there once was

i always looked forward to going to the little india office on thursdays during my summer internship, because that was where all the other interns would be, and our company's founder would meet us for some reflection and sharing over a lunch and dessert treat. in the few times i was there -- coupled with what i hear from the other interns -- thursday mornings, as i know it, were always the busiest time of the week for the little india office, with non-stop administrative work from 10a.m. all the way till about 1p.m. lunch time therefore always felt well-deserved, because that was when we could finally breathe, use the washroom, have a drink, talk to one another.

because there were several of us, there was always these few minutes spent waiting for a few people before we actually leave the office and head out for lunch. it was also always in these few moments that i would notice his presence: a faithful volunteer, probably old enough to be my dad, quiet, perhaps a little awkward around all the interns who were young enough to be his children. one of the full-time staff would always encourage him to join the interns for our lunch with the founder, because all the other staff had their own appointments to attend to during thursday lunchtimes. some of the interns standing around would sometimes also egg him on in agreement, and he would always agree to it eventually.

during lunch, we would take turns sharing our thoughts on a particular reflection question for the day/week, which usually springs up quite organically, depending on where the direction of our conversation flows from the beginning. unsurprisingly, *he* would always give one of the more insightful answers and our founder was always unhesitant in seconding *his* points. i have not actually spoken to him other than for one instance, when there was no full-time staff left in the office after lunch. another intern and i received a call from one of the staff, instructing us to give a hundred dollars to one of our migrant clients who was on his way to our office. the migrant worker was going home that evening, and our ngo had wanted to at least let him have something other than the bad taste left in his mouth to bring home. neither of us had a hundred dollars. before heading out to the nearest atm, the other intern suggested we first ask *him* if *he*, by any chance at all, had a hundred dollars on him then to lend, and that was the first, and perhaps only time, that we ever spoke. it also turned out that he had a hundred dollar bill in his wallet.

the point of this post is scarcely to remember our encounter -- there was hardly any -- but rather to remind me of the fragility of life. not just my own life, but all the lives around me.

last week, that same other intern (now ex intern, and now my friend) told me that *he* had passed on. it came as a surprise because i did not imagine that someone i had saw working and breathing in the same space as i did could be gone from the face of the earth in the blink of an eye. death -- the reality of it -- was perhaps something not quite familiar to me (yet, thankfully).

this afternoon, one of the staff shared with us a tribute blog written by *his* friends, as if in a bid to immortalise their memories with *him*. it seems like he had a group of close friends whom he had known since he was in secondary school, and unfortunately it also seems like he had taken his own life. i admit that it is a privilege to have this the closest i have "experienced" to losing someone to death, and it caused me to think.

i do wonder if there was anything we could have done to support him just that bit better. i do wonder if he ever felt internally terrible while still faithfully helping out on thursdays. i do wonder what went on in his mind even in those days he came to help out at our office. i do wonder.

life and death come quickly and go quickly. the latter mostly comes silently, gradually, and then all at once. the temporariness of life. the severity of mental illnesses, the reality of death in our lives.

but for now, i hope *he* is in a better place, and rests, at last perhaps, in much peace.