Wave by Sonali Deraniyagala

Sonali lost her family (her husband, two young boys and her parents) to the tsunami which struck on 26 Dec 2004 at Yala, southern Sri Lanka. They were about to leave the holiday resort when the wave came. Sonali wrote about her struggle to come to terms with the death. She numbed herself with alcohol and sleeping pills. She cursed at everyone and everything. She pleaded to die with her family. She avoided facing the reality that her loved ones were dead, all of a sudden. At the same time, she kept going back to her beautiful past life - recalling what her family did, said, went, ate etc. Imagining how and what her family would do, say etc. She could hardly bear to hear the names of her children's friends or to see them. She was afraid of being reminded of how her boys would be. She felt ashamed and began to lie to friends or acquaintances who did not know the truth. She blamed herself for causing the death, for abandoning her children, for not being able to protect them.

Sonali only returned to her vacant family home in London 3years and 8months after the wave. For five years after the wave, she tried to block out her memories lest she became inconsolable. Gradually, Sonali began to accept - 'maybe it is not so overwhelming after all, to dissolve the divide between now and then'. But at the same time, it was making her mad with wanting her family. And she allowed herself to do so. Yearning more freely gave her relief. When she tried to tame the ache for her family, it didn’t ease her pain. By knowing her family again, by gathering threads of her life, she was much less fractured. She was also less confused. She found that she can recover herself better when she dared to let in the light of her family. She began to see her boy's friends, to visit places her family used to go. On days of significant importance or memory, like birthdays, anniversary of the wave, she preferred to be alone. Alone to be close to her family. She constantly tripped up between life now and then, even seven years on. But she discovered these memories have doubled in strength now, not faded with time. And she was sustained by it, it gave her spark. Keeping the thoughts and memory of her family near, she can recover herself. Distancing, she was fractured. But of course, at times it also shifted her equilibrium.

Being in a foreign place (New York) gave Sonali the distance from which she could reach for her family - without the fear of always colliding with the too familiar.  However, she also realized she was split off from herself when she don’t reveal.  It felt like a cover-up, her life in New York, though she needed it. She came to realize she can only stay steady when she admits the reality of her family, and herself.  When she held back the truth, she was cut loose, adrift, hazy about her identity.

My thoughts: Thanks Sonali for her open and honest sharing. It helps me understand more the pain of losing loved ones, all out of a sudden. May God bless Sonali abundantly.

Grieving is necessary. Give it time and space. Time heals. Forgive, not forget. Human being could not erase memories. Suppressing/avoiding it does not help either.  Accept the reality, embrace the memories and live on courageously.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

The author, Khaled Hosseini was born in Kabul and now lives in US. In this book, he wrote about life of two ordinary women in Afghanistan from 1960s to 2003.
 
Mariam was born out of wedlock. She was forced into a marriage with an abusive widower who was almost 30yrs her senior and had to move from her hometown in Herat to Kabul.
 
Laila, daughter of Mariam's neighbor was a bright and educated girl. During the 1990s civil war, Laila lost her parents and was heavily injured herself.  Laila was saved by Mariam's husband, who later made Laila his wife (Why can’t he adopt Laila as his daughter!!).
 
After reading the book, I start to appreciate the human side of the Afghanistan people – they love their family, friends and country. They enjoy music and arts. They have dreams and aspirations.  Behind the burqa wore by Afghanistan women, I could feel the great surge of emotions – mostly helpless, sad, desolation though.
  
I like an ‘Islamic’ humor therein- Taliban found some paintings of flamingos and took offence at the birds’ long, bare legs. The Taliban commanded the artist to either destroy the paintings or make the flamingos decent. So the artist picked his brush and painted trousers on every bird. So, there you have it – Islamic flamingos! But the artist had the last laugh – he painted the trousers with watercolor. When the Taliban were gone, he just washed them off!

Overall, the sad story has a happy ending with great hope. I look forward to reading The Kite Runner by the same author.