Mixy.

Mixy.

A black and white papillon. He was originally granddads from before I was born; 1989 he mentioned. He was bigger than me when we first met, and last I held him, he fit in my arms like a doll. Though eight years have passed, I still feel as though it were yesterday.

My family often moved around. Dad’s job required us to live abroad every three to four years, fly back home for another three, just before we flew back out. It was this constant loop of coming and going. It used to scare me; I thought he’d forget me. But every time I came home older and wiser, Mixy knew exactly who I was. Though I was bigger and different, he’d come running the moment he sees me.

My lifestyle took its toll on me. It was hard to constantly make new friends each time I moved. God bless, I’m used to it now, but I struggled back then. I was depressed; bullied and neglected by everyone each time I came back. But through the pain I’d endure at school, coming home, I knew I’d be greeted by the only friend I ever had.

Someone whom I thought would never leave.

How innocent of me to think that way.

On the other note, I awfully very close with my granddad. I lived with him. He drove me to school every day. He was practically my second father; one of those granddads that would take my side whenever mum got mad at me. I laugh at those memories.

And with everything he’s ever given me, I think the best thing I’ve ever received was Mixy himself.

My mother and her siblings never truly bonded with animals the way granddad did, which was a shame to him. My own mother fears any living creature with fur. I used to run around with Mixy when I was three. Mum screamed me to stop, fearing I’d get bitten. Not like she could do anything; she was too afraid to come get me herself without having Mixy chase her too.

Granddad and I would go jogging every Saturday morning with Mixy. Where I live, dogs aren’t appreciated as much, in fact they were hated upon. I remember walking around the neighborhood; I’d get so many stares from those who feared him. Disgusted of him. But as a child, I never saw it that way. I was proud, I wanted to show the world how much I loved him and how much he loved me. That there was my first lesson from granddad. “Not everyone will care. And that’s fine. As long as we care, as long as we’re there for Mixy, we’re all he needs.”

I didn’t realize how important of a life lesson that would be till I’m much older.

When I was nine, I remember going for a walk with granddad and Mixy one morning. After walking for over an hour, I decided to stop for a drink on the side of the street. My granddad had to take a quick call, he excused himself. After paying, I sat on the curb with Mixy by my side. All was well until a stray dog walked our way; the scariest looking pit bull I’ve ever seen. I thought it would pass, but it stopped right in front of me, growling. At first, I thought it was hungry, maybe if I had some spare food. But I didn’t even get a chance to think before it jumped straight at me. I honestly thought I was done for.

But out of the blue, Mixy had already jumped in. The two mauled each other. I screamed and cried in fear, worried Mixy would hurt himself, fighting a dog literally three times his size. It was at this point in life where I’d learned the truest and purest form of loyalty. It wasn't long before granddad ripped the two off each other. God bless, no one was hurt too badly, and the pit bull ran off. I carried Mixy home; his paw bled and he whimpered at the slightest touch. I kept wondering why he didn’t stop. I didn’t think I deserved him. We took him to the vet, and he healed pretty quickly after that.

Middle school was much better than primary. I actually started making friends then; real ones whom I can genuinely talk to. Things were starting to change for me. I was no longer that shy little girl. My friends would come over every now and then; and to my surprise, they embraced Mixy just as much as I did. Well at least they tried to, some of my friends were still scared of him, and I remember laughing as he chased them around my backyard. I didn’t see why anyone could fear him, really. He was a tiny baby who couldn’t hurt anyone. But I was finally glad that things were changing for the better.

By the time I was 14, I noticed that I was beginning to distance myself from Mixy. I had exams, I was focusing on my life and future. Think it weird, but as an asian, there was this social burden weighed on us, and grades meant everything. On top of that, dad was getting a new post and we’d be leaving again, which meant I wouldn’t see Mixy for another 3 years. I trusted things would be just fine; its always been fine the past few years. I just had to believe in myself, in Mixy, and in everyone around me.

Examinations were in two days. I’ve studied to the brink. I was drained and tired, and when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the universe decided to prove me wrong.

Granddad had a stroke. He died that morning.

Funnily, I laughed.

I didn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe it.

Whoever decided to make that sick joke needed to stop because it wasn’t fair.

I remember sitting in granddad’s room with my mom. Seeing her cry and wail finally made me realize that this wasn’t a joke. Granddad was really gone. So quick, so sudden. Everyone was here, my friends, my family, my cousins. Even the neighbors paid a visit. There was a circle of people reciting prayers around the living room. I hadn’t seen so many flowers my whole life. Our house was filled with so much love, yet so much despair. I was grateful really, granddad was a good man, he’s done so much for so many, that he left this gaping hole that no one could ever fill.

My mother and her siblings all cried together. My grandmother broke down. Everyone was supportive, mending and healing each other that day.

But something was missing.

I was so busy with everyone and everything else that it hadn’t even come to my concern.

I ran outside to that little doggy house in my backyard. It was empty.

I heard a small whimper.

Turning around, I walked across the field towards the one tree where granddad, Mixy and I would sit by when I was younger.

There he was, leaning on the tree bark all alone. I sat on the other side of the tree; he climbed into my lap and nuzzled me. He was quiet, but I could feel his body shaking and trembling. I reckon he knew that granddad was gone. There was this coldness in the air that pierced so deep into our hearts. I laid there crying on the ground with him in my arms. My parents and aunties scolding me, telling me to come inside, saying I’d get sick if I stayed out for too long.

They didn’t understand.

Just like granddad said, “Not everyone will care, and that’s alright, but Mixy needed people like us.”

Like me and granddad. No one else. Mum would never get it, and I didn’t need to convince her. Because all that mattered was that I cared. And that I would be there for him.

I wish I kept that promise.

Months had passed, things were getting better. I got into the high school I wanted; the one granddad wanted me to go to as well. Not that it really mattered because I was going to move away in a few months.

There’s that stress again.

I really didn’t want to leave Mixy again, especially with granddad gone. Trust me when I said that I tried. Every single day, I did all I could to convince my parents to bring Mixy along with us. Every day, I spent hours researching on different flights, trying to find one that allow dogs on the plane, trying to see if we could get the company to switch flights. I was even willing to fly by myself on a separate flight if it meant I could bring him along. But no one would listen to a 14 year old kid. Things just didn’t work out. I wanted to stay back. I didn’t want to leave him, but no matter what I did, there was no use.

My parents tried to convince me otherwise. They told me, Mixy would be in good care, that he’d be looked after by someone who could properly take care of him. That he wouldn’t be neglected. I should’ve trusted myself when I had a bad feeling about the idea. I wonder if things would’ve been any different.

I moved in the end. New life, but I was the same. Australia was nice, believe me, one of the best moments of my life, really. But it didn’t start off that way.

Because within only two months of my move, I got a call from my cousin.

Mixy was gone.

And there it was, that catastrophic feeling where the world just plunges down into that inevitable hell once more. Again, I feel like I’ve lost it all. Everything’s crumbling. It’s empty. Cold.

And the worst part was that I wasn’t even there for it.

Asking how it happened only made it worse. I don’t know if I could ever live with myself knowing this.

“One day, he just stopped eating. Hadn’t touched his bowl for days”

“I came to check on him, and he was no longer breathing.”

I was shaking. I was broken.

He was lonely.

He’d given up.

Granddad died, I left too.

And gone was his will to live.

I cried for days. I felt so weak, so small, like I was that same scared little girl, but this time with no one to hold.

I felt so ashamed. Why. Why didn’t I listen to myself?

Why didn’t I try harder?

Why didn’t I do anything?

Why.

I questioned everything, throwing the blame on anyone and everyone I could think of.

I blamed my cousin for telling me.

I blamed my aunties and uncles for not taking care of him.

I blamed my mother for not allowing him to come.

For not allowing me to stay.

I blamed the company for not letting us switch flights.

I blamed myself.

I blame me.

For not trying harder.

For giving up.

For letting him go.

For leaving.

For so long, I crippled in that mindset.

How could things have been different.

How could I have changed things.

Why.

Why did this happen?

Why now? Why then?

Granddad. Mixy.

Why did I lose them?

Did I do something wrong?

I contemplated and introspected for the longest amount of time. My mother and father told me to snap out of it. That I had to move forward. That I had to chin up and keep running.

They didn’t cry for Mixy.

Neither did my siblings, nor my cousins.

Nor my aunties and uncles.

It was just me.

And then it hit me. The same line Granddad made over nine years ago.

“No one’s going to care. They don’t understand…

…

And that was okay.”

In my head, granddad stood and smiled before me.

I understand.

There’s no use in trying to change my parents and how they feel.

No use in convincing them.

But I cared.

I did.

I loved him, and he loved me. And the love that we had was truer than anything else.

Eight years have passed since Granddad and Mixy’s death. I’m 22 now. And still, to this very day, my heart breaks at the memory of them. Still, my tears run and crash like river streams in raging rain. At least through this pain, I’m reminded of what true happiness is like. I’m stronger than ever, I have to be. For granddad, for Mixy.

Because in my head, I still see them together, running and frolicking through the same fields from when I was little. I see them side by side, smiling as they watch me grow into the person that I am now.

Even if it’s all imagination, even if it isn’t real.

It warms me to think that way. And it’s what keeps me going.

Mixy?

Granddad?

Watch me run.

Let me make you proud.

-January 19, 2022.