It's April 2013 and I'm catching up with Sha. We should get an award for nonchalance because despite losing touch for years, this is how our pre-meetup chat went down:
"Hey Sha, long time no see, catch up?"
"Sure, gym later? I can bring guests."
"Which?"
"Fitness First IOI."
"Ok. Time?"
"After work, say 7."
"Ok."
"Ok."
After our workout, Sha comes out of the locker room all fresh and ready for dinner.
"I'm so hungry I could eat Sarah Jessica Parker!" she says. "And I thought a 36-hour shift at the hospital would've killed my appetite."
Sha flexes her biceps in an effort to show off. "By the way, I did chest and arms today! How do I look?"
Now beauty is subjective, and I don't know why I get so much flak when I share my attraction of athletic women with my friends (they prefer stick thin). Sha doesn't do Crossfit, but she looks the part. I take a second to admire her curves before telling her the truth.
"I don't think muscles grow that fast."
Sha laughs. "Tapi cantik kan?"
I look at Sha. Behind her glowing skin, her physical strength, her boundless energy, and her positive outlook is a monkey on her back. You see, Sha's a cancer survivor.
She's won the battle a couple of times, but she needs to keep looking over her shoulder. Cancer is relentless. It bears grudges, and once you start easing off, it catches up, then clamps its jaws around you and never lets go.
Fast forward to Subway and Sha's calorie replacement of choice is the BLT. She doesn't just eat it, she gobbles it like it's a hot dog eating competition. There's just something charming about a woman eating proper. Maybe I'm just biased against nibblers. They're too suspect for my liking.
"Let's grab some Juiceworks later," I say.
"Hell yeah!" Sha says, but with her mouth full it sounds more like hur yhe. She wipes the honey mustard off the corners of her mouth and says that she roves jushworksh. Her enthusiasm is inspiring. I wish I could siphon some of that liveliness off her because my energy dial is usually stuck between 'dead fish' and 'mildly awake'.
Fifteen minutes pass and sandwiches are a thing of the past. We're sitting cross legged on one of those big shopping mall benches with our juices of choice. (It was near closing time, so takeaway was the only option).
Sha shows me her neck and asks me to touch it. There's something under the skin near her collarbone, and its shaped like a Lego man's head.
"When I was sick, I was being pumped with meds so frequently that they decided it would be easier to have an IV permanently inserted."
"That's fucking badass," I say, because it was. "You must be pretty particular about the procedures, you know, being a doctor and all."
Sha laughs. "No troubles so far."
As we continue shooting the shit, my complaints about bad career choices and crappy relationships seem to pale in comparison with the things she's had to face. To her credit, she's good spirited about the whole thing, especially when she shares the toughest, darkest moments in her life. Suddenly, she stops smiling and looks past me.
"Sometimes I ask God, why me?" A single tear rolls down her cheek, then two, leaving lines of moisture where they've just streaked. "Did I do something wrong? Why did I deserve this?"
For a moment, I see a look on her face of someone tired of being strong. Someone who wishes she could unload this burden elsewhere and kick up her legs just for a bit. She takes a deep breath, and just like that, the strong woman returns.
"Silly me, silly thoughts," she says as she wipes her tears with the palm of her hand.
"They're not silly," I say.
"I believe that everything happens for a reason," Sha says. "Sometimes I see terminally ill kids at work, and I start to realise that my problems aren't so big after all. Who am I to complain when some poor kids can't even see past the first decade of their life? I guess their lives serve to remind us the value of ours, no matter how unfair it may seem."
She looks at my shoulder, brows furrowed in contemplation for a minute, then: "You're a 'live the moment' kind of guy aren't you? I'm sure I treasure my moments more than you ever will. Maybe that's my silver lining."
There's so much beauty in her attitude amidst her vulnerability, a moment I'm privileged to be a part of. I don't know how I'd react when I'm finally forced to face my mortality, but something tells me that following Sha's footsteps would be a good place to start. We sit in silence for a while, regrouping our thoughts, sipping on juice. I start feeling small. Here I am complaining about things that don't matter while other people face real problems.
"Speaking of the moment," Sha says, "you should go to Thailand. You hate your job, you're not tied down, you're healthy. Go. Resign. Find another job when you come back. Go find yourself. Live life." This sentence would be one of the catalysts that sets forth an awesome chain of events in my life, but we're unaware of this fact as of this moment.
"I guess I sh—"
"Tak boleh duduk sini," a voice from behind us says. "Sudah tutup."
We turn around and see an old man with a blue shirt tucked into pressed navy pants. There's a tag above his pocket with the word 'SECURITY' etched into it.
I check my watch. "Wow it's past midnight! I didn't even realise the time."
"Kejap lagi kay?" Sha says to the guard, then turns over and looks at me. "I guess story time's over."
"That sucks."
"Yeah."
"Next time then?"
"After your Thailand trip. Promise me you'll make that happen."
"I will."
We hug and part ways. I leave feeling like my perspective just went through a huge transformation, like the makeover episodes in Beauty and the Geek. I notice how much impact she's made on me within those few hours, and I realise that we shouldn't take our interactions with other people for granted because we might end up playing a significant role in their lives even with the most minutest of exchanges.
As I walk to my car, I start drafting a resignation letter in my head. Maybe everything does happen for a reason.
***
Since that day, Sha has undergone another cancer-related surgery. She is still making the most out of life and is doing well. I hope her story inspires people to not sweat the small stuff, because in the end, it's all small stuff.
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