My worry pattern has changed in recent years. Now, I seem to worry more about people I care for, and situations and events I cannot control or have no influence over. The latter makes little sense but what to do.

I am on a constant worry mode with regards to my mum. An unusually high blood pressure reading or pulse rate or no bowel movement for a day is enough to make me anxious. I instantly look for signs of distress or malfunction. If and when there is none in sight, I worry more. What ails inside? Too many old parts that are slowing down and/or no longer operating efficiently. It’s not straightforward nor easy to diagnose. The palliative team’s weekly visit provides some respite.

I also worry about my husband. I worry when he rides his road bikes and off-road bike. Less safe as you are exposed to the elements. I have ridden pillion thrice. Three times too many. I was so afraid my legs, which stuck out, would be injured or crushed by vehicles whizzing past. I feel a lot safer, even in a tin can car or as my husband described one of his earlier cars, ‘a Milo-tin car,’ than on a motorbike. Maybe, cars give a false sense of security. Maybe, not being in control on a motorbike makes the experience scarier. 

Whatever. It’s a gnawing kind of concern or worry that stops the instant he walks through the front door. Relief washes over. I feel the same concern or worry the next time he is off on the road. No, I won’t talk him out of riding his motorbike or any motorbike. It’s not fair or right as he gets too much enjoyment from it. I wouldn’t stop or like being told not to do stuff I enjoy even if there’s an element of risk or danger. But what isn’t risky? Crossing a road can be risky. Eating a peanut can be dangerous, for some. Also, we need to live life. Otherwise, what’s the point?

Last week, my worry was heightened when my husband flew to England to be with his mum. I wanted to drive him to the airport because I decided it would be safer with me behind the wheel rather than Hayat, our regular taxi driver. It was irrational, and I knew it. I did ask myself, ‘What about the pilots flying the airplanes to Dubai and onwards to Gatwick, and the driver driving him home?’ Hmm. Outside my control. Rationally, I booked a taxi for his flight that was in the early hours of the morning. But that did not stop me from praying and worrying about him the entire journey. It was the same when sister number 3 flew from London to Kuala Lumpur for Deepavali. This specific type of worrying that I am increasingly doing is age related, at least that’s what I think. I didn’t use to worry when people flew from one place to another. In fact, I was excited for them. The fun and adventure of flying, travelling and visiting exciting destinations. And, not be stressed about safety, security, logistics and viruses.

I also worry about the state of the country’s economy and politics. I think of the government’s coffers – the fiscal deficit following the many stimulus measures implemented during the pandemic. Productivity in the goods and services sectors amidst increasing competition in the region. Food security as the value of the import bill keeps increasing. Climate change and its effect on livelihoods, and quality of life. The frequency and intensity of rains and floods are too in-your-face to ignore. I live in the city centre, and have witnessed enough times how quickly waters rise, cause damage and result in massive traffic jams. Leakages in companies and ministries that despite being highlighted in reports and inquiries is barely plugged. I am also troubled by politics and politicians – integrity in the spoken word and accountability for actions. That is a lot of worry to carry on my small shoulders. I try to shrug them off but they are hauntingly real and valid. 

On the flipside, I worry less about things. These days, I don’t need nor want many things. Things equal clutter to me. I am not really bothered when things breakdown or when they need to be repaired or replaced.  I used to fret when my car or washing machine didn’t work. Much younger, and just starting out, it meant inconvenience and additional costs that I could ill afford. It’s still bothersome but these things, yes things, can be repaired or replaced without much consideration or pressure on the purse strings.

I don’t think I can ever stop worrying about the people I love and care for. They are not reparable, sometimes. They are not replaceable, always.