My dear suitcase

My dear suitcase,

I was overjoyed to hear about your safe arrival in Korea, and that you and I will be reunited soon once more. Tell me, have the ground staff at San Francisco been treating you well in the days we were so forcibly separated? Where were you hiding that they could not even locate you, even with the latest tracking technology and a luggage tag so clearly and boldly strapped onto your handlebar?

Please forgive me, but honestly I did not abandon you on purpose. After being stranded in San Francisco, my initial response was to inquire about your whereabouts. I was worried that you had boarded the plane that I had missed by a mere 15 minutes. Those crucial 15 minutes turned into 24 hours of waiting for the next best connection, after I rejected the ridiculous idea that United Airlines proposed, which was for me I fly back to the East Coat to Washington, then to Los Angeles in order to catch a flight from there to Korea. I told them: I just came from Montreal!

But however long I had to wait, know that you were my main concern. I knew I would eventually get to Korea-- even though I received no compensation or reimbursement for my lodgings, food, transit to and from the airport-- but the question was would you? United personnel told me, on three separate occassions no less, that you were still around, and that you will be loaded onto the flight I was rescheduled on. Even when I checked in the next morning, United reassured me again that you were coming along to Korea with me.

But it turns out they were wrong, and I suspect too afraid to admit it. Instead they made up a story, tried to placate me with tall tales while they bidded for time to find you. Or at least I would like to hope they made the effort to locate you. The very next day, as soon as I landed at Narita, I asked again about your wellbeing, and the airline personnel assured me that you were getting cosy with your fellow travel buddies in the belly of the plane of the onward connection to Korea.

Nothing could be further than the truth. When I arrived at Incheon Airport, I waited, and waited, and waited. The baggage concourse emptied, and soon so did the terminal building. Then the concourse stopped moving, and in that spacious baggage pick-up area, I stood there and could almost hear the echo of my heart breaking. You were nowhere to be seen.

I filed a "Missing Luggage Report" immediately, and they spent an hour trying to figure out what had happened, in vain. I gave them my collection of boarding passes (by now enough to start an album), and gave them details of my grueling trip from Montreal to Chicago, to San Francisco, to Narita, and eventually landing exhausted and unbathed two days later at Incheon. It was already past ten on Sunday night, some 55 hours after we both happily left home in Montreal. Who would have thought that fate had destined us to be separated so dramatically and for an uncertain amount of time?

But, little did I know, more drama was to follow. Believe me, I called the airline every single day, on some days twice or even three times. Tuesday last, I was thrilled to be told that you were making your way to my hotel. The afternoon came and went, and night tiptoed on the horizon and eventually fell. I waited, and waited, and waited, but there was not even a shadow. The ever so courteous airline was of course kind enough not to even bother to keep me informed of the latest developments.

I called the next day, only to be told by that you had suddenly gone missing again. Somehow you had 'appeared', and then did a miraculous vanishing act in their records. That you were coming was yet another blatant lie.

All this time, tag code "UA362154" was the only link I clung onto in the hopes of locating you, and yet the online tracking system did not recognise the code. I tried calling the United helpline in the US, in Canada, and in Korea. They all told me to wait, to be patient, but I feared for the worst... Kidnapping... theft... it all crossed my mind. A fine and sturdy, black and well-travelled suitcase like you is much sought after. Especially as on either side of your fine body, you have those beautiful tattoos of all the flights you have taken and all the places you have been to. Worst of all, I thought of the possibility that perhaps someone was jealous of the sticker"If it ain't Boeing, I ain't going" that you proudly bear on your chest , and decided to hold you hostage.

Then I rang again this morning, and somehow the airline managed to find you. Why didn't you let people know you were hanging around at SFO all this time? And did you request to be placed on "Airline of the Year" Asiana, despite the fact that I was forced to downgrade to the disjointed United?

How thrilled I was that you are arriving, and so well timed that you would arrive one day before I leave again. The conference already began and is nearing its end, and my presentation was already over and done with. I had to make do with makeshift last-minute shopping for new clothes, socks and underwear, even though I longed for the warmth and familiarity of the contents of your body.

Did you know the airline was actually going to send you in a truck to my hotel, even though in the same evening I would have to haul you all the way back to the airport again to catch a flight early the next day? As much as I would have liked to be reunited with you earlier, I told the airline that there was little sense in sending you to me, and there's even a chance we might cross paths and miss one another, as we have already painfully done. I suggested to the airline to simply load you onboard the flight I will be taking to Taipei.

But they said that they could not do that. That would pose a "security risk", was the reasoning, for you cannot be handled or checked on board a flight by a third party. I protested vehemently, and questioned the airline on the absolute nonsense they once again were feeding me.

If you cannot fly or be left alone because you supposedly pose a "security risk", then how can you be abandoned at SFO (of all countries to be paranoid about security threats...) for 5 days and eventually check yourself aboard a 12hour flight across the Pacific when I was not even aboard that flight? Were not these examples more of a security risk than automatically loading you aboard the same flight that I will be taking anyways? Apparently, the airline had not caused me enough grief and anxiety, not to mention financial expenses already and was putting more obstacles between you and me.

More phone calls, more complaints, and eventually United gave in and agreed to my request. How much effort did it take to locate you, and to convince them what would be the most logical and efficient way of reuniting with you? How much time did I waste listening to broken reassurances and fantasies told by one airline personnel after another?

I will see you, bright and early, Friday morning.

I hope it really is you

Surprise

I had to leave that place as soon as the mellow music began to sound in the background. Tears were filling my eyes, and my vision became a watery blur. Wandering around Danshui, I stumbled into the former home of Dr. George Mackay, the humanitarian doctor and Presbyterian priest who established the hospital I was born in. The old artifacts and the little room, which used to be his consultation office, made me emotional, and the music was what pushed it. Merely a few hours after landing in Taiwan, I was crying. Belated tears which I held because I did not want to appear weak, because I did not want to see my mum see me cry.

Three hours earlier I arrived home, put down my suitcase, quickly showered to cleanse myself of the sweat from hauling my belongings up the five flights of stairs. My heart was racing, and I was smiling unexpectedly from the anticipation of seeing mum again. I called her, and as expected, she was at the hospital.

Immediately I sensed something was wrong. It was in her voice. It was so... sad, so... silent. Gone was the energy with which she spoke when we spoke earlier just before I boarded my flight at Incheon. I rushed to meet her at the gates of the hospital. When I saw her, she somehow felt me coming and looked up. With arms outstretched, she beckoned me to come closer. We hugged and I patted her gently on the back, close my eyes momentarily as I savoured that moment of reunion.

There was a sadness on her face. A sadness compounded with disbelief, and perhaps confusion or even fear. The prognosis is not good. There is a 'lump', this time around a lymph gland. The doctor recommends immediate chemo.

"Some things cannot be predicted..."

Eight sessions, with around a two week interval in between each one. Each one lasts around two to three days. And each one takes a week to recover from. Until the next session.

"I've been eating well, sleeping well, and even 'doing it' well. Who would have known?"

The treatment will be more intensive, and the drug will be stronger than before. Hair will fall out. We strolled slowly together. I was close to tears, but clenched my teeth so that the tears would not flood over my eye lids and run down my face. How that moment hurt. How, as those words left her mouth, I felt like a heavy, heavy weight weigh down on my previously flighty and light heart.

"Last year when I stopped the treatment, the effects of the drugs took a long time to go away. And now I have to inject more poison into my body. I will become so tired, so weak..."

Right then, I felt like turning away, running away and crying quietly in the corner where one could see me, where no one could touch me. I knew I could not. I must be strong. I must be there for my mum. But how strong can I be when even now, as I type, I tremble at the thought of my mum under going treatment again? How strong can I be to have to watch her suffer, watch her strength fade from day to day, helplessly watch her feel the immeasurable amount of pain and anxiety that I cannot do anything to take away?

Mum is at work now, for an hour or so longer until she finishes for the week. As I walked to kill time before she finishes work, she accompanied me to the door. I walked slowly away, and turned back to see her stand there in front of her office and look back at me. I gathered the strength to wave at her. And she smiled back. She still stood there, and watching me as I disappeared into the crowd. I turned back again, only to see her, with sunken shoulders and a lowered head, gradually make her way into the office.

Mum, I am home.

Homeward bound

Sitting here at the airport, about to round up my trip to Korea. It's been an eventful trip, with missed connections, frustrations at the lost lugguage, being unbearably lost in translation. But there have also been positive experiences too. This truly is a unique country, so steeped in tradition, history and culture, yet all those roots to the past and to the Korean heritage is so well grafted onto modernity, technology and hope for the future.

Just spoke to mum on the phone, as today is the day when she receives the results of her latest checkup. She sounded good, telling me to go to all these places and to travel around and enjoy myself. I told her that I was in Incheon (where I really am), and she said it's a big port city, where dad and her visited before when I was very little. She once told me that I was so happy to see them leave, and even waved goodbye to them. Yet little did I know they were going to be away for a number of days, probably the longest I've ever been away from them. I can't remember if I cried after saying goodbye.

I am in Incheon, but little does mum know that I'm at Incheon International Airport. She recommended that I go to Jeju, a tropical island that's supposed to be very beautfiul and famous. She said that it's best to fly there as the distance is far to travel. I said I'll think about it. And I smiled inside. Indeed, I'll be flying to a tropical island, but just not the one that she was thinking of.

Later around noon she will probably be at the hospital. It's also around the time that I arrive in Taipei. She said she's been asking the Buddha for blessings, and hopes that things will be alright.

I will find out when I arrive.