Mask

It plays such a part in our lives now. It's not just that white, sterile and clinically (yet unknowingly) cruel piece of synthetic material we cover our mouths and noses with to avoid the threats from the outside world. It's also the people front that you put on to be artificially sociable when at the back, only God knows what happens. It's the one we wear, at times, to conceal what's within. It's the one that cracks at the sight of a smile, or the sight of a friend. It's also the one natural defence mechanism human nature has to mask the pain and sadness deep in our hearts. Right?
Right. I've seen it in action so many times.
Like tonight.
I know it's unhealthy for me and my mental health. But I've always had this part of me that is always detached. Detached, aloof and looking into my life like a third party observer from outside my life in the glasshouse. I know everything about it, and yet I don't feel it. Confusing, I know. It just happens sometimes.
So I know that I can handle it, and look on this part of my life later in life and smile at how much she has taught me. To handle life, the bad and the good. To handle goodbyes, when sometimes you just have a nasty feeling that it could be the last. To live the sad slice-of-life books that crowd the racks at the bookstore, and show me that you know, these people are real and full of real and tangible emotion. The other side of the book. The human face of it.
I got the news last night, and the tears just came. It pricked my eyes, and one rolled down my cheek as my dad read the message. It tore me up inside, vicious and sudden.
I grabbed a roll of tissue paper, and then isolated myself from everyone else. The cat seemed to sense it and stayed beside me for a while, swiping at my fingers with the occasional bite. I didn't cry in front of her, but when she left I closed the door and finally they came full force. It was the best cry I have had in ages. My nose didn't clog up, and I could feel my sobs actually shake my whole body, wracking it. Going up my spine, and making me suck in that hard intake of breath, of precious oxygen and the scent of my bolster.
I demanded to visit Chandni today. Yes. Demanded.
My dad and sisters and I went to spend some time at the local mall for a while, and we met Aunty Audrey. By the time it was 7.30, my dad, Mandy and Aunty Audrey were still talking. And you know what? I just got so pissed at that very moment. I clenched my fists and kept slapping my legs nervously, because I heard 8 was the end of the visiting hours. I don't know what came over me at that instant; it just came and possessed me.
But I know it had to be something revealing and important, so I waited until they finished before my dad called us to go home since I wanted to visit her.
I was a nervous wreck. When we got home, I opened the door and slammed it then ran up to the lift. I ran to the house. I ran to wash my face and change my whole-day top into something clean and comfy. I ran to get RM10.50 to buy a RM10 reload from the minimarket downstairs, grabbed my white mask that had "CLEAN" branded at the bottom and the house keys. I ran to the minimarket. I got in the car, but I didn't pant. Amazing.
The trip to the hospital was in one word, eye-opening. Everything said and done during the trip will be forever kept in my heart.
When I got to the hospital, I immediately noticed the people's faces, some young and some old, most of them returning home for dinner and pushing the memory of being there as far away as they can and just enjoy good health and good food with their loved ones. The helplessness etched there on their faces pulled me down a bit. The thick grey of bleakness started swirling its way down my soul, staining my eyes and movement. It's a sure sign that you've been there; I think it's the eyes. The expression there is undeniable.
I walked through the familiar white arched tunnel with strangely comforting but stark white flourescent light lighting the way. My white mask on, I blended with the crowd. I walked close to Pa, and he accompanied me and commented sarcasticly on the Secret Recipe that just opened. Delifrance closed down and apparently, sold out.
I got to the Pediatric Oncology floor and slowly I turned to check the board with the patients' names on it to reassure myself that she was still in. I "directed" Pa to wash his hand with the sterilizing foam that required you to step on this pump for the substance to foam out. Then we used the disinfectant, that familiar scent on my fingers, as once again I stepped into her ward. What I saw was not what I expected. I expected a sleeping Chandni, with tiredness laced around her eyes and evident in her sluggish movements.
What greeted me was someone so small and determined to get air into her lungs with the help of an oxygen mask and a colourful neckrest to aid her posture. I hesitated a bit at the door when her mom ushered me in. It was completely unexpected. She had an expression that was so single-mindedly concentrated on breathing in and out, in and out. The heartbeat monitor beeped in tandem with her heartbeat that I couldn't hear but was able to see, as her laboured breathing and hard heartbeat was visible with every breath; her body moved up and down almost exaggeratedly. While all this raced in my head, I was aware that finally, I was alone with her.
Which is something I try to avoid; I listen well, but I leave talking to the company.
In and out.
In and out.
"Hi Chandni," I said casually. "How are you feeling today?"
In and out.
In and out.
"I'm just," she started, "feeling a little breathless."
What a brave mask she's put on. What a front. Like a warrior focused on the battle and nothing else.
I started racking my brain for jokes, to distract her. Stories of people in school that seemed unimportant became extremely crucial to lift the heavy silence. I don't really know about the stuff between people in school, so I just told her about stuff that I overheard or was about the close friends in the Laughing Gas Group of Form 2 and 3.
For everything I said, she breathed heavily in and out and summoned every ounce of it in her to comment, or make a sound. Comments came out in strings of three, with a small gasp in between if she wanted to say more. I watched her, alert of everything that changed; her expression, her eyebrows that furrowed whenever she felt uncomfortable, the slight movement of her mouth and chin when her mask slips down, and the unnoticeable quirk of the corner of her mouth whenever she found something funny. The slight break of sweat on her forehead, the complete immobility of the rest of her body, the way her eyelashes kept getting into her eyes, the way her eyes don't completely close and allow me to see the small sliver of white as she drifts in and out of painkiller-induced unconsciousness. Wake up, Chandni, I'm saying something. Wake up.
And she does.
I tried to babble, but it ran out of steam quick. I kept quiet and watched her uncle adjust her mask frequently as it kept slipping down. Whenever it was adjusted, Chandni would complain about how it didn't rest properly. So after the second time, I tried to adjust it when I noticed her moving her chin to lift the mask. The metal clip on the bridge, the plastic moulding to her high nose and the obvious need of comfort of something that fits properly onto your face. I adjusted it, and her eyebrows instantly unfurrowed at the proper mask angle. I felt so proud that I could comfort her, even just a little at this stage. She kept asking people to wipe her face and the mask to get rid of the vapour she exhales. I didn't trust myself to do that. So when the mask was replaced and again the thing wasn't put properly, Chandni turned to me and said, "Alex can you do.. what you do with the mask?"
I felt extremely touched. I nearly cried, but I didn't.
I adjusted it, and the unfurrowing of her eyebrows was incredible.
Sometimes, I just knew what she was gonna say in her actions and said it out loud for her. Sometimes, we'd say it at the same time. The unexpected unison caught me off-guard when the mask was adjusted a bit low, and both of us said "Higher".
I talked about school, the new headmistress, the emergence of Gedik Girls, my crush, our friends, the tentative, sore but newly healed rift between a friend and I, just to keep her mind off things for the moment. Eyes closed, she heard everything.
I noticed an eyelash in her right eye and as I was on her right, I proceeded to remove it and mention that she could make a wish. I kept the eyelash and held on strongly, pressing my fingers together too tightly to keep it there, till I lost feeling and had to change hands.
I kept her company till 9.15, when this mysterious Chinese lady who didn't speak, didn't shake hands and had an enigmatic smile came to see Chandni.
I held one of Chandni's famous long eyelashes in my two fingers all the way home and proceeded to stick it on my diary when I got home. Silly I know. But it's to remind me of her, other than the fragrance of the disinfectant that only stays on for a while.
Somebody, pray find me and pull me out.
I know I must make peace, but the urgency in her voice calling out for help when she couldn't cough phlegm out is just too obvious.
I know that I must come to terms with the horrible fact that treatment has ceased so she can fight back on her own.
I know that her time is not that long anymore.
I know that however hard it may be, I have to face it.
But my heart is still breaking.