One week to the day since I arrived back in Montreal. Slowly, slowly I am getting back to the local time. The first few days I could hardly keep my eyes-- let alone mind-- awake by eight in the evening. Now I can bear it and drag out till 'normal' sleeping hours. But still, some 'biological' clock within wakes me up automatically at around six every morning. In a way it's good, because it means I have more of the day to spend.
One week to the day since I arrived back, and already I am counting down to the day I leave again. Which is six days from now. And this time back to Europe. This friend ( more like a sort of surrogate mother while my own was absent) in the Netherlands is not doing too well, and brother mailed me to say that she is not responding to the chemo therapy. So within a day or two of arriving back here I decided to make an unplanned trip to go see her. I do not wish to say it, let alone think it, but part of me is afraid that if I don't make this trip, it might be too late...
First my mum, and now a friend. One by one, cancer seems to be ruthlessly bringing down people close to me. And I am left running (more like flying) around the world in the hope that my presence, my touch however insignificant can make a little difference to their lives.
Going to Europe will be a short trip, only a week, give or take. And luckily, a friend offered me some airmiles to make this sudden trip possible. But after I come back from Europe at the end of this month, I have only four weeks till I fly back to Asia to be with mum...
Though I am glad that I am able to make this trip, that I have the time and money to spare to make all these journeys to see family and friends, I am truly very tired. Tired of travelling, tired of living from week to week, month to month unsure whether I can settle down in one place and when I can get back to my routines.
With all this flying around, someone jokingly commented that at least in April I will break the "record" of staying put for a whole month. I cannot explain why it hurt to hear that... why those words so abruptly made me feel like crying... why all the travelling and living out a suitcase simply is not what I wish in my life. I said little back, but deep down I felt so misunderstood.
If I had a choice, do I not wish for stability and predictability, at least for a period of time, instead of the uncertainty of flying and moving around from place to place, from people to people? Do I not long to get back to my studies and long for the feeling that I am working toward something tangible? I can fly off and offer comfort and consolation to those dear in my life, yet who will offer me the same?
Sure, it might seem glorious and luxurious to shuttle between world continents to all these exciting countries and cities... but how I long for comfort, for certainty.
For being in a place of familiarity and love without needing to every so often hurriedly come and hurriedly bid farewells.
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