Yellow.
- A colour I'd never liked. Since I was a little girl, I had never particularly liked yellow. Blue, purple, pink, orange, green, black even- were all at some point my favourite colours... but yellow, never. It was the striking colour of pedestrain crossings, the gaudy colour of street signs, the only colour with a dirty rhyme (remember yellow, yellow, dirty fellow?), and the colour I always soiled in my crayon box first. It was important to me only because it was the colour of so many important things, and its brightness made the colours I loved stand out. But I never liked it particularly for itself.
When I became ill with Anorexia, I hated it even more. It was the colour of my sickly skin, so much so I had to stop wearing yellows because it made me look jaundiced and even more pale and sickly than I already was.
Yellow. A colour I'd never liked.
I will always remember that day. I was about to leave the grey, dreary ward of the hospital when they caught my eye. They were incandescent, glowing, the only sign of growth and life, breathing and stretching free in a grey-curtained ward of terminally-ill patients dying from various types of cancers- that is, fresh, yellow tulips, placed in a crystal vase.
Just behind them, was a face. I will never forget that face. Gaunt, sallow and tired, but with the two brightest eyes and most peaceful smile I had ever seen. In that grey and dreary ward, that face put even the yellowest and warmest tulips to shame. That face stopped me dead in my tracks. I went up to her to whom it belonged, smiled and said, "What beautiful yellow tulips you have! They light up the entire place." I grinned cheekily, and put my arms around her, oblivious to where I was. There was something so special about that face that made me go up to her, even though I was late for returning home.
It was my first month at the hospital, and I didn't know I was in the oncology ward. "What are you here for?" I asked rather chirpily, my arm still around her shoulder. Seeing how there were thin oxygen tubes coming from her nostrils, I was expecting a sombre reply. But nothing prepared me for her answer, and her paper-thin, hoarse voice, " I have terminal cancer... which has metastasized to my lungs... my bones.... my thyroid... my kidneys... my stomach... and my blood... Everywhere." She could hardly speak.
Her name was Aunty May*. A theology professor of a bible institute, whose husband passed away two years ago from cancer, too, but whose death touched the lives of many because of how much he loved and served God and loved people till his dying day.
"I'm a missionary," she said. "My husband and I... we both were."
Tears welled up in my eyes immediately. We prayed for each other- I, for her strength and faith and comfort, and she- for my calling to missions and medicine.
Day after day, I visited Aunty May. As her yellow tulips began to die, she too began to wither. The next day, she had an oxygen mask and could not speak. As the days went by, I saw her colour fade as her tulips did, and her stream of visitors increase. They stayed by for longer periods each time. I no longer stayed to chat with Aunty May, only staying long enough to smile at her, and to give her a card, a drawing, or a note. I gave her a copy of Kitesong, with my contact number and email address attached. You inspire me, Aunty May, I wrote in it, Thank you for being such an inspiration to me.
Twice, I met her visitors who recognised me in the hospital canteen- " Are you Wai Jia? May showed me the book you gave her- I'm amazed by how much you both encourage each other, by how God brought the two of you together."
It was Aunty May's smile which inspired me, her glowing, radiant smile which put even the yellowest tulips to shame.
She gave her entire life to loving and serving people, loving and serving God. Yet, in dying such an excruciatingly painful and slow death, she had not a hint of resentment or sorrow in her. She could have had so many questions- Why me, God? How could you, God? How can this be fair?
But she would have none of it. She made a choice to love and serve people, and to love and serve God.
Do we choose to actively make that choice too? Or do we doubt and box God at the slightest woe which comes our way.
"How do you do it, Aunty May? How are you so at peace... so joyful even in this time? Do you see, this whole place is lit up because of you."
" Because... " she whispered slowly and emphatically, "I know... that I'm at the centre of God's will... Come dear... read me a piece of scripture from the bible before you go. Read a portion from the book of Isaiah please... "
She smiled again.
Her yellow tulips died over the weekend. Fresh lilac-coloured flowers were put in their place, but their colour was weak, washed-out. A few days later, she asked if I would help her throw them out when they started to wilt. I did. And then, I never saw her again. She was transferred to a hospice.
I was in Sichuan when I received an email:
"Hi Wai Jia,
I have been trying to call you on the handphone but to no avail.
My god-ma, whom you address as Aunty May has gone home to be with the Lord last week.
She has shared with me about you in those last weeks and showed me your book & notes.
Thank you for being a blessing to her.
I attach her obituary.
Shalom
E
God-daughter"
I will never forget those days with Aunty May. I will never forget that smile in that grey-curtained ward, fighting through an oxygen mask and a barely audible voice, putting even the yellowest, warmest, star-spangled tulips to shame. I will never forget what made me stop in the first place- those bright yellow sun-filled tulips.
Yellow, in a grey-curtained ward. The colour of stars, and sunshine, and butter and custard and lemons and happy things.
Yellow. The colour of pedestrian crossings and signposts and dirty crayons, but also the colour of happiness, of forgiveness and of triumph.
Yellow, the colour of egg a friend packed into breakfast made specially for me, to surprise me on a 7 o'clock early working morning, just days after Disappointing news. Yellow, the colour of the apple-shaped ear-rings a friend gave me last week. Yellow, the colour I can now wear because my skin is healthy, now.
Yellow is the colour of the Lance Armstrong Foundation, the foundation I may choose to raise funds for on the next race I train for, the colour of perserverence and victory over Armstrong's fight against testicular cancer.
Yellow is the colour I use to highlight my favourite bible verses, which light my path in my darkest of times.
Yellow is the name of one of my favourite songs, whose tune my dear friends wrote and sang a song for me to on my 21st birthday.
Yellow is the colour of Aunty May's tulips.
Yellow is the colour of joy and triumph.
Yellow is the colour of sun and stars.
Yellow is the colour which made me stop for you and that beautiful smile on your face.
Yellow.
Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
They were all yellow.
-Yellow,
by Coldplay
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