A Kiss by a Rose on The Grave

“Hello.”

“Hey girlfriend! You hadn’t called me for a while. What’s up?”

“ It’s Ami. She told me about Rose.”

“What about her?”

“Well Rose...she passed away.”

“What?”

****************************************************

Some girl. [link]

Rose was a young and vibrant lady in her 20s. Small, young lady with deep-set but dazzling eyes, and high eyebrows. Her hair was straight and long, but never out of place in the summer heat—such a pretty lady. Lady I say, not teenager of even adolescent. I think her age was 25 during the last time I see her—but she was married.

“Well, I am from a small village in Borneo. Then I met my hubby. And then we got married. And then we moved to Peninsula, ended up in this town. We worked here, and I have my two kids.” She once told me. Yes, if my memory hadn’t failed me, she said she was married when she was no older than 19 maybe 17 or 18, I dare say. And by the time she was 25, she had two kids.

“Wait--not even twenty—and married? Wow that’s young!” I remember making that comment.

She smiled.

Rose quit the job soon after we met; she ended up as a housewife for the kids—sending them off and picking them up from the kindergarten, and sending lunches to her husband every day. Eventually as financial constraint increased, her husband quit this job too, and they all moved near the Causeway so dear hubby can work in Singapore.

Little did we know, two years after that last meetup at her rented house before they moved, was our last meeting. Rose passed away last week, barely four months after the birth of her third child. She passed away in her sleep.

Back then I used to think that she had wasted her youth marrying young. She could’ve collected some money from part-time jobs and go into Community College, pick up a skill or two, get a skilled job—then only marry her boyfriend and have some kids. At least she won’t end up in a tough job as a supervisor—which sometimes she complained it’s too heavy for a female to handle.

“Be like me, 25 is when I think of marriage,” I used to say to friends and family. For that was my principal.

But after her death I began to rethink my principles. What if waiting-waiting-and waiting—and you’ll end up too late? What if waiting for too long would not mean waiting till the time is right? What if waiting would mean losing it forever?

How young is young?

Young is defined by the age you spent and the age you are left with. If you will live to 75, then 25 is just a third of your lifespan—young. But what if you are 25 and your lifespan is 27?

Sometimes what we think of as “too early” is not early at all. Maybe it’s late, way too late.

Young Rose—died not even thirty. she had lived a full life, I think. School, work, fall in love, have kids—all of them she had experienced. Had she waited like me, she may never have it all.

Rest in peace.

Alfatihah [link]