My granddad passed away in May this year. And now I've taken over his room. I'm clearing some stuff finally, even though I've been here since late July or something. It was a gradual transition. Firstly it was just me doing my homework in this room and studying on the bed. Then my dad decided to shift my entire study desk here. It was mid-term so I didn't have all the time in the world to pack for this room-switch so I just took what I needed.

Now that As are almost over, I had time to do some spring cleaning. Yesterday, I cleaned up my cupboard in the old room so I had more space to store my notes. Then I moved on to the drawers in my granddad's old room (my current room) and I started from the bottom since that was where I stored my school stuff over the past few months. I threw out all the useless worksheets and practices, kept the notes and I moved up from there. I sorted my camera equipment, random items, my makeup box and other shit. Then I reached the top drawer. It's sad to finally reach the top. I keep finding my granddad's stuff. It's weird that I'm typing granddad since he was always "grandfather" or "datuk" to me, but I guess if I type it like that, I would be less emotional, more detached.

It's sad to find his passport that expired four years ago, and we never applied for a new one because he couldn't move anyway. It's sad to find the notebook where the maid used to write all his blood pressure recordings down, knowing his blood no longer flows. It's even sadder to notice that my mom had already written dates all the way till October 2014 but he only made it till the end of May. It's sad to find the "Identification Tag for Non-Coroner's Case" and see his age as 90, because he would've been 91 this year - just 4 days after I turn 18. It's sad to see that they had written the specific date & time of death, proving that he had suddenly left us, even though we already knew for years that he was slowly slipping away. It's sad that at the bottom of the tag, it was signed by the "medical officer certifying death" as if his death wasn't already real.

What's sadder is that I've been too busy with A Levels and exams and tests and studies and my own thoughts to properly mourn about this. Whenever I just think of him, I burst into tears and I don't know why. Back when he was alive, in the recent past years... it was like a routine. We would hear him calling us and yelling and we were used to it. I used to sit with him sometimes and hold his hand while I studied and when I had to leave to do my homework, he would start yelling at me. What was shitty of me was that most of the time when he started yelling and saying mean things to me, I got mad at him. I was mad at him even though I knew he was senile and had dementia. He was always there lying in this bed that I'm currently on. I would walk to my room and catch a glimpse of him lying there every time. I could go days without entering his room because the maid was there and I heard his voice, so I knew he was okay.

And then he got sick, went to the hospital. I had school and I couldn't visit him. We all thought he was going to be okay. At least I did. He had been hospitalized several times, and he would come back the same grumpy old man. But this time, he didn't come back. I think it was a text, or a phone call. I don't remember. I think I was in school. Or maybe I was at home. It's all blurry to me but I found out that he died. I didn't cry then. I don't remember much. But the next day, all the relatives came over, and I saw my grandfather just lying there on a mattress or cloth in the living room, just like how he used to lie in this bed - but this time he wasn't yelling or screaming at us. There was just silence. There were so many people over at our house, some I hadn't even seen in years. And that was when I started crying. I saw his body and I cried. Dad beckoned us to come over and kiss him goodbye. I now can only think of how cold his forehead felt when I pressed my lips against it for the last time. I sat at the steps of our staircase, trying to control my tears but I couldn't and the relatives were looking at me as if it was strange seeing a granddaughter devastated over her grandfather's death? I went upstairs and calmed myself down. I did my homework, went to school the next day. And it's been like this ever since. Every time I'm alone and I think of him, I start crying and I honestly wish I wouldn't. I just could never accept death. Not ever. And frankly, I don't want to accept it.

PS: Sorry for any typos or whatever, I can't be bothered to check. It's 5:27am goodnight