"My sister's keeper"

I have a particular habit of watching sad movies on a long flight. Moving movies, movies that are deep, or perhaps depressing. Movies that try to portray the human side of life and, naturally, of its counterpart.

So no surprise that on this trans-Pacific flight I was fixated by My Sister’s Keeper.

The cabin air was dry, but my eyes were not almost throughout the movie. On a tiny screen not much bigger than the display of my camera, I watched the movie as we brushed the skies over Alaska. A simple story, if simplified, about a family living with a dying child with severe leukaemia, and the attempts of a determined mother who has done and continues to strive to do everything she can to save the daughter’s life. Death is cruel and inescapable, and the girl eventually succumbs to fate. Prayers cannot withstand the spread of sickly cells. The world’s best medicine cannot reverse the failure of the kidneys and gradually the poisoning of the blood. And even love, though deep and with miraculous abilities to heal, cannot heal the girl’s terminal illness.

Watching someone struggle and cling onto dear life is difficult. Even more so if it is someone dear, someone close, someone you wish you could give or do anything if only to win one last brief moment with. But ultimately you lose the person. You try to hold your tears, in vain, as you hold onto the person’s still warm hands, and feel, and watch. Watch, powerlessly and unwillingly, as life wanes and fades, as the slightest twitch of the fingers stop.

Watching someone’s eyes grow yellow, head go bald, and arms become frail and thin is unbearable. You are pained and cut deeply by the contrast between images of a time when there was not a worry in the world, when life was filled with good health and happiness. The next moment twisted by the uncertainty and apprehension of going into the cold, sterile environs of the oncology ward. You think of the beautiful memories, lasting and long, repeatedly played over and over again in your mind… of times spent laughing, of childhood and growing up, of the romantic moment sharing a sunset, of silently watching from a distance as the person is peacefully asleep.

And yet, they become so wretchedly contaminated with the realities of death, and dying. How do you let go? How do you let go, but at the same time remind yourself that you will not forget, because if you forget this person dies with your lost memories?

My Sister’s Keeper spoke to me. Personally. But it is also a reminder to everyone of us how fragile life can be, and how easily one can become so caught up with the onslaught of death, whenever it may come. And as sure as the sun will rise, death will come. In the face of death, fear and uncertainty often consumes us. And in the face of someone else’s death, loss, regret and deep, deep sorrow often swallows us.

But it is not the dying that is the end all or be all. And neither is the girl’s death the highlight of the movie— if death could ever be a highlight of anything. It is the first kiss, the hugs before bed, the warmth of being wrapped in your parent’s arms, the uncontrollable outbreaks of smiles and laughter over a family meal, the joy of jumping around in the sand next to roaring waves that matter. It is the in-betweens, the intimate moments, and the shared times captured by a little picture or caught by plain words as they float around with the passage of someone’s lifetime that count, and that are worth remembering.

In those final moments, the girl hands her mother a little scrapbook filled with photographs, scribbles, cut out messages and drawn hearts. Perhaps to leave something behind in this world, and in the lives of others she has come across. Or perhaps to tell her mother that death is not necessarily the end.

Stuck in San Franciscio

There was a chillingly cold breeze blowing in from the Pacific. Night fell, and the streets of the normally vibrant city emptied. I strolled toward the pier, the same place where only two months ago was packed with bustling crowds of curious tourists and sightseers. Now there was only the occasional couple braving the cold in one another’s embrace, and some random commuters trying to rush home for the long weekend ahead. Even seagulls, abundant in the hot, humid summer, seemed to have hibernated.

Beneath the yellow glow of street lights I wandered alone. Somehow, a sore twist of fate and missed connections landed me this moment of reflection in San Francisco on this breezy October night. Leaves fell and danced at my feet, as trees shuddered. The spells of anticipation and deep disappointment at missing my Korea-bound flight had already subsided. As I looked around, I realised I was not the only one wandering around the city aimlessly.

A man and his friend pushed a cart filled with plastic bags and salvaged bottles down the pavement. Another clung onto a soiled and ragged sleeping bag as he limped on. A few lay on cardboards close to holes that vented warm air as the subway rushed past. The clanking of coins in a cup sounded as I passed a dark alleyway. I looked down, only to be confronted by the sorry scene of an unshaven man in tattered rags huddled together trying to keep warm. There was a pungent stench of unwashed clothes and frayed human hair that had weathered the elements for far too long. In a set of sunken eyes was the sight of pity, sorrow, and of destitution. “Change… Give me change…” For a fleeting moment, I wondered if he meant spare coins or was begging to some unknown force to somehow suddenly transform his current sad fate.

On top of a flagpole, a gigantic star spangled banner, perhaps mockingly too big and majestic, gently waved and slightly wavered in the wind.

Eastbound

Already October, and the leaves are changing colours once again.

The windy night will probably blow many onto the road, sweep them away as if they never were part of the lush, dense, green foliage that provided shadow in the heat of summer. Soon, the trees will be barren again. Shame I will not be here to see that gradual transition of the seasons.

Second last night here in Montreal for a while to come. The luggages are half-packed, and in that apprehensive mode before embarking on this long trip eastward. It will be quite a trip, and to be honest I am not really looking forward to it. The first journey across the Pacific will be horrible... 22hrs of travelling, in three different planes at three different locations. That is, if I manage to catch all the planes on time. One hour of transfering does not leave much leeway for error or delays... Hopefully I arrive in Korea incident-free...

Then the presentation on Tuesday. I think I am prepared.... even though for the past two weeks I've been avoiding working on it. The person I was working with (or supposed to be working with) didn't do much, and in the end had lots of criticisms on how the visual presentation was set up. Fair comments, on being too wordy and to lengthy... but there were even comments about the background blue colour, which really put me off. So I've been pretty depressed for some time, wondering about the quality of my work... wondering if I'm going to make a fool of myself standing there in front of people and talking about such a simple (read cynical) thesis as space cooperation. I think, or at least I hope, after the presentation I will feel more relieved...

Then yesterday I spoke to mum, and she sounded down. Anxious, perhaps, about her latest checkup, and talking in a way that seemed to suggest that she might not be here this time next year. It hurt to hear that, and I tried to sound confident, even so deep inside I was already mourning... already crying invisible tears. I wish I could be there for her now, comfort her, make her happy and smile. But I'm not there.

The only way I can be there is to change my plans. Originally I planned to stay a week in Korea to travel around a bit, but I cancelled all that. And now I'm set to fly back to Taiwan a week or so early. On the day that mum gets her latest checkup results. I'm imaging rushing to the hospital as soon as I arrive and sitting there in that narrow crowded corridor waiting to be called in by the doctor...
I want to be there, whatever the news.

Maybe I cannot help her, but hopefully my being there, however fleeting and brief, will distract her from her dark, brooding thoughts...