You Are Not Alone

 

June is Male Mental Health Awareness Month, and Father’s Day also falls in June in many parts of the world.

Around 2002, I worked as a junior staff member in this big company, with multiple departments on multiple floors. My department (around a dozen people) was located next to another (around four-five dozen). The workflow sequence was from ours to theirs. I don’t need to liaise with them in Department 2 since I only did technical presentation work exclusive to Department 1. Still, I know their faces and sometimes their names because we shared communal facilities, and there were some team-building activities now and then.

I had a small lunch group of around five people or less. Sometimes, one or two people from Department 2 would join us, but it was rare. I didn’t really enjoy lunch for personal reasons (story for another day) and because working-hour lunch was hellish. Everywhere was jampacked, it was always rushed, it was harder to secure a table for a group, and before you finished half of your food, other patrons would stand behind you to wait for your seats. I don’t exaggerate this; it’s still happening now. So, the food court was a nightmare, but that was what most of us could afford.

One day, this middle-aged guy from 2 invited us for lunch in a more private restaurant. He had ‘booked’ us the day before. I knew him only from passing interactions as a nice, hardworking, quiet, respected, and polite guy. Sometimes, we exchanged small talk in the pantry, but I never had lunch with him. I wasn’t sure; it was only my first year, and most likely, one or two guys in my group had. Anyway, it was nice to have a peaceful meal once in a while, sitting in a comfortable restaurant without needing to rush. I didn’t know he could be very social and chatty; he was friendly and seemed happy to know us better.

The day after, he jumped to his death from his high-rise apartment.

He was a father of two, and no one, not even people who were so-called close to him, expected that. Twenty-two years now, it still makes me sad to think about how nobody knew what he was going through. I still don’t know why, and out of respect, I didn’t go around and ask. Most people just speculated, and it became a blurred line between reality and assumption.

I don’t need anyone to scream at me about depression doesn’t recognize gender etc. While it’s true, it’s also true that many men decide to face it themselves because they feel they can’t talk about it without prejudice. Sometimes, it’s a stigma, sometimes, they don’t think they have good support around them, and sometimes, they actually don’t have anyone to help them. Although the roles have shifted, most responsible men hold big burdens on their shoulders about what they should be in the family and society and work hard to be the pillar for everyone. It’s very tough, and I really respect them for that. I could only wish that everyone else could also be the pillar for them when they need it.

I want to share this video; it always gets me every time I watch it.

Many Happy Returns

 

We have just celebrated my dog’s 9th birthday two weeks ago. 

I have always loved dogs and almost went through the adoption process with a rescue shelter, but unfortunately, it wasn’t meant to be (some scheduling and other issues). After that, I decided not to get a dog at all since I was traveling quite often, I didn't want to leave my dog in boarding houses often.

My colleague learned about it in a passing conversation, and a few weeks after that, she offered me a puppy for adoption. It was a coincidence there were three new puppies in her home (on top of the existing four dogs), and they couldn’t take care of all of them. Since she knew my difficulty, it came with a perk: I can put him with them whenever I travel.

My dream dog back then was a big dog, a mongrel, like the ones my family had. Mongrels dominate rescue shelters, as people here prefer pricey, purebred, ‘cute’ dogs. So, I was looking at this puppy picture and thought, oh dear, this looked like those fancy celebrity dogs. I hesitated, but how could I resist helping give this puppy a home with a perk that solved my problems?

When I brought him home, he was scrawny and smelly. He loved eating rocks and was scared of other puppies, waves, water, and the sea. He pooped on his bowl and tipped over everything. But he is the most intelligent dog, and with some training and patience, he becomes the most confident dog who surfs and is fearless. He is a well-behaved dog, never destroys anything, and has many toys because everything is as good as new, and he loves to play. No bias!

Here he is on his 9th birthday. He is my best friend, my companion, my therapy dog. He is not a lap dog; he would push me off with his paws for unsolicited cuddling (unless it’s pretty cold!), but whenever I am sad or angry, he would sit on my lap and nudge or lick away my sorrow until he is convinced that I am no longer sad or angry. One of the reasons I quit my job was because I wanted to spend more time with him. I arrange my life around him, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to make sure he is happy. We have an unbreakable bond, and everyone says he takes after me. He doesn’t like people, screaming children, or high-pitched and repetitive sounds. We howl together every time an ambulance passes us in traffic and bark at the neighbor’s chickens when they get too rowdy.

These were the pictures sent to me before adoption. He was around two months old.

His first day with me at home, he was three and a half months old. The killer eyebrows! I know!

Now. Today. A wise and grumpy nine-year-old. Wishing for many more years together

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