My best friend is gone and the first thing I thought about was this stupid newsletter
(Photo by Abdul Haq Musa. Image ID: A photo of Zam, wearing a black shirt, looking sideways to his right, hands over his head. Zam's last tweet was 'count your blessings'. I think that is an instruction to the universe that he left behind.)
When I first heard we lost one of our best friends, Zam, last Tuesday due to COVID-19, one of my first thoughts was, "oh dear God, what about this newsletter? It is supposed to go out today."
I am no stranger to grief (I lost my dad, my person, 9 years ago) so whenever one of these news — this heart-wrenching, possibly also retching (I have become accustomed to almost vomiting whenever these news came to my fore) losing our loved ones news – invited itself into my lawn, I can no longer be one of those old men yelling for it to scamper away. Instead, I go through multiple emotions. Repeatedly.
For the first 10 mins, they are rapid and persistent – e.g. "OMG what about the newsletter? Oh goodness what about Nadia (Zam's wife)? Poor Nadia I must text her. I have to call my other friends. (cries) Don't anybody ever leave me again! Oh god I have to tell my mum. Oh man Zam is gone. Zam is...gone. It will not be the same to hear the boys talking about The Mandalorian again, because mannn, Zam is gone. He is gone, like gone?" The next few hours, the emotions would come and go while I field logistics — that is the post-loved-one-passing phase of sending and replying messages, passing phone numbers, making and answering calls, and if you are the main bereaved and among the families, organising tahlil and signing documents and all.
The next few days and weeks, the emotions would lilt – the weight of the realisation of the person who was once part of your life is no longer physically around, like a gentle breeze — and they would remain.
And they do not always stay that way. Sometimes,12 weeks into losing your loved ones, the 10 minutes rapid and persistent emotions can come running back while you are doing your laundry, triggered by something as random as, "Oh yeah my dad would absolutely hate these grey trousers," and then, hi waterworks. I see you have made another appearance.
I am no stranger to grief — and I know some of us are not too — so I learned to link the significance of my first thought to why I thought of it. Zam is (it is still hard saying "Zam was" in many forms) one of the biggest supporters of this newsletter, if not of many projects of mine, completed and remaining or waiting to be revived. I had to tell him I was scraping the disclaimer "thanks Zam Nayan for sending this" in some of the links I shared here because he sent whole loads of them. I am that someone who is extremely precious and careful about what I write and what I share to the public because I am scared when I do that, the writings are somehow no longer mine. But he shared it to Twitter and recommended to other friends so easy and casually, and when we spoke about it, he would say, "Lek ah, you ok ape" (just relax, you are doing fine). How can somebody believe in me so casually while I beat myself over every typo and possibly under researched writing (which was mostly my imagination, because I would fact check everything to the dot)? How did he make it so easy?
He was one of the friends mentioned in my PhD thesis acknowledgement because he was, for some parts willing to field my many questions and brainstorms while writing it. But most of all, he was genuinely interested in what I was working on, even when I learned he initially knew nothing of it, but was willing to spend hours reading about them and exchanging links and texts with me.
Everyone with the privilege to be in Zam's orbits at one point or another had the honour to be working with him, being guided by him, or simply being graced by his presence in their lives. He was ready to jump into side or professional projects, big or small, with other friends. He organised weekly Clubhouse sessions where everyone invited could speak about their work and read poetry, or just chatting in general. He was genuinely interested in everyone and in our work and ourselves, and that made him such an interesting person, not just for the things he learned alongside us because he wanted to get to know us better, but because he did it just... because. No personal agenda of any kind. He was just being an exceptional friend to everybody, and he made it so easy. He was persistent in making everyone visible, and in turn, his presence lit us up. How did he find the time I wonder? I think everyone, especially me who is extremely horrendous at replying back texts, could learn one or two things from this guy.
It used to surprise and perhaps annoy me a little bit because whenever we attended any events, Zam would know everyone there. How did you know Zam, I asked them. "He was in my team in 2010s working for this arts project, he was volunteering with us, we met at Urbanscapes, he helped me to design our brochure once, oh just on Twitter," etc. I knew all these while also was overwhelmed and pleased at the extent of people who knew and loved him — as I learned yesterday — when I saw messages pouring through for him on social media from friends, families, individuals and organisations from all walks of lives and industries whose lives had been touched by Zam. How he made it so easy.
Whenever he spoke of his wife, Nadia, his eyes would light up and he was this embodiment of the emoji heart face. They have known each other for over 20 years and still acted like besotted high school sweethearts that they are. The first time I met Nadia, I helped her smuggle a box of hot takoyaki in my hugeass tote bag so we could enjoy them in the movies, and that had become one of our inside jokes — of me being the food smuggler into movies because of my signature hugeass tote bag. I would often joke that they should adopt me, because I love them so much and Nadia cooks heavenly food — of which Zam would post a close up shot on Instagram story complete with a punny twist of the dishes' name. Whenever we speak fondly of Zam now, we can only imagine the fractions of Nadia's pain, and that will never amount to the full extent of what she's feeling.
My best friend Zam was taken away from us in the midst of our collapsing public healthcare, of which could be mitigated and avoided were it not for the lewd political machinations taking place to retain the powers of the few who clearly disregard the lives of others. He was part of the national COVID-19 statistics announced on the national television 5 pm daily. My best friend, and among other people who are loved by their friends and families, were amongst those numbers.
Whenever people, especially those with the power to change things, turn to data-deterministic views to justify their reasons, I would often urge them to at least ask further probing questions – What is the context? Are these data disaggregated? What can they do better now that they are informed by this data, especially knowing and with full knowledge and empathy that every single one of those who departed are loved and cherished by many, with stories and potentials of their own? Like Zam, like Vini's dad, like Eko, and thousands of others gone too soon? More importantly, do they want to do something about it? Because this is not something we are seeing right now.
Out of reflex, just as soon as I finished drafting this, I wanted to show Zam to see what he thinks. But my best friend is gone, and my first thought was this stupid newsletter. I guess we will have to catch up soon.
Sleep well, my friend. I am glad you exist.