
My sister, Raji, is so selfish.
She died suddenly on a Friday night in Adelaide - giving me no time to reschedule my upcoming gel nails appointment. I had to fly from Sydney to Adelaide, knowing my nails would soon look like this:
Shock. Horror.
C’mon, Raji. Timing, please.
You may have gathered by now that I’m one of those people who makes jokes and says inappropriate things in times of grief. It’s usually never my best work; it garners polite smiles at best, and deservedly so.
But I learnt, after my dad died in a car crash years ago, it’s one of the major ways I relieve my heart-breaking, suffocating sorrow.
“It’s called a eugoogly,” I told my older sister at the time, who was writing one on mum’s behalf, referencing the iconic Zoolander joke. She looked at me strangely, while I smiled to myself at my hilariousness.
I realised I’d made the comment as a distraction for myself, to comfort my discomfort. But I also knew Dad wouldn’t have wanted us morose.
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