless without a passport, and I really loved to travel). I will never see anything high end or classy, but always about India, about Bangladesh, about Africans. About Asia.

Somehow I gathered that travelling was her work, and it had to do with educating women, she chronicled about life trying to give certain education to women, empowering them, letting them know about liberalisation, and the challenges she faced during those times. It was a magical story. She presented in a neutral storytelling way because she initially wanted to chronicle it like it was for her mother. I was enthralled by the stories, dismayed by the women she approached, felt sad for certain consequences she faced, and so on. For a feeble minded Form 4 student, I was thoroughly impressed with her.

You can say, she inspired me into journalism. I loved her stories, I loved her writing. I loved how she put a stand into everything and not making a damn big fuss about it, back when a big fuss was really, something small. Back when journalism actually was of something sensible and sensical (of course, now I know it was all suppression). I loved her travels. I've never been so grateful before for a school library, well known for stocking storybooks instead of real research work but I truly am grateful to find that book at that time.

When I became older I was told that my mom eventually joined her network of e homemakers when she took a 2 year break off working, to build and shape us after our father's passing. I couldn't really say that I'm that excited over that prospect. Homemaking was never my mother's cup of tea and she could never see herself selling things over the internet or even trying to become an internet entrepreneur. I guessed my mom was just too old or too used to physical workload to embrace technology, not as easily as we do.

I didn't like that part of her actually. I prefer the writer part. The one that would make me sit down before she opens yet another chapter of magical stories, unravelling and making me awed. However it seems that most people are impressed with her homemaking network and I won't be surprised. It was an achievement that most people still find amazing as they were the first movers.

And then it came. I don't know who was the last decision maker. I suspected it was The Star rather than herself. (Alright, confirmed it WAS The Star. Sons of bitches!) The end to her column. I should've gaped in horror but she gave me hope by telling us she'd write on her blog, which was her daughter's Christmas present. By then I was already in Journalism, having to be perfectly sure I am not going to fail my language papers, and actually score a damned good grade in English in SPM to reaffirm my decision to join Journalism. (My GSE was B3 though. Argh! Wish I could amend that)

It's been two years since. She hasn't updated that blog of hers, the last I've checked.

I hate to think that my favourite writer has stopped contributing her thoughts and words to inspire so many more others who might find her articles worth a read, in spite of reading other blogs like political-socio ones, like funny witty ones, like personal ones. I hate to think that. But it's been two years.

I've thought alot about other things since then, I've also done my internship, contributed a few of my pieces on the newspaper. I wished I really stopped to think about her, to think about the reason why I'm here, to stay, for good. Sadly I've never, and I've almost forgotten about her. Took me quite awhile before I remembered how cosy it was to be back at the library, re-reading that book, wishing that I was 16 once more, filled with dreams to want to become a journalist, instead of actually stepping inside to do so. But it's just my glimpse in the past, just to relive how it feels like once more.

"Stories for my Mother" was her column name. Chong Sheau Ching was her name. I really missed her writing, but I've almost forgotten her.

If only she starts writing again.....