100 Days

It was difficult to hold back the tears. After all this time, after all the exciting and eventful days since February, I was kneeling before dad again. The scent of incense filled the air, together with the hummed chanting of a Buddhist prayer. It was so very still in the temple, while outside the winds howled and seas waved to welcome the oncoming storm brewing in the Pacific.

Earlier this morning I had another intense dream that left me emotionally drained. In the dream I saw a Formosan Mountain Dog, which lay on the ground, struggling for life, its chest heaving as it tried to catch a few last breaths. Immediately I was overwhelmed, and I could feel my eyes bulge and nose start to water from the strong sympathy I felt for the dying creature. Its fur was so soft, such a warming kind of brown, and its eyes so powerful, yet a soothing type of black. Coincidentally, the other day I saw a similar kind of dog, which came up to me and we bonded almost instantly.

Back at the temple, we commemorated 100 Days since dad's death. My mum and I had prepared 12 dishes of food, rice and soup, and offered it before dad. As tradition dictates, the 100th day is an important event, and should be celebrated grandiosely with an elaborate feast and offerings. We bought stacks of paper money, and 'treasure chests' filled with (imitation) gold, clothes, shoes, cash and jewelries that we burned so that dad could use it in the Underworld. On the boxes of offerings we had to write correct address and name, so that it is delivered correctly to dad. A fascinating ritual that has been passed down throughout the millennia, and that is still so much more alive in Taiwanese society than anywhere else in the world. It was a lot of paper, and a lot of smoke and pollution. I dryly commented that perhaps it might have been much easier to just offer a credit card to dad, perhaps a Visa, since it is accepted almost everywhere.

I told dad about the things that have been happening, and that are still to happen... the success of my work, the congratulations, praise and standing ovation I received from some 200 people... the excitement and fun I had on my travels to Israel and elsewhere... the scholarship I received for the summer course in Spain starting end of June... the fellowship from Boeing I received that will realise my dream of studying in Canada... Will he be proud of me, I wondered... Will he also bask in my joy and glory, as I move on and forward with my life, and seem to be enjoying one spell of good luck after another? Thinking of that, I felt greatly saddened. But somewhere deep within, I also felt so grateful to my dad, because somehow he seems to be helping me and guiding me, even though he is no longer there with me.

It was this thought, one that I have in those moments of sadness and times of pride, that continue to accompany as I go on.

Mission Accomplished!

This "Mission Accomplished" is no empty a-la-Bush gesture. I rushed up the five flights of stairs as my mum opened the door home. She was so happy to see me, the joy expressed in her broad smile. I set down my suitcase and gave her a big hug. I am home.

This whole covert mission codenamed Operation "Go Home" took almost two months of meticulous planning, and every bit of it was executed splendidly. An international mission involving a strong Coalition of the Willing (to let Me Stay for Free) based in London and Singapore, three cross-border flights totaling 17 flight hours, including one on the latest Airbus A380. And it was done on a low-budget and with one suitcase, as well as the cooperation and silence of those few people who knew of my mission.

The objective, to surprise my mum and spend some time with her, and also commemorate 100 days since my dad's death. The target (my mum) really had no idea, not even the slightest hint or inkling, which really contributed to the mission's success even more!

Funny thing is, throughout these number of weeks I had dropped hints here and there to my mum. I had for example asked her a number of times to confirm when the big ceremony for my dad would take place. And last week, I had told her I would be going to London, and going away "for a number of days". On Sunday, Mother's Day, I called my mum and told her that I would be "going home on Tuesday". And last night as soon as I landed in Taipei, I called her and told her that I was at the airport, and that I would "be home within the hour".

At first, she just thought I was back in The Netherlands, despite the fact there was a loud person in the background speaking in Taiwanese. A hilarious moment, and I thought that would give everything away.

"Do you know at which airport I am?" She had no clue.
"Taoyuan International Airport!" There was a little silence, and then the shock. "WHAT?! You came home? WHY?!" she asked, still in disbelief. Later I learnt that as soon as she heard I was home, tears almost flowed from joy. I was laughing out loud, feeling like a mischievous boy up to no good, but knowing that this entire plan was something I am glad I had been able to accomplish, and that it will hopefully give her the boost of energy and joy to go on despite the odds and pains of her illness.

I rode home, feeling like the bus was not going as fast as it could. Outside, the familiar sights, lights and buildings of Taipei arose horizon, and soon enough I was in the midst of the busi-ness of the city again.

Three flights and a flight of stairs, and I was home again.

Leaving Singapore

Sitting in the departure lounge of Changi Airport. Free wireless internet for all, dazzling marble concourses, good variet of shops and restaurants, massage chairs and foot therapy for those jetlagged travellers. No wonder for a number of years this aiport has won the
Best Airport of the World Award.

I have actually been here a number of times, and seen most of what this little country no bigger than the Randstad has to offer (and for someone like me who does not like shopping and malls, there seems not to be a lot). But each time I have a good time, thanks to my friend (of course...) and the mix of cultures Singapore is famous for.

There may not be chewing gum or Playboy (let alone Playgirl) for sell in Singapore, but something must be said for this miraculous city-state that is so orderly and squeaky clean. People hear may speak with an odd broken form of English, but it is a living testament to a country and culture that is composed of the bests of Chinese, Malay, Tamil and Western peoples that are able to function successful in a truly multicultural and multiethnic society. For someone like me, who speaks Mandarin and Hokkien and English (among others), it feels comforting that these languages are used so interchangeably, sometimes in the very same sentence, and people can still understand what you mean. A blend that somehow fuses wonderfully together and brings out the best of differnt worlds. Little enclaves of different peoples with different origins and religions lie next to one another, just as a mosque, Buddhist temple and Christian chapel can be easily found as close neighbours. Next to colonial style government buildings are staggeringly tall office towers and glitzy shopping malls, overlooking a waterfront that see some of the world's heaviest shipping traffic, with in the backdrop Sentosa Island that is awash with theme parks and artificial beaches and palm trees. And despite the one-party rule, and stories of deported critical journalists or bankrupted opposition party members (I will stop here before I test the limits and am denied boarding...), the Lee family has managed to transform what used to be a backwater, mosquito infested swampy island into a high-tech and sophisticated economic centre and export hub in the Asia-Pacific. This is what makes this country Uniquely Singapore (the official slogan of the Singapore tourism board).

As wonderful as Singapore is, it is time to leave again, and within moments from now I will be boarding a low-budget plane. JetStar Asia (owned by Qantas) that will take me home to Taiwan. The airline is so low-budget that my boarding pass is nothing more than a piece of receipt you could easily mix up with something you get after buying a cup of coffee.

But at least it is cheap, and cheap travel means I can far and wide, and go home.

Airbus A380

As the newly selected Boeing Fellow, I have a duty to be critical of the rival's latest product. And so I will begin.

Immediately upon boarding, I could feel the sweltering heat. Though I had just boarded the Singapore Airlines flight from London to Singapore, it felt like I was already in the tropics though the plane was still grounded and delayed by almost quarter of an hour due to congested traffic. This is probably more due to the overcrowding at Heathrow, which was still fighting with a run-down and leaky Third-World-Class Terminal 1... or perhaps the fact that Heathrow was still getting adjusted to the baggage handling problems of the brand-new Terminal 5 building, which had cost a fortune, and managed to lose 25,000 lugguages and cancel 5000 flights in its first days of operations. You would think the world's largest and newest airliner should enjoy priority in taking off, certainly as compared to the other planes on the tarmac, my plane was dwarfing in size and awing to look at. But we were queing at position number seven, before we could hurtle down that runway.

So you could almost see the heat move in the cabin, and moments later I learned from the captain that the air conditioning system had "malfunctioned". The ground staff could not repair the problem, so the 500plus passengers were left sweating in their seats, fanning themselves with whatever pieces of paper they could get their hands on. It was not until we had reached a good cruising altitude that the temperatures in the minus fifties managed to cool the cabin down.

I picked up the In-Flight entertainment system, and was at first glance impressed that there was even the opportunity for those busy travellers to do word-processing, manage their pictures and even some PDF-file reading in the comfort of their own seats. But a few hours into the flight, while trying to jump between the number of movies that were on offer, the TV malfunctioned. I quickly turned off the TV, but it would switch on again automatically and display the "blue screen of death". It was as if the screen was toying with me, and after a number of times turning the thing on and off, I was left feeling very embarrased that I had clumsily just broken something on Singapore Airlines' flagship aircraft. I swear I am normally not such a technology retard.

Luckily for me, all the TV needed was a few hours to cool down, and it seemed to miraculously repair itself. In the meantime, I entertained myself by walking around the double-decked airplane and the later pride of Airbus, and catching glimpses of the wing flap that my very own brother had been involved in designing.

And to be honest, this is where the criticisms end. I was in love with the airplane even before it made its first debut flight back in October 2007, and I had especially flown to London to take advantage of what currently is only one of two routes operated by Singapore Airlines with the new Airbus A380. Admitted, there were delays after delays as cash-strapped EADS (parent company of Airbus) tried to assure investor that the plane would be delivered ontime, but the wait was worth it. A maginificent flying giant with a wingspan of almost 80meters and standing at almost eight storeys high, it was impressive just to look at. I was filled with pride and felt like people were oogling me as I boldly entered the specially-designed departure gate.

I had chosen my seat online, and decided to sit on the main-deck, right next to the window overlooking the wing. My brother had specially asked me to take pictures of the flaps that would retract and extend during take-off and landing, and it did feel somwhat comforting that that very vital piece of the plane was designed by him.

It was difficult to imagine how this 500 tonne machine could ever take-off, but take off it did, with such grace and so little noise. Normally, other planes at take-off would make hideous gargling noises as the engines power up and swallow all the energy that they could muster for this critical moment of flight. But for the A380, and four Trent900 engines, it was like a breeze. After racing for a few moments, the plane gently lifted off of the ground, as you could see jets of air make their way over the wings. I could have slept through the whole procedure, if it were not for the fact that I was sitting directly above the landing gears that made a loud thumping noise as it retracted shortly after lifting off. Plane-spotters on the ground looked on with awe as we took off and banked almost a complete circle to follow the correct direction towards Asia.

In the cabin that was longer than the rival Boeing747 by more than a meter, the seats were comfortably placed in a 3-4-3 configuration, which meant even in Economy Class, there was plenty of leg room, and plenty of space to resist the incursions of over-weight passengers next to you. The cabin was warmly lit and had a modern feel to it that was accentuated with modern-art paintings that hung on the bare walls. The lighting system can even dim or intensify gradually for the passengers to stir from their sleep before breakfast could be served. The seats could be leaned back quite a lot, and this did not come at great discomfort to whoever was unfortunate to sit behind you. The table in front of you had even a little mirror you could use to do your make up; essential for the vain international law student who needs to look his very best at all times.

Unfortunately, for those sitting on the lower deck we could no go upstairs. But from pictures, I could see how grand and luxurious the new Suites were, which allowed those who could afford it the comfort and privacy of a personal compartment. Cheap students, even those with a scholarship in Air and Space Law, had to make do with coach class, but it was no less a pleasant experience.

Twelve hours the flight took, and I do not think I managed to sleep much. Most likely due to the excitement of being the first person I know to have the privilege of flying such a modern and beautiful plane, but partly also because it was 'morning' for me. And in those rare moments when I could get a little wink, the stewardesses had come around to sell the sought-after models of the A380, which by the time I had woken up, were unfortunately all sold out.

But my pictures and own experience were mine alone, and mine alone to take with me at all times.