A THEORY ON HAPPINESS: 100 DAYS, 200 GIRLS

A friend alerted me to an online community activity called #100happydays. 100 days, 100 pictures, 100 moments of happiness recorded and shared between friends or the wider public. I was intrigued by the aspect of a happiness discipline, which strongly resembles a gratitude list. If something makes you happy, you are grateful to it, for it. I have been 'playing along' for a week, although this is a practice I made a part of my life ten years ago, when I realised my definition of happiness was the ability to be grateful.

On 14 April, 200 heavily armed militants in 20 vehicles burnt down a school in Chibok, Abuja, Nigeria, and stole 200 schoolgirls. One schoolgirl for each terrorist. The name of the group translates as 'Western education is forbidden', and the leader has his name mentioned in news reports. It angers me that I know his name, have seen his face; what of the girls? I only want to know their names, and see their faces. But when I do, I pray when not if, what will I see written on their faces? That is the real terror.

It has been three weeks, and 11 more girls have been abducted. We are aware, we are awake to this crime, and can do nothing to prevent the trauma the girls must already have suffered.

This month continues the twenty year anniversary of the 100 days of genocide that took place in 1994, in Rwanda, beginning April 7th.

Always, behind the facts are names...

How are we to look into the face of our own happiness without seeing the trauma and unhappiness of others? Our minds are fragile things, and our spirits need to be nurtured and nourished so that we can bring our children up into a world of hope and possibility and joy.

I think this might be the true purpose of the #100happydays movement. It seems frivolous at times. And at other times, absolutely essential.

BEFORE AUTUMN

Hasn't this been the most unexpected summer? A full summer for me, filled with new experiences, most of them wonderful, some sad. I went to the beach with my cousins and 'crabbed' for the first time - humane crabbing - we put 'em all back...

The seagulls were out in force, and the beach huts delectable...

No, I did not leap into the bracing (c-c-c-c-cold) sea, but watched others bravely attempt the waves as I read Plath on the pebbles and chose a few jewel like blue shells. And on another day, when the weather was warmer I toasted my first marshmallows and was offered a quail's egg by my five year old cousin Oli, who also spent the day teaching me about the ways and practises of hornets, dragonflies, and various birds whose names I shamefully cannot remember now (good thing he doesn't read my blog...)

The summer has been full of animals enjoying the heat and the rain too, at Shepreth Wildlife park - a place I'd never been to until the arrival of my nephew...

The days of this precious visit from the Singaporeans has meant a rare reunion of the brothers and myself with babies everywhere and a LOT of 'tories. Most of my nephew's 'tories require someone eating someone else up, but I try to work in some vegetarian tales too - of tigers and leopards eating potatoes and 'trawberries... I have also tried to lightly warn Rafael that I might have to go away to see the doctor, but how can you prepare a two year old for the return of his Aunty Shai with a pirate patch covering one bloody eye? Maybe I could ask the blue eyed surgeon for a friendly Gruffalo patch? Children live entirely in the moment so Rafa will simply have to work it out when he sees me although am not sure how long the operation will take. Wish me luck today, me hearties.

IT ARRIVED!!

A package arrived today with the hottest sunshine of the year... from Eire...

The brightest day of the year completely obscured the inscription I was trying to show off!!

MARIAN KEYES MARIAN KEYES MARIAN KEYES!!!!
So there I was, on twitter, recommending 'The Princess Bride' to Marian Keyes, best-selling Irish author of fabulous books, when she replies saying she's never seen it. I offered to send it of course, but privacy and all that... anyway, there was a silence for a while. A couple of weeks later, Marian Keyes goes on a hunt for me - me!! - to find the Lupusgirl who recommended the lovely film. And then I was found. And Marian asked how I was, and I said I was off into hospital and she said, "Can I do anything? Anything at all? Signed copy of a book?" And I says, "Oooh yes, please!" Shameless, I know. But this may NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN!!!!

Isn't she lovely?? She manages to sprinkle gold dust over our lives from a house in Dublin. She loves chocolate and cake and high heels. She understands suffering. She values kindness above everything. Only the kindest of people could send a signed copy of a book just to wish me well. And not just any book - but, on her authority, her own personal favourite.... D'you remember when I wrote about not writing to Eva Ibbotson? I feel as though Marian has given me a chance to say thank you to a beloved author in the here and now, so I'll never be haunted by ingratitude again!
So just to be clear...

MARIAN, I LOVE YOU!!!!!

THANKYOUUUU!!!!!

June the first, a bright summer's evening, a Monday. I've been flying over the streets and houses of Dublin and now, finally, I'm here. I enter through the roof. Via a skylight I slide into a living room and right away I know it's a woman who lives here... 

(from 'The Brightest Star in the Sky')

HOME AGAIN, TO THE SUN!

Yesterday I scoffed chocolate cake and watched the sun play in the fields beyond the hospital grounds. I nosily asked questions of a young woman just starting out on the same treatment... her heart was beating at 120, her bp was dropping, hot flushing - I couldn't help myself - I marched over, trailing my infusion, and said, "Don't let them increase the rate!" "But I feel so guilty," said she, "it'll take ages at a slow rate!" "Hmmf," said I. "So what? I am always the last in here, because I insist they go slow." I looked beadily at her husband. "Does she need to rush back?" "No, no, no!" he cried, hastily, warned by the martial gleam in my eyes. "She can take as long as she likes!" "So," says I. "All settled then." When the nurse bustled over to change the rate again ("Shall we increase to 400?"), my new friend said, "I'd like you to leave the rate at 300, please."
I gave her a thumbs up and shimmied back to my chair. Who knew I could be so bossy??

Home again, mes amies, to the bright, hot, divinity of a summer's day. The morning after my first infusion is always perfect. I dragged my yoga mat out into the garden and did a single Surya Namaskar - any more and I might have found myself back on the wards, but a single salutation to the sun was my gratitude.

Later on today, when my lymph nodes gnarl and gnaw, when the fevers start and my heart kicks up an unruly beat, I shall remember the deliciousness of a single moment. I don't mind the pattern of sun and shade. I hold them both in the palm of my hand.

Father, who is baking his tootsies in the sun, has just bellowed for a coke float (vanilla ice-cream scoops in a glass of coke - it's an Indian thing)...

Ah... we sure know how to live it up, here in the Shires...

p.s. have just received comments on the coke float not being an Indian thing - a universal thing, in fact. I stand, happily, corrected. 

Tra la la, la la la laaaa

Dear Miss Tayabali,

Arrangements have been made for you to attend Ward D5 (PSSU)
On Wednesday 6th April
For Rituximab

Haut les couers! High the hearts! What does a girl do when she's happy and the sun is shining? The three crucial S's... Smiling, Shopping, Singing.. tra la la, la la la laaaaaaa.....:)

thinking Singapore thoughts....

Update: Have just realised from all your lovely comments, that perhaps you think the funding for the next two years has come through... which would be worthy of true celebration, but is not the case. I only know I have treatment for April, and for me, that has been celebration enough :)

Angel

I felt an angel

tread gently on my heart,

And perceiving numerous ripples

withdraw her tender touch.

I heard an angel

whisper gently in my ear,

And beholding disbelief

feed silence to my fear.

The angel saw me cry

and smiled despite my grief,

For the angel saw diamonds

falling from my cheeks.

An old poem for a new time, for all of you, who make me happy.
And for the angel living in our house right now, teaching me guitar chords, the beginner's guide to salsa, the meaning of Malay songs about stars, watching movies from the dark (Black Swan) to the light (Walt Disney's Tangled)... and most importantly, making my brother happy.
Happy birthday Angelina! May a thousand million lanterns float towards you...
and a birthday promise to you all... if the old dreams die, I'll light new ones, for that way lies the art of happiness.

Nativity... or Why Birth Is Worth the Fight!

Ballet in front of our Christmas tree, Bbay, Dec '89

I have had so many of you chiding me for questioning if 'earth is worth the fight' in my last post. It is! It is!! But sometimes Yes it is!! So to make up, I shall sing you a Christmas carol...

Long time ago in Bethlehem,

so the Holy Bibles say,

Mary's boy child Jesus Christ

was born on Chri-istmas Day!

Hark! the herald angels sing, as we gather round our fires. Impossible that it is really snow on the trees outside, and not the cottonwool we used for our Christmas tree in India. We had a real one growing in our garden, and a little rubbery one for Santa (and our presents) inside. On Christmas Eve, a softly gathering chorus would wind its way up the gentle slope where we lived. It would fall silent, and coins would tinkle, and then the music would drift towards us again. The Salvation Army singers. How I miss the sounds of hush and harmony, and the lantern that lit their journey for them, and lit them for us. And on Christmas day, we did the strangest thing. We went to Breach Candy Hospital, and mooched around from ward to department - each one more heartily decorated than the next. There were delicate mangers and tinsel and baubles and food! And we were three little kings and queen, the children of Dr and Mrs Tayabali, who were both adored by the staff, and we basked then as we do now, in their reflected magic.

I am basking now in the reflected magic of my big brother and trying to absorb as much of his life experience and brisk global summary as I can before he heads off to new lands, new skills. And contemplating the turns in the roads awaiting us. For just around the corner, my little brother and his wife, five months pregnant, feel far away, and yet so dear. The blanket is knitted and awaiting its owner. I think Aunty Shaista is ahead of the game, for now, but let's see what Uncle Riz comes up with!

Do you remember my brother's wedding took place on an island called Nikoi? Well, there were only 40 of us gathered in that jewelled setting of sun and sea... and five of the couples are now expecting babies! Five! So on that happy note, I wish all of them safe deliveries, with stars colliding and magic manifesting; and wish you, dearest of readers and writers, Merry Christmas!!!