I can't remember why I wrote. Not sure whether it was 'coercion' or something I subconsciously wanted to do.I don't think I ever wrote seriously except for my diaries when I was younger. Oh yessss , and the letters I wrote when I was studying. Days of writing in aerogrammes to friends and long letters during my courting days with Mazeed. Those were the days when going to the post office to mail letters and waiting for the mail from Houston to arrive was something to look forward to. Either than that , I didn't really write. I read. Quite a bit and particularly obssessed with Stephen King. I woke up in the middle of the night in cold sweat as a result of it. So, writing a book was not in my list of things I thought I'd do in my life.
When Marisa became ill I started talking mentally to myself. Everything was a mental note mainly because I felt it safer. I felt too many things and I knew if I said too much I will say things I might regret and theres no taking that back. Damage done. I tried to keep my mouth shut (not successful most of the time). With time I became the straight to the point person who cared for no nonsense and small talk. I became pretty much a blunt person who lived in my thoughts where no one could touch.
When Marisa died. The only person who listened to me all day long died and I was very very lost. I didn't know who else to talk to . I was very cautious about who I spoke to because I din't want anyone to worry about me and , I didn't want to be judged and I didn't want to be breaking down and crying every time I spoke to someone. I appear strong. That's what people tell me anyway. I certainly don't feel so . I realised I needed to express myself so I blogged. Long blogs of how I felt when Marisa died. That was my outlet. I wanted to tell someone but I couldn't bear having someone look at me in the eye when I do so. So, I wrote what I felt.
My mum....My amazing mum told me to write. I have a feeling she quietly wished all her daughters were writers. And stubborn me definitely thought nothing of such idea as there is no way I can't write a book. Especially not about something that will emotionally drain me out. My second sister, Marina already has several cookbooks under her belt and had another book launch coming up. I didn't want to go. I thought "She's had so many already . Malaslah nak pergi." My mum relentlessly called me and pestered me to go. So yes, I went. She's amazing , my sister. I don't know how she can write so many cookbooks. I sat at the back of MPH and listened to another one of her speeches. Unbeknown to me , there was a pitch in session that day as well. My sister and my mum filled up forms for me and stood too close to me for my comfort and told me that I had to do a pitch. I wanted to dash off but knew i could't. Next thing someone was calling out my name . It's the senior editor of MPH. I sat in front of him thinking 'What am I suppose to say?" I'm suppose to pitch in my life with Marisa in 3 minutes. That's not possible!!! And how am I suppose to do that without crying?"
I sat staring at Oon and he started off by saying "I'm sorry for your loss." Ok . He knows. Ina must have told him. I just nodded. Not sure how to respond when I'm under so much pressure. He explained what I had to do and I remember blabbering I don't know what.... He asked "Can you write in Bahasa"? I managed a smile and answered "Not unless you want to sell the book". OMG!!! I was so rude to the editor. He's never going to buy my story now!!! Orrr..... If I'm lucky he didn't hear my comment. He was a straight to the point guy. The type of people who makes my life a whole lot easier....
I have a feeling my mum and sister had this planned and didn't tell me about it as I can be unreasonable and I'll start getting all high pitched that would scare the scariest of witches. It's done. I'll just have to wait and see. I received an email few weeks later indicating their interest in my story. I thought hard and realised that this is a good thing. I hope that my writing will inspire other mum's, I get to do what I love most, that is sharing stories of Marisa and I get to immortalise her with a book. A book all about her. I told myself I had to stop questioning my ability to write and just focus on what I feel. I should write from my heart and everything else will follow through.
She has always loved reading . It's her escape. It's where she fell in love and found hope. It's where she found strength. I know she'd be so so excited if she knew that there's a book about her so me writing would be my gift for her. We always talked about books and reading and how we're transported to another world and life. Another world that makes us forget momentarily of our own problems . An escape.
I was totally lost and absorbed in my world when I wrote the book. World of lost, grief . love and beautiful memories. Not something I wanted to verbally tell anyone but was more than happy to share in it a form of a book. That was how I dealt with it. The manuscript was about 36,000 words. Pretty long. Caring for Marisa is about 13,000. It was edited quite a bit with some too juicy bits left out. I have a copy of it on my shelf. I peruse through it and remember the 18 years of my life with her. I think I ought to do a print of the unedited manuscript for the family. Just for keepsake. Maybe, maybe when I'm gone someone might remember me too. I'd be happy to be remembered as the mum that wrote a book about her daughter who died of brain tumor. Maybe not best seller material but it's a story of my precious life with her.
When Marisa became ill I started talking mentally to myself. Everything was a mental note mainly because I felt it safer. I felt too many things and I knew if I said too much I will say things I might regret and theres no taking that back. Damage done. I tried to keep my mouth shut (not successful most of the time). With time I became the straight to the point person who cared for no nonsense and small talk. I became pretty much a blunt person who lived in my thoughts where no one could touch.
When Marisa died. The only person who listened to me all day long died and I was very very lost. I didn't know who else to talk to . I was very cautious about who I spoke to because I din't want anyone to worry about me and , I didn't want to be judged and I didn't want to be breaking down and crying every time I spoke to someone. I appear strong. That's what people tell me anyway. I certainly don't feel so . I realised I needed to express myself so I blogged. Long blogs of how I felt when Marisa died. That was my outlet. I wanted to tell someone but I couldn't bear having someone look at me in the eye when I do so. So, I wrote what I felt.
My mum....My amazing mum told me to write. I have a feeling she quietly wished all her daughters were writers. And stubborn me definitely thought nothing of such idea as there is no way I can't write a book. Especially not about something that will emotionally drain me out. My second sister, Marina already has several cookbooks under her belt and had another book launch coming up. I didn't want to go. I thought "She's had so many already . Malaslah nak pergi." My mum relentlessly called me and pestered me to go. So yes, I went. She's amazing , my sister. I don't know how she can write so many cookbooks. I sat at the back of MPH and listened to another one of her speeches. Unbeknown to me , there was a pitch in session that day as well. My sister and my mum filled up forms for me and stood too close to me for my comfort and told me that I had to do a pitch. I wanted to dash off but knew i could't. Next thing someone was calling out my name . It's the senior editor of MPH. I sat in front of him thinking 'What am I suppose to say?" I'm suppose to pitch in my life with Marisa in 3 minutes. That's not possible!!! And how am I suppose to do that without crying?"
I sat staring at Oon and he started off by saying "I'm sorry for your loss." Ok . He knows. Ina must have told him. I just nodded. Not sure how to respond when I'm under so much pressure. He explained what I had to do and I remember blabbering I don't know what.... He asked "Can you write in Bahasa"? I managed a smile and answered "Not unless you want to sell the book". OMG!!! I was so rude to the editor. He's never going to buy my story now!!! Orrr..... If I'm lucky he didn't hear my comment. He was a straight to the point guy. The type of people who makes my life a whole lot easier....
I have a feeling my mum and sister had this planned and didn't tell me about it as I can be unreasonable and I'll start getting all high pitched that would scare the scariest of witches. It's done. I'll just have to wait and see. I received an email few weeks later indicating their interest in my story. I thought hard and realised that this is a good thing. I hope that my writing will inspire other mum's, I get to do what I love most, that is sharing stories of Marisa and I get to immortalise her with a book. A book all about her. I told myself I had to stop questioning my ability to write and just focus on what I feel. I should write from my heart and everything else will follow through.
She has always loved reading . It's her escape. It's where she fell in love and found hope. It's where she found strength. I know she'd be so so excited if she knew that there's a book about her so me writing would be my gift for her. We always talked about books and reading and how we're transported to another world and life. Another world that makes us forget momentarily of our own problems . An escape.
I was totally lost and absorbed in my world when I wrote the book. World of lost, grief . love and beautiful memories. Not something I wanted to verbally tell anyone but was more than happy to share in it a form of a book. That was how I dealt with it. The manuscript was about 36,000 words. Pretty long. Caring for Marisa is about 13,000. It was edited quite a bit with some too juicy bits left out. I have a copy of it on my shelf. I peruse through it and remember the 18 years of my life with her. I think I ought to do a print of the unedited manuscript for the family. Just for keepsake. Maybe, maybe when I'm gone someone might remember me too. I'd be happy to be remembered as the mum that wrote a book about her daughter who died of brain tumor. Maybe not best seller material but it's a story of my precious life with her.