The Stormlight Archive, Smartphones, and Rediscovering My Love of Reading

One of my resolutions this year is to read more books.

I was originally going to call this rediscovering my love of fantasy. But that didn’t really fit. I never stopped loving fantasy, all the magic and adventure and exploring new worlds. Likewise, I’ve never stopped reading per se. Looking up the news, reviews and random scrolling has taken up an unfortunate part of my days. It’s left me feeling frazzled and with a poorer memory than ever. I know I wasn’t this bad at remembering things when I was younger. That’s got to be at least partly because I’m so often distracted, unable to focus. 

Technology has changed our lives for the better. But it’s also had myriad side-effects that leave our brains struggling to cope. I don’t like what the constant stream of information has done to me, even as I actively seek it out. Because I want the novelty. It distracts me from things I don’t want to think about. This year, I want to start focusing again.

Today I’m talking about long stories.

Growing up I devoured books. Reading was one of my favourite things to do, pretty much. My childhood was filled with evergreen series like The Chronicles of Narnia and Harry Potter. I adored The Wheel of Time. After reading The Eye of the World at eleven, I spent the next ten years collecting the entire series. (Even New Spring, which wasn’t much of a prequel.) The Sword of Truth was also a favourite during my teens, though those books didn’t age so well. (I only just found out that Terry Goodkind passed away last September, RIP. Another casualty of 2020.) Guy Gavriel Kay was a late discovery; his poetic prose and history-inspired settings were a breath of fresh air. And though The Lord of the Rings threw me at first with its older writing style, I came to love the epic that started it all.

Epic fantasy made me want to be an author. I wanted to write books too! To create fantasy worlds for readers to get lost in. As I got older, though, my tastes began to shift. I branched out into other genres. Popular science, self-help, autobiographies. Traditional classics like Dickens, in all their verbosity. And technology sped up at the same time. I soon had my very own portable communicator in my pocket and could look up whatever information I wanted, whenever I wanted.

Smartphones are a great idea in theory. In practice, I’ve often struggled to put mine down.

Over the years, I started spending more and more time on the internet. You know what I’m talking about. Social media, random browsing, and a shifting cluster of blogs and gaming websites. The amount of time I spent on actual books decreased remarkably. I’ve quit social media in the past, then came back to it over time to keep in touch with people. Was that the right choice? Online communities have been both a bane and boon in my life. I do need to limit it, at any rate.

Anyway. One of the few book series I’ve kept up with is The Stormlight Archive. Written by Brandon Sanderson, the hotshot fantasy author who finished The Wheel of Time after Robert Jordan’s tragic passing, Stormlight is a fascinating epic in its own right. Set in a world wracked by massive hurricanes called highstorms where entire ecosystems have evolved to cope, he spins an ongoing tale of cyclical apocalypses called Desolations and the ancient order known as the Knights Radiant, reviled and long forgotten, who must return to save mankind.

The fourth volume, Rhythm of War, came out late last year. That meant it was high time to reread the first three. (I’m on the third now.) These are big books, people. Rhythm of War has 1,232 pages. It’s downright intimidating how prolific Brandon Sanderson is. And reading them again, I’m reminded of how compelling these stories are.

What really spoke to me about Stormlight was how the main characters are broken, scarred by haunting life experiences which become the foundation for the heroes they must become. When Kaladin feels that on some days everything turns bleak and the light goes out of the world. Where Shallan knows that underneath her intricate illusions of adulthood, the real her is the traumatized little girl she once was. How Dalinar struggles to grow beyond the terrible man he was for much of his life. I felt these things; I could relate. And I’m guessing a lot of other readers felt the same.

Because I’ve often had bouts of bleakness and depression too. There are parts of my past that I don’t talk about either. All too often, I feel torn between my impulses and the person I could be. And following these characters as they face their pasts and their own innate flaws and finally make better choices…it’s one of the most inspiring things I can think of.

This is the power of a good book, and a good story. It makes you want to do better. To be better. To put in the work instead of letting yourself be torn in a million different directions.

Because this isn’t the person I want to be. Always distracted, oblivious and inconsistent. To a certain extent that is me, simply because I’m the kind of person who spends a lot of time in their own head. It’s why I grew up loving books in the first place. But it’s also about the environment I’ve cultivated for myself. It’s about getting off the internet and spending more time reading, and learning, and doing things with intentionality. Not just pulling out my phone and drowning in memes for an hour. Is it any wonder we’re distracted if we’re always seeking out distractions on purpose?

And yet the issue isn’t black and white. Because you know where I read the first book in the series, The Way of Kings? On my phone, as an e-book. It was bloody convenient too. Just as technology has evolved, my reading habits have as well. I still like the feel of a good book, the weight and heft and not having to press a power button. I fully intend to buy Rhythm of War as a paperback. (Maybe a hardback, even.) But the sheer portability of our devices cannot be understated. Back in 2018 while me and my mom were in hospital for her chemo, I read some other Sanderson books, the Mistborn trilogy, by buying them online, downloading them onto my phone, and reading that way. All without ever leaving the hospital ward.

Likewise, there are great websites full of insightful content out there. Mark Manson’s body of work, for one. I haven’t mentioned him yet this year, have I? Wait But Why is another. And I recently started taking free online courses on Coursera. There’s so much knowledge out there for the taking.

Our devices are not inherently good or bad, and neither is the internet. It’s all about how we use them. I love my phone for the connectivity and convenience; I hate it for eroding my attention and sucking up my time like a fire hose in reverse.

Modern technology is amazing. We’ve come so far, made so much progress. Yet the Digital Age has also flooded us with all sorts of useless information: mental junk food. And it’s always available, 24/7. In a world of endless novelty, which are you going to choose? That one, five-hundred-page in-depth novel? Or fifty clickbait web articles and fluffed-up news stories? This year, are you going to start focusing again?

If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to reading Oathbringer.

 

Good Morning, 2021

 

I’m actually writing this past noon, but screw it. We’re all up late on New Year’s Day.

I’ll keep this short because honestly, I don’t have much to say. 2020 was a terrible year for the world at large. It wasn’t the best in my tiny little portion of existence either.

On one hand, I was lucky in that the pandemic didn’t affect me as much as other people. My job was deemed essential and I spent the lockdowns going to work as usual. We were even able to go on vacation not long before Malaysia shut down back in March, and I took a second, shorter trip later in the year. It was my first time taking a flight by myself. That’s progress. Looking forward to traveling more in the future.

On the other hand, 2020 was the year my mom passed away. Kind of a big deal, to make the understatement of the century. Life changes when a loved one’s ends. I’m glad we were able to spend the lockdown in the first half of the year together, the last few months she had left. Looking back, I’m so, so thankful that she pulled through her emergency surgery and chemotherapy back in 2017. Those last few years were all the more precious for it. At least we still had time to be together. We still had time. Not everyone can say the same.

And now here I am, on the verge of turning thirty. It’s a strange feeling. I’m nearly the same age my parents were when they got married. Am I ready to be a husband? To be a father? Time to start thinking about these things, you know.

The vaccines are out, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. As long as we’re alive, there’s hope for a better tomorrow. More importantly, it’s up to us to make a better today. Time to set goals and pursue them, to stay the course and put in the work. And to have fun too, goddammit. Life is too short not to. More posts about books and video games and life lessons coming soon. And I should really, finally finish writing Wraithblade.

Happy New Year, everyone! Let’s make 2021 our best year yet.

Hades Review - Prince of the Underworld

I’m going to say this front and centre: Hades is incredible. This is, hands down, one of the best games of the year. It’s polished in just about every way you can think of.

You are Zagreus, rebellious son of Hades, who is fed up with the grim drudgery of his father’s domain. Armed with your trusty Stygian Blade, you resolve to escape and reach the world of the living. The gods of Olympus send help in the form of godly powers which add to your destructive prowess. You hack and slash your way through your father’s demonic hordes, until finally one loathsome foe ends your miserable life. Your body sinks into a pool of blood…

But you’re a god too, remember?

You rise from a crimson pool within the House of Hades. Shades linger nervously along the hall. The cheery Hypnos, God of Sleep, comments on your death. The giant three-headed hound, Cerberus, lounges on guard duty, always willing to be petted. And at his massive desk, Hades himself looks up from his infernal parchment-work and sneers at your foolish attempt to escape. Welcome home, boy.

No matter. The maternal Nyx, Goddess of Night, encourages you in your next attempt. Your stalwart mentor, the hero Achilles (deceased), tells you to believe in your training. Feeling just a little stronger, a little wiser, you steel your resolve and begin your escape once again through the shifting walls of Tartarus.

THERE IS NO ESCAPE

Hades is a roguelike, a genre of video game I had absolutely no interest in before. Roguelikes are characterized by randomly generated levels and the spectre of permadeath. You fight your way as far as you can, die, and then start all over again from the beginning. Fun, right? But the thing is, in Hades that is fun. It’s incredibly fun. Hades is so well-made that it raises the bar up to Mount Olympus itself.

Again, the core premise of roguelikes is the randomness: no two runs are ever alike. The vast chambers of the underworld are always realigning themselves against you. But the core gameplay loop is the same. You start out with a sword and soon unlock other weapons such as a shield, a spear, and more. These play very differently, but you always have a basic attack, a stronger special move, a dash to escape or flank your foes, and a limited ranged attack called a Cast. Destroy all enemies within a room and you earn a reward. The doors unlock; you can then see what rewards will come next and must choose between them.

Chthonic keys unlock new weapons; gemstones are used to purchase decorations and work orders from the House Contractor which alter the underworld itself. Nectar can be gifted to your friends to improve your relationships, and Darkness unlocks passive abilities via the Mirror of Night that hangs in your bedroom, courtesy of Nyx. And then there are boons from your extended family on Olympus.

The Olympians’ powers fall into distinct classes that augment your moveset. Zeus in his munificence grants you lightning effects; Poseidon governs tidal impacts which slam enemies away from you; Athena’s boons revolve around shields and deflection. And so on. You’ll be given a choice of three boons each time you meet a god or goddess but can never predict exactly which will be on offer. Gain the right combination of powers, though, and you may even be granted a Duo boon, in which two Olympians combine their might to give you something extra special.

Apart from all that, there could also be gold to buy items from Charon, the skeletal ferryman of souls who moonlights as a merchant; Poms of Power to power up a single boon; centaur hearts to increase your health. Rarest of all is the Daedalus Hammer, which alters your weapon itself. Always pick the Hammer! The abilities it grants are literally game-changing and will make multiple playthroughs with the same weapon quite different indeed. 

And that still isn’t all there is to ransacking the underworld.

Since I’m playing on Switch Lite, my only experience with performance is in handheld mode. I’ve had minor incidents of slowdown during massive battles with enemies and projectiles flying all over the place, particularly against the witches in later stages. Also some occasional lag when switching weapons. Otherwise, the combat is as smooth as can be.

All in all, the excitement of fighting your way out of the depths of hell to earn new powers and abilities never gets old. The constant desire to see what the next chamber will offer is a powerful hook. You’re always wondering whether this is the build that will take you all the way to victory.

Even if you die, you won’t mind that much. Returning to the House of Hades lets you spend your ill-gotten gains, trade insults with your dad, and talk to your friends. Because dying leads to the other half of Hades’ brilliant equation: the story.

ALL THE UNDERWORLD’S A STAGE

Hades is not the kind of game you expect to have a deep focus on plot, characterization, and witty dialogue. Fully voiced, no less! And yet it does.

Every time you return home, the characters have new things to say, new threads of plot to unfurl. It’s these snippets of story that soften the blow of dying again and winding up right back where you started. Because home won’t be the same. You’ll see new interactions between characters. Gift someone with Nectar and your bond with them grows, often leading to new subplots further down the line. New faces will turn up as the story goes on. They won’t always be there when you return either. Characters come and go, reinforcing the sense that they have their own lives (or afterlives). They aren’t just hanging around for your benefit.

The same applies for everyone you meet while trekking through the diverse regions of the underworld. The Olympians will comment on your choice of weapon, the other gods you've met, the farthest you’ve gone, and more. It’s almost frightening, the number of things the game is keeping track of. I once lost to the final boss by a sliver of health; back home, Zagreus complained to Nyx that he’d been so close! Exactly what I was thinking. 

And there's just so much dialogue. It took me over twenty escape attempts before I ever heard someone repeat themselves. Even that was a generic line of filler. The actual narrative does not repeat; there's always something new. Apparently, the game has more spoken dialogue than the entire text of The Fellowship of the Ring. Which is a lot.

It helps that the characters have such distinct personalities. Despite his rebelliousness, Zagreus is courteous and concerned with his friends and family’s welfare. He also has some biting sarcasm and isn’t afraid to use it. Hades is full of bitterness, rage, and an iron sense of purpose, reminiscent of Kratos from God of War. Nyx is ethereal, an immensely powerful goddess in her own right. Achilles is a patient mentor, a former hero now past his prime. Skelly is a sentient skeleton who makes wisecracks in a Brooklyn accent, because why not?

The Olympians are similarly unique. Aphrodite is seductive, flirtatious, and quick to jealousy; Artemis is an introverted huntress who keeps her own company; Ares is a charming psychopath who delights in all the blood you’re shedding. Et cetera. The developers also made it a point to be inclusive in their character designs. Many are dark-skinned or Asian, not just the usual Caucasian stereotypes. It’s a refreshing take on Greek mythology. Their explanation makes sense too. If the gods rule over all the world, why should they only resemble the Greeks?

Oh, and it doesn’t hurt that they’re all hot as hell (pun totally intended).

There’s even a God Mode for more casual players. Not an easy mode per se, but one which lets you take increasingly less damage with every run, in case you’re getting frustrated with all the dying and just want to chat up the denizens of the underworld some more. It’s a testament to the developers’ dedication towards telling a good story.

AS LONG AS IT TAKES 

Supergiant Games is, I confess, not a developer I’d ever paid attention to. Oh, I’d heard good things about Bastion, but never picked it up. Hades makes them stand out on the map, most assuredly so. In this newest offering, they’ve created a masterpiece: the gorgeous level design, vast array of powers and weapons, and endlessly addictive combat. And of course, the quality of the writing.

At heart, Hades is a family drama. This is a story about people who’ve had an eternity to nurse old wounds; a tale of broken relationships and the struggle to heal and move forwards. Zagreus has heartfelt reasons for wanting to reach the surface. Hades’ anger and frustration with his unruly offspring belie deeper emotions. The dynamics between father, son, and the rest of their fractured family are far more complex than meets the eye. Amidst his unceasing battle to break free against impossible odds, Zagreus finds himself and his relationships with others forever changed along the way.

Really, I’m still coming up with good things to say here. From the nuanced storytelling to the epic gameplay to the insane replayability, this is one of the best games I’ve ever played. Hades absolutely deserves the nomination for Game of the Year. It’s got my vote. 

Played on Nintendo Switch Lite for over sixty hours and counting. Saw the credits roll after fifty-nine escape attempts. Favourite weapons: The Stygian Blade, the Heart-Seeking Bow, and the Eternal Spear.

Bella

The funny thing is that I was a cat person growing up.

Really. When I was seven, we had a black and white cat named Casper who roamed around our little apartment and the New Hampshire forest nearby. Then here in Sabah, a mother cat chose our house to smuggle her kittens into barely a week or two after our arrival. The dynasty was born. We must have had twenty cats over the years, an entire swarm of kittens at one point that would stampede when called. I liked cats, and still do. I only tolerated dogs.

All this to say that out of the many, many events of 2020, I did not expect to fall in love with a puppy.

This was Bella when we first got her. We had no idea what her breed was. Some strain of terrier? Collie? Obviously mixed, anyway. From the day my aunty brought her home in May, a tiny white bundle of fur, she grew on me.

We tried leaving her by herself at night, but she barked and whined the house down. So I took her up to my bedroom where she’d have some company. Maybe so that I would too. She’d flop on the wooden floor under the fan and go to sleep, safe and content.

She was horribly messy, as puppies always are. Poop and puddles everywhere. Eventually, we trained her to use mats near the bathroom. So much energy, this dog. Always running around the house. She was wary of the staircase at first, but soon learned to bound up and down with ease. When I left for work she’d jump up to the window to watch me leave; when I got back she’d hear the car and hop onto the couch to see me come in, her fluffy tail wagging like crazy. She loved to play and bit as many things as a teething puppy could. The house was livelier.

And then my mom passed away, and we just didn’t have time for a puppy. A wonderful family friend took Bella in for the next two months. We grieved and adjusted. Life went on.

Last month we bought Bella a shiny new cage and went to pick her up. She’d gotten longer, stockier. She’d made new doggy friends where she was staying. But her tail still wagged like crazy seeing us.

Now that she was bigger, I took her on long walks in the evenings. We visited my mom’s grave. She would stop and sniff the grass along the way, and happily roll around in the dirt. She was a little too popular with all the neighbouring dogs, most of them larger. I’d gather her up in my arms until we were somewhere safer. She was ever willing to be carried, and always happy to run off again when set down.

Until one day last week when she stopped eating. The next morning, she was vomiting and lying forlornly at the back of her cage. We brought her to the vet and learned about an illness called parvo, dubbed the puppy killer.

Highly contagious, it spreads from other dogs or their faeces and can be fatal for dogs under one year old. There is no cure. Treatment is limited to managing symptoms so that the dog can pull through on their own. Prevention is the best policy; the virus is covered in the normal vaccine cocktail that puppies are supposed to receive. Bella was only ten months old, and with my mom’s cancer growing worse, her passing, and the aftermath, we forgot all about vaccination.

Last week, Bella tested positive for the parvovirus. Suddenly she was fighting for her life.

Life is so fragile, isn’t it? Someone or something comes into our lives that we never expected and come to care for very much. But you never know when they’ll be taken from you. In this year of loss and grim prospects amid the pandemic, it seems more important than ever to remember that there’s a last time for everything. The last appointment my mom and me went for at the Oncology department before she was referred to Palliative. The last time she was able to walk down the stairs. The last birthday of hers we celebrated, a few days early, the night before she died.

Sometimes all the signs are there. You can see it coming. And other times death comes out of nowhere, reminding us of how fleeting our existence is.

Death doesn’t always come to take life away, though. My mom pulled through her emergency operation back in 2017, even with the complications that put her in the ICU. She did very well with the chemo that followed. We had another three years together after the cancer diagnosis. I’ll always be grateful for that.

Sometimes death only brushes our loved ones, reminding us not to take them for granted.

Thankfully, Bella’s illness was one of those times.

It took a few nights’ stay at the veterinary clinic, where she was put on a drip and antibiotics and liquid food. She grew noticeably thinner. But after a few days, she got her appetite back. We were able to take her home. With the virus defeated, all her boisterous energy returned. We'll get her vaccinated soon. She’s back to barking the house down and running around and wagging her fluffy white tail like crazy when I get back from work.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Love a Little Further Down the Line

 Where do I begin?

It’s been a while since I did this. A few years have passed. I’m older now, and wiser too, I hope. But maybe I’m just more experienced, which isn’t always the same thing.

Today I’m talking about relationships.

Right, so. The last time I delved into this subject it was, by and large, from the perspective of a newbie. Now that I’ve known the person that I’m with for quite a while – five years and counting! – the vibe feels different.

Disney classics, romance novels, rom-coms. They all tend to focus on the same story: the early days. The passion, the tension, the highs and lows of a budding relationship. The emotions, baby. It’s something I was less aware of before, being caught up in them myself. But now it stands out like a sore thumb. In many ways, my relationship isn’t like that anymore. We’ve passed that stage. Now we’ve entered the phase of the familiar.

By which I mean: sometimes we really get on each other’s nerves.

There’s an innate novelty and joy in discovering another person. Learning about their likes and dislikes, their hopes and dreams, issues and anxieties. And after a while, you become used to each other. The passion fades. The bickering grows. You start wondering whether love can last.

It can, obviously. The catch is that love changes. We tend to associate love with the heady days of the honeymoon phase. But I’m starting to see that real love, the kind that lasts, is intentional.

Because sometimes you’re going to ask yourself: is this what love is supposed to feel like? Frustration with all the little quirks you once found endearing? Wondering why something that’s so easy for you is so hard for them, and vice versa? Saying stupid things in the heat of an argument and regretting them afterwards? Are you supposed to keep holding on to something that hurts?

In short, yes. Sometimes love is going to hurt.

And how you deal with that will make or break the relationship. Are you going to work on understanding each other’s differences? Admit that you were wrong and resolve to do better? Accept that there’s bound to be friction sometimes and a little conflict is healthy? Are you going to stick around when the going gets tough?

Or are you going to walk away?

Because that’s a valid option too.

Well, it is. My parents got divorced when I was six. Some of my earliest memories are of the two of them fighting. I’d be lying if I said that hasn’t influenced my outlook on life. If all your fights devolve into screaming matches; if talking to them feels like running into a brick wall; if your partner is gaslighting you, controlling you, being physically or emotionally abusive. These are all reasons to get the hell out.

But it could also be that you’ve outgrown each other. All relationships begin at a certain point in our lives and progress from there. If you’re lucky, the person you fall in love with will be someone you can build a future with. But if not – If the two of you are heading in different directions mentally, spiritually, or you know, geographically – it could be that holding on is worse than letting go.

Whichever path you take, there are consequences. This is what love comes down to, in the end: a choice.

We can’t have it all. Every decision means not doing something else. Or someone else. That’s what commitment is. You are choosing this person, the love of your life, your partner in crime, the future parent of your children, above all others. All I can say is to make sure you’re making the choice that’s right for you. Not anyone else. Not even your partner. If you genuinely want to be with this person, that’s great! If not, go do them a favour and leave.

Because life is really, really short. Next year I’ll be the same age my mom was when she got married. That’s crazy to me. If I live as long as she did, that means that nearly half my life is over. If I live until ninety, I’ve got another two-thirds. Or who knows, I could be hit by a bus next Tuesday.

However long we have on this earth, we have to make our own choices. Will the rest of our lives be worth living if we don’t?

So I guess this is a call to commitment. To your significant other, and to your future self, the person you’ll be a little further down the line. Invest in what you want to last. Put in the work to sustain the relationship. Love your partner by being a better partner.

As they say, actions speak louder than words. It’s not enough to say you love them. You’ve got to show them, too.

In Living Memory

 

It was a simple scrap of paper.

We were in her bedroom. I was looking through bags that hadn’t been touched in ages, pulling out odds and ends. She was still well enough to sit in the armchair and watch me through shallow breaths. Her lungs had been filling up with fluid since April, maybe March.

She’d saved all sorts of things over the years. Notebooks, old clothes, newspaper clippings. And this one little scene I’d scribbled in a notepad so long ago, doubtless in a moment of inspiration. I’d forgotten all about it, hadn’t thought of that character in years. But she’d kept it.

Bemused, I showed it to her. She looked back at me steadily.

“You don’t write anymore,” she said.

I didn’t know what to say.

I had written, you understand. A few blog posts here and there, long paragraphs in online forums. Thoughts about the pandemic, about civil unrest, about a game I’d been playing and the feelings it evoked. But I’d also been busy with work and personal problems and managing my own emotions. This year I no longer wrote most nights, not even for weeks at a time. I hadn't opened my fantasy novel in months. The lockdown, my birthday, Mother’s Day. Calendar pages racing by, counting down the time we had left.

She passed away six days later.

***

It’s been nearly two months now since my mom died. We’ve passed the forty-day mark, returning to our normal routines. We’ve begun to move on. This slow forgetting, it bothers me. I don’t want to leave her in the past. And yet I must. The past isn’t meant to be lived in.

My mom used to tell me about my ancestors. Our Kadazan heritage with some Chinese blood mixed in, and my father’s biological mother back in the US; she compiled part of my grandfather’s memoirs from World War II. I was never interested when I was younger. It was all so far in the past, after all. But now that she’s gone, it hits me that this is how my children (when I have them) will know her: through the stories I tell them. They won’t have anything else.

That phrase, in living memory. Now I understand how much it means. At what point is someone gone forever? When everyone who ever knew them is gone too?

You could say that death is the greatest motivator of all. What is the building of a legacy if not the desire to leave something behind? Is it because we know how little anything lasts? We live our fragile lives and then it’s over. The people that we were, the memories that we cherished. All those joys and loved ones and struggles and sorrows. It hits me now, so horribly real: this is what will happen to my mother. And to me someday. It will happen to you too. We will all be forgotten.

It’s funny. Until this point in my life, the present was always better than what came before. I rarely looked back and longed for the good old days. Now I do.

I want so desperately for her life to mean something.

***

I went to a local performing arts event the other day. It was inspiring, all the different performances and the raw emotions on display. Something else that spoke to me, though, was advice to the performers from an audience member afterward. A long-time participant in the local arts scene himself, he had this to say: don’t stop. Someday you’ll get to a point where you’re tired and wonder why you’re doing this. You’ll feel like you need a break from it all. And the people who walk away, sometimes they don’t come back.  

I felt that in my soul.

Sometimes I get tired, depressed, unmotivated. I feel like nothing I do makes a difference. But she was a writer herself. She wouldn’t have wanted me to stop. Not when there are experiences to share and stories to be told.

Perhaps this, then, is her legacy. Here I am, still trying to shape my thoughts and feelings into a form that others can understand. I’ve always wanted to inspire, to share what little wisdom I can. To talk about the things that matter.

I still remember walking down the road to the town library with my mom as a little boy, under autumn leaves and a New England sky; and all the other libraries since. All the years we went for lunch at a pizza place that shut down back in March due to the pandemic. Fitting enough that I’ll never go back. That time we waded in the ocean and watched the sun set over the islands. Going to the movies, walking through the forest, flying halfway around the world and back. All the travels and adventures and memories, happy and poignant and bittersweet.

All the ways I can try to put my love for her into words.

Mom's Eulogy

Dedicated to my mother, Clare Fiona Maluda, who passed away on August 10th, 2020 at 2:16pm. I read this at her funeral.

Good morning everyone, thank you all for coming. I'd like to begin with a verse from the First Epistle of Peter. 

'Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God's sight.' 

1 Peter 3:3-4 

My mother was a gentle and quiet spirit. She touched the world in many different ways. And she made her own choices in life, right until the end. 

Education mattered to her. Growing up, she was an excellent student. Her passion for learning led her to study all the way on the other side of the world in Massachusetts, where she graduated with a Master of Arts in Teaching. My mother always remembered her time there fondly. She loved the United States. I wouldn't be here otherwise. 

She was also the one who gave me my love of reading. Some of my fondest memories are of going to the library together, from New Hampshire back when I was a little boy to here in Sabah today. We’d borrow new books and go out for pizza and ice cream together. Looking back, it’s these little things that stand out the most. I’m glad that we made so many treasured memories. 

My mom also loved nature. She enjoyed gardening and being outdoors, and could grow anything under the sun. When I was young we went hiking and took long walks in the forest. We had our fair share of adventures. 

She would always encourage me with my writing, even though we had different interests. As a writer herself, she inspired me with the beauty of the written word. 

To her family, she was a daughter, sister, aunty, granddaughter, grandaunty, cousin, and niece. To others, she was a colleague and a friend. Kind and generous to a fault, she would never fail to put others first. She was a light in all of our lives. 

And to me, she was my mother. I love her more than words can say. She will be dearly missed. 

Thank you.