I spent the whole morning scouring the internet in search of cheap and fast ways to get to France. Strasbourg is only around 750km from here, and back in the day when I first regularly visited my friend and godson, I would take the train. It's a long 7hr journey, with a transfer in Brussels, but nonetheless journey that takes you through some beautiful regions of the Ardennen, Luxembourg and Northern France.
Then I was still under 25, but this year for the first time I must buy an "adult" ticket :( And since I last went to Strasbourg in 2008, a 'new' high speed rail network has come into being in this part of Europe, which is supposed to connect all the major cities within hours.
So I checked the price and train connections. What used to take 7hrs and only two connections will now take 6.5hrs and have three connections on this so-called high-speed network, routing me through Brussels and Paris as well. Whatsmore, what used to cost EUR130 for a return (which I found expensive then), will now cost EUR180 for a single journey on the high speed network! Sure, you get to ride some of the fastest and slickest trains in Europe (the Thalys, TGV-Est), but why is it so expensive? What about people who can't afford to travel or limited means to do so? And I thought the European high speed network was all about ease of travel and connectivity.
So I turned my search to planes, and as expected, flying is not only cheaper but much faster, taking only about 1hr20min from airport to airport, costing around EUR180. I managed to find a connection from Amsterdam to Basel on Swiss, and so avoiding the horrible and unfriendly airline that is KLM altogether. (though, on Easyjet, I found a ticket for the same journey for only EUR120, but the travel times are not flexible).
Being environmentally concerned, as I clicked "book" online, I thought to myself what world have we come to if flying is cheaper than training? I'm sure the economic costs, including externalities like pollution, fuel etc of flying cannot be cheaper than riding the electrified train.
And yet in terms of price it actually is... I'll have to offset some of my carbon footprints sometime soon...
25 March 2010
Trip
After the somber events of the past week since I got back to Europe, yesterday I decided to do a trip I've been meaning to make for a while. To Strasbourg, to visit my godson and her mum, who I've not seen for almost a year already. What's more exciting is that my friend got married and gave birth to a baby girl within that same period, so a lot has changed since we last met. In her life and in mine.
I went around buying all these cookies and sweets and cheeses that I know they like, and from Canada I had brought with me special Vancouver Olympics backpacks for kids. I know the gifts probably don't mean much, but not being in Europe has made it difficult to be in touch with them, and I guess the gifts are supposed to 'make up' for lost time. On my friend's blog, where she documents their daily life in words and pictures, I can see that my godson, now almost four, has really grown big and cute over the past year. I wonder if he stills remembers me, and the Christmases and birthdays that we spent together, and the hand-in-hand walks along the river that we made when he was still a toddler.
This visit to Strasbourg I'm going with a good friend, with whom I've travelled to various places, and she's never been to the beautiful region around Strasbourg (and also it'll be cheaper to share rooms too!). I think she'll mostly be on her own as I bond with my friend and her family, but Sunday we actually plan to rent a car and visit the one and only Nazi concentration and extermination camp in France, Stuthof Natzwiller. I have a feeling it will be very depressing and moving, but it's something I've always been meaning to experience, so in a way I'm looking forward to it (if such a place, with such a place is something one can look forward to seeing........)
So an exciting and full few days ahead!
I went around buying all these cookies and sweets and cheeses that I know they like, and from Canada I had brought with me special Vancouver Olympics backpacks for kids. I know the gifts probably don't mean much, but not being in Europe has made it difficult to be in touch with them, and I guess the gifts are supposed to 'make up' for lost time. On my friend's blog, where she documents their daily life in words and pictures, I can see that my godson, now almost four, has really grown big and cute over the past year. I wonder if he stills remembers me, and the Christmases and birthdays that we spent together, and the hand-in-hand walks along the river that we made when he was still a toddler.
This visit to Strasbourg I'm going with a good friend, with whom I've travelled to various places, and she's never been to the beautiful region around Strasbourg (and also it'll be cheaper to share rooms too!). I think she'll mostly be on her own as I bond with my friend and her family, but Sunday we actually plan to rent a car and visit the one and only Nazi concentration and extermination camp in France, Stuthof Natzwiller. I have a feeling it will be very depressing and moving, but it's something I've always been meaning to experience, so in a way I'm looking forward to it (if such a place, with such a place is something one can look forward to seeing........)
So an exciting and full few days ahead!
Ride home
After seeing Carmen, we sat down together with the family and some of my brother's friends who knew her. It was a quiet dinner, Indonesian food, and at various points people didn't really know what to say, so there was an awkward silence that hung around and returned to the room. And I for one was not comfortable enough to start talking about random things in a room full of strangers. Some people asked me about my studies and life in Canada, and I answered briefly and quietly, not wanting to distract from the real reason we were all gathered there.
Carmen's daughter sat directly opposite me, smiling weakly when it was necessary. Perhaps I was imagining it, but it was as if I could feel her pain behind those smiles. I wanted to speak to her in person away from all these people, but there was never the chance. I did give her a big, long hug when I saw her and when I left. Perhaps through my embrace, through my gentle pats on her back, she understood or could feel that I can imagine what she is going through. "At least you got to see her and say goodbye", she said to me at one point. I agreed, and when we said goodbye it seemed like a flood of tears were about to burst through her eyes...
Brother and I walked slowly to the car, perhaps both of us reflecting on the night that had just passed us by. Perhaps both feeling lost as what to feel, perhaps unsure how to make sense of it all or put words to our lips. Eventually he asked me how it was. "Alright," I said, "It's only so much..."
Maybe those were unfeeling words, but at that point I really did not feel particular sadness or hurt. Carmen had gone, her remains lie in the bed she lay in for the past week or so, where she had struggled with life and death, but as always the latter won. It is only so much...
The car rode silently across town, and brother wanted to go somewhere, somewhere to freshen the mind, but was not sure where at that time of night. "We are growing up," he said, as gradually we will have to face more and more these kinds of occurrences. Friends, family, they will all slowly go as we age, he said, and stopped short right there.
Perhaps I was one step ahead, but perhaps at the end of that sentence was something that is all too raw and sensitive to both of us.
Friends, family will all pass gradually.
As will our mum.
Carmen's daughter sat directly opposite me, smiling weakly when it was necessary. Perhaps I was imagining it, but it was as if I could feel her pain behind those smiles. I wanted to speak to her in person away from all these people, but there was never the chance. I did give her a big, long hug when I saw her and when I left. Perhaps through my embrace, through my gentle pats on her back, she understood or could feel that I can imagine what she is going through. "At least you got to see her and say goodbye", she said to me at one point. I agreed, and when we said goodbye it seemed like a flood of tears were about to burst through her eyes...
Brother and I walked slowly to the car, perhaps both of us reflecting on the night that had just passed us by. Perhaps both feeling lost as what to feel, perhaps unsure how to make sense of it all or put words to our lips. Eventually he asked me how it was. "Alright," I said, "It's only so much..."
Maybe those were unfeeling words, but at that point I really did not feel particular sadness or hurt. Carmen had gone, her remains lie in the bed she lay in for the past week or so, where she had struggled with life and death, but as always the latter won. It is only so much...
The car rode silently across town, and brother wanted to go somewhere, somewhere to freshen the mind, but was not sure where at that time of night. "We are growing up," he said, as gradually we will have to face more and more these kinds of occurrences. Friends, family, they will all slowly go as we age, he said, and stopped short right there.
Perhaps I was one step ahead, but perhaps at the end of that sentence was something that is all too raw and sensitive to both of us.
Friends, family will all pass gradually.
As will our mum.
24 March 2010
Visiting Carmen
We were hesitant to ring the bell, let alone enter the house at first. We eyed one another, in attempts to let the other person go first. I gave brother the big bouquet of white, unblossomed lilies, and perhaps he knew that it was a gesture that, as the oldest and also closest to the family, he should be the first to go in.
In the first room, I knew that she lay there. That was where I last spoke to her. Where I last held hands and kissed her on the cheeks. That was where I last said that I would come back to see her. And here I was, back to see her, yet she had already left.
We entered the room, dark except for the flickering dim tea light candles placed around the room. A scent, floral, fragrant, yet with a hint of medicine, the same one that lingered on the fingers which had held on to Carmen’s a few days earlier, entered my nostrils. And I saw her, lying there with her hands holding an arrangement of orchids on her chest, her eyes, face and posture resting and at ease. On her head a hat, and in the background was the low sound of machinery, which I imagined kept her remains cool. Beautiful and elegant bouquets of white and light shades of flowers surrounded her bed. I heard a sniff, and felt brother gently place his hand close to my shoulder.
We were silent as we stood and watched… the lady who so kindly looked out for us over the years, who selflessly cared and was genuinely concerned about our wellbeing, who invited us to Christmas and New Years celebrations because we had no close relatives here. Her carefree laughter echoed in my memories, her big grin and warm embrace still fresh in my mind. I closed my eyes and wished her peace, sent her good thoughts, and hoped that she finally found liberation from the suffering and pain of this world. And I thanked her… for being there for us whenever we needed advice or help, for the encouragements and hugs she gave to my mum, for attending my high school graduation when my parents could not be there, for the great talks and philosophising we had over coffee and tea…
Rest in peace, Carmen.
Traditions surrounding death
In the olden days, neighbours were important as part of the rituals after someone's passing. The neighbours would be the ones who help with the cleaning of the remains and carrying the coffin down to the graveyard. Whatsmore, the neighbours would be the messengers who went around the village and told others of the news that someone had passed away. Probably that was the case in a largely rural and agricultural society, as I doubt this is still done...
Then the mirrors had to be covered, and curtains pulled closed to show that the household is in mourning. Normally, most Dutch households have big open windows and have their curtains open all the time. This is in line with the Calvist tradition, for open windows allow the outside world to see that this is a 'pure' and devout household, for there is nothing to hide. As for the mirrors, they are thought to be windows to the soul, and people believed that the soul of the deceased may drag the soul of a living person with it if the mirrors are not covered over. Another reason is because mirrors are a symbol of vanity, and there is no place for such thoughts in the sombre setting of mourning.
As part of the dowry, there is usually a piece of white clothing that is given to the bride . This is what they call a "deathcloth" (doodskleed), and it is first worn ont he wedding night, and then put into the closet to be washed once a year. There are no buttons on this piece of clothing, for buttons are believed to hold back the spirit when someone passes on, and the clothing must be tailored to the exact size as the deceased. When a death occurs in the family, the first name of the deceased is sown onto the deathcloth (and the needle thrown into an open fire to be destroyed...).
The term "stinking rich" (stinkend rijk) actually comes from the tradition of burrying the deceased around the local church. As time past, the churchyards were filling with corpses, which resulted in a pepetual stench that lingered. Being able to be burried in the churchyard meant that you were rich enough to pay for a space in the stinking final resting place.
23 March 2010
Meeting with a friend
I cycled slowly towards my house, and suddenly saw a figure stand before the doorsteps. Curious, for the person had long blond hair, and none of my neighbours look like that. As the wheels inched closer, I realised who it was and smiled. We gave each other a long, big embrace.
It was a dear friend, with whom I had a bit of a confrontation few months before. But seeing her again, everything seemed to back to normal, and I was really glad that she dropped by like that. She followed her intuition, she said, and sort of knew that I would be there. Indeed, no sooner did she get off her bike I was arriving from a trip to downtown.
She bought lots of cakes and pastry, as well as a big bouquet of white-yellowish roses and lilies. Attached was a lovely card expressing condolences and wishing me strength. The card reminded me of something that I had not realised... within two years, I had lost a number of dear people in my life. First my dad, then a friend I met at the monastery, and now Carmen... and yes, almost on a constant basis I am living with the possibility of receiving a phone call with bad news of mum...
My friend and I sat down, on the kitchen floor no less, and bonded as the cat walked around rubbed herself against us. I confided in her, as I used to when we studied together, exchange notes and mused about emotions and dealing with death and dying. It's been two days since Carmen's passing, and yet I have not shed tears (only moistening at the corner of my eyes from time to time...)... have I become so desensitised to death, have I become numb, I asked?
Numb is when you don't care, when you don't feel, my friend reassured me. But the truth is that I do care... I do care about the pain and suffering of dying, about the hurt and emptiness of the remaining family. I do care about it enough to suddenly pick up my bags and rush back here.
No, I have not become desensitised nor numb. I have just learned to cope by becoming stronger. For there is nothing more painful to someone on the brink of death to see tears flowing down the face of the people left behind... I have learned to cope, to find strength from within so that I will not break down, and not burst out in emotions. How else can I be there to take my mother's hand, to assure her that there is hope yet? How else can I whisper in my dad's ears and tell him to let go and to go peacefully? How else can I sit by Carmen's side and calmly meditate and send her positive thoughts and wellwishes on her final journey of life? It takes courage and self discipline to do that, my friend said as she looked at me intensely in the eyes.
In a mail she later wrote to me, she described me and the circumstances I have been in in such strong words:
I am not saying that I know it all already, or that I am ready for the next onslaught of death, or that I am prepared to face my own. But little by little, I am learning, I am feeling and experiencing death, and realising that it is only so much.
It was a dear friend, with whom I had a bit of a confrontation few months before. But seeing her again, everything seemed to back to normal, and I was really glad that she dropped by like that. She followed her intuition, she said, and sort of knew that I would be there. Indeed, no sooner did she get off her bike I was arriving from a trip to downtown.
She bought lots of cakes and pastry, as well as a big bouquet of white-yellowish roses and lilies. Attached was a lovely card expressing condolences and wishing me strength. The card reminded me of something that I had not realised... within two years, I had lost a number of dear people in my life. First my dad, then a friend I met at the monastery, and now Carmen... and yes, almost on a constant basis I am living with the possibility of receiving a phone call with bad news of mum...
My friend and I sat down, on the kitchen floor no less, and bonded as the cat walked around rubbed herself against us. I confided in her, as I used to when we studied together, exchange notes and mused about emotions and dealing with death and dying. It's been two days since Carmen's passing, and yet I have not shed tears (only moistening at the corner of my eyes from time to time...)... have I become so desensitised to death, have I become numb, I asked?
Numb is when you don't care, when you don't feel, my friend reassured me. But the truth is that I do care... I do care about the pain and suffering of dying, about the hurt and emptiness of the remaining family. I do care about it enough to suddenly pick up my bags and rush back here.
No, I have not become desensitised nor numb. I have just learned to cope by becoming stronger. For there is nothing more painful to someone on the brink of death to see tears flowing down the face of the people left behind... I have learned to cope, to find strength from within so that I will not break down, and not burst out in emotions. How else can I be there to take my mother's hand, to assure her that there is hope yet? How else can I whisper in my dad's ears and tell him to let go and to go peacefully? How else can I sit by Carmen's side and calmly meditate and send her positive thoughts and wellwishes on her final journey of life? It takes courage and self discipline to do that, my friend said as she looked at me intensely in the eyes.
In a mail she later wrote to me, she described me and the circumstances I have been in in such strong words:
Your pain and sense of loss is great, but not greater than the love and happiness that these people have brought to your life. You are strong to carry the weight of so much distress over the last two years and this strength persuades others to live life to its fullest and to daily appreciate the happiness that loved ones bring to our lives; in good times, in bad times and in times when they have passed.
Death... dying... in the end it is only so much. In the end it is the only thing that is certain that will happen to each and every one of us. No prayers, however pious, no words, however eloquent and moving, can cheat or delay death should it approach. Most people only realise or feel it when faced with it...
I am not saying that I know it all already, or that I am ready for the next onslaught of death, or that I am prepared to face my own. But little by little, I am learning, I am feeling and experiencing death, and realising that it is only so much.
Morning jog
The sun shone, bright and dazzling through my windows. Gone was the storm from last night, gone were the heavy drops of rain that pounded the ceiling and insides of my heart.
I got out my jogging shoes, and sprinted towards the forest to try to cleanse my body. My head was still dizzy from not having slept much last night. My mind was troubled, flighty, and distracted by thoughts of Carmen and her family.
I had actually gotten up at midnight and started to write a letter to her daughter. The other day when I saw her, she seemed calm, but then her brother told me aside that she is reacting terribly to the whole situation. And her mum's death must be a climax to top off the brooding pain and hurt inside.
It's not a long letter, just one sharing my experience of death and losing someone dear. Every death is different, and everyone reacts differently to it, I wrote, but important is to let the raw emotions out. Let the tears out, let the mourning begin, let the memories flood out with the tears and longing. The smile, words and scent of the person we loose are all within us, are all part of us, in our deeds and thoughts. Write, draw, paint, scream, talk... get the feelings out somehow, and eventually, as with all things in this universe, it will all pass.
I have not yet sent the letter.
In a way I am afraid of sending it, for fear of hurting the daughter even more. As I was writing, I thought to myself: "Who am I to imagine what she is feeling? Who am I to tell her what she should do with the loss of the most important person in her life?" Mourning is so personal, so unique in every sense...
I got out my jogging shoes, and sprinted towards the forest to try to cleanse my body. My head was still dizzy from not having slept much last night. My mind was troubled, flighty, and distracted by thoughts of Carmen and her family.
I had actually gotten up at midnight and started to write a letter to her daughter. The other day when I saw her, she seemed calm, but then her brother told me aside that she is reacting terribly to the whole situation. And her mum's death must be a climax to top off the brooding pain and hurt inside.
It's not a long letter, just one sharing my experience of death and losing someone dear. Every death is different, and everyone reacts differently to it, I wrote, but important is to let the raw emotions out. Let the tears out, let the mourning begin, let the memories flood out with the tears and longing. The smile, words and scent of the person we loose are all within us, are all part of us, in our deeds and thoughts. Write, draw, paint, scream, talk... get the feelings out somehow, and eventually, as with all things in this universe, it will all pass.
I have not yet sent the letter.
In a way I am afraid of sending it, for fear of hurting the daughter even more. As I was writing, I thought to myself: "Who am I to imagine what she is feeling? Who am I to tell her what she should do with the loss of the most important person in her life?" Mourning is so personal, so unique in every sense...
22 March 2010
Bike ride
I cycled down to the sea, to watch the sea play with the winds. From heaven, giant rays of light beamed down through the clouds. Like stairwells, ascending.
When I went to see Carmen two days ago, funnily she had asked about where my bike was. It was on the balcony, I said.
And today, after hearing news of her passing, I dusted the bike and took it out for a ride. I cycled towards the beach, past the cafe where we once drank and ate gelato in, past the parks and woodlands where we walked around in so many times before... And I cycled past her home. The streets was the same as I last left them, the frontdoor was closed, and I did not want to disturb them.
See Carmen, I still have my bike. It's a little rusty, and makes noises when I pedal. But it works just fine...
May you rest in peace....
I had wanted to go see her this morning. That was my plan. To go see her, to comfort her, to hold her hands again. To tell her that it's alright, to tell her to let go, not to cling on.
But she left already.
May you rest in peace, Carmen. I am thinking of you...
But she left already.
May you rest in peace, Carmen. I am thinking of you...
21 March 2010
Sleepless in The Hague
I suddenly woke up, from a dream. Dream of me queing at the airport counter, queing to buy a ticket home, a ticket to here. I eventually did manage to get one at a good rate, and it was then that I woke up.
It was completetly dark outside, just past 1am. It is not because of jetlag, I don't think, as I've been busy almost all day helping brother clean and set up the newly renovated house, and was tired when I went to bed. In fact, I had slept right through the night last night, and woke up close to noon.
I lay in bed, and my thoughts seemed to naturally drift to Carmen... I can picture her lying on her bed, her eyes, her face, her thin hands hanging over the bed side...
Is she asleep, or feeling pain and restlessness? Has she been able to eat since I last saw her? Does she still have the strength to speak?
Is she feeling angry, regret... is she fearing death?
I wish I could know, but these are difficult things to ask someone, especially someone who is already so weak and thin...
I wish I could see her, and know that she is alright...
I wish there was something I could do, something I could write to her, something I could give her that would comfort her mind and put her perhaps very agitated and suffering mind at ease...
It was completetly dark outside, just past 1am. It is not because of jetlag, I don't think, as I've been busy almost all day helping brother clean and set up the newly renovated house, and was tired when I went to bed. In fact, I had slept right through the night last night, and woke up close to noon.
I lay in bed, and my thoughts seemed to naturally drift to Carmen... I can picture her lying on her bed, her eyes, her face, her thin hands hanging over the bed side...
Is she asleep, or feeling pain and restlessness? Has she been able to eat since I last saw her? Does she still have the strength to speak?
Is she feeling angry, regret... is she fearing death?
I wish I could know, but these are difficult things to ask someone, especially someone who is already so weak and thin...
I wish I could see her, and know that she is alright...
I wish there was something I could do, something I could write to her, something I could give her that would comfort her mind and put her perhaps very agitated and suffering mind at ease...
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