A drama teacher

When I heard she was dead I didn't believe it.

She was one of the most charismatic, direct and funny people I know. In Yangon, miles away from Cardiff and her terrace house in Canton, it's hard to imagine it. That, and because suicide is so hard to imagine. It's wrapped up in guilt. I don't understand an illness that plunges someone so far from life and the desire to live it. I don't understand an illness that steals that fundamental human desire to wake up each morning and live? How can an illness force someone's own hand against themselves?

Did she know that every time I sit with my journalists, I wonder what she would say about their presenting skills? Whenever I record narration or give a speech or stand in front of a crowd I hear her, telling me off, making fun of me, reminding me to speak more slowly, express my consonants more clearly and think about what I'm saying. 

On Thursday, Da Berg and I drank red wine at the only proper pub in town - and I cried about her - and it reminded me how much I'll miss Da Berg when he leaves on Thursday. Nothing can replace a friend whose known you your entire adult life. And nothing will replace the soul who left the earth this week. May she rest in peace.