NST: The Sunday column – Slow Down, you’re moving too fast… by Kalimullah Hassan
There are days when the mind just doesn’t want to work.
It’s one of those days. Some call it writer’s bloc. Some say it’s laziness. Some say it’s the body and mind rebelling. Whatever.
But I thought that maybe this week, I would hare with you emails I received from a veteran journalist, the evergreen Felix Abisheganaden.
He forwarded me a story about love and a poem written by a terminally ill girl in a
New York
hospital.
The girl had, at the point the email was sent out, only six months left to live, and as her dying wish, she wanted to send a letter telling everyone to live their life to the fullest, since she never would.
The other email is about a man’s love for his wife. Perhaps, we may learn something from both these accounts.
The little girl’s poem is entitled Slow Dance. It reads:
Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly’s erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading light?
You better slow down. Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short. The music won’t last.
Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask how are you, do you hear the reply?
When the day is done, do you lie in bed.
With the next hundred chores running through your head?
You’d better slow down. Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short. The music won’t last.
Ever told your child, we’ll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch? Or let a good friendship die ‘cause you never had the time to call and say “Hi?”
You’d better slow down. Don’t dance so fast.
Time is short. The music won’t last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift… thrown away.
Life is not a race. Do take it slower
Hear the music before the song is over.
In the second story, a doctor relates what he believes love is all about. The doctor was on his rounds on a busy morning and glanced at his watch.
It was 8.30am, when an elderly gentleman in his 80’s, arrives to have stitches removed from a thumb.
The old man was in a hurry and said he had an appointment at 9am.
The doctor relates:
“I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would be over to see him.
“I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would check his wound.
“The wound was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and re-dressed his wound.
“While taking care of his wound. We talked. I asked him if he had a doctor’s appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry.
“He did not. But he said he needed to go to the nursing home to have breakfast with his wife. I asked after her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she had Alzheimer’s disease.
“As we talked, and I finished dressing his wound, I asked if she would be worried if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognised him in five years now.
“I was puzzled, and asked him, ‘and you still go every morning, even though she doesn’t know who you are?’
“He smiled as he patted my hand and said: ‘she doesn’t know me, but I still know who she is.’
“I had to hold back tears as he left. I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought that is the kind of love I want in my life.”
True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be.
We are reminded every day in the little things we do, little things we say, of things in that little girl’s poem.
The lucky ones learn to dance slow and take time to watch kids on a merry-go-round and listen to the rain slapping the ground.
They follow that colourful butterfly’s erratic flight and gaze at the sun into the fading night.
A few night’s ago, I had dinner with some friends, one of whom was building a house, with the back facing a golf course.
The others asked him why there were no windows at the back of the house. For security, he said.
Right, so how many times do you actually sit on the balcony at the back of the house and watch the greens, the monkeys and the birds, he asked.
The question hit the nail on the head. How many times? Hardly ever.
So, we block out the beauty God has given us because we have no time; always doing things on the run.
And even when we lie on the bed, the hundred chores that we perceive are important to us run through our heads.
It is when you have no time left that you wonder: “Why did I not slow down?”
On Friday night, a friend celebrated his 60th birthday. He was a young Italian-American who came to
Sabah
in 1970 or so as a member of the Peace Corps, wanting to help, in his own words, the “emerging world”.
And just like many of them, the young Rafael Pura never left
Asia
after that.
He has been in
Malaysia
for so long that he even speaks like one. “Can-laaah, You are dead-lah…”
His Malaysian wife, Monica, for weeks, organized a surprise party for him, emailing, calling and writing to all the friends Rocky, as he is fondly known, has made over the years.
And when Rocky walked in that night, his friends realized that he had lived his life well.
People he had not seen for over 20 years, friends who brought photographs of him, evoking long forgotten memories of more than 40 years ago. His family and friends, from
Malaysia
,
Singapore
,
Indonesia
, Hong Kong, and the
United States
, all had flown in for just that one night.
Just to tell him, hey, you moved at the right pace; maybe there were hiccups, but you did all right, old man.
None could have been prouder of him than his daughter Natasha and son Marco. And many probably also desired the kind of relationship Rocky shares with Monica.
Rocky probably does not think of himself as an old man; but just like that outpatient at the hospital, who had a date with his Alzheimer-stricken wife, many of us would pray that we have the same relationship with our better halves at that age.
I would not want to be filled with hate, bitterness, acrimony, antagonism and ill-will ever, more so if I were 59, 60, 57, 80…
I hope I can have the kind of friends Rocky has, who’d fly half the world just to be with him for one day; to tell him that we value the happiness he has added to our lives by living his life the way he did.
Many happy returns, Rocky. And you are still the only real-life Italian hero I admire.
It will be a lazy Sunday for me. Enjoy yours, and God Bless.
It’s a real life novel of Totto-chan extraordinary school. The book was short (200++pages), the language used was pretty simple (translated from Japanese) and it’s just beautiful (abih words to describe). 
