We walked slowly on a path that cut through a field of wheat. Each stem supported a heavy head that swayed like drunks in the gentle evening breeze. Poppy flowers, like discarded red confetti scattered across the plains fluttered in the wind. Though the overcast clouds hid what most likely would have been an amazing and colourful dusk, beautiful birdsong echoed against the grim yet majestic looking faces of mountains that soared all around us.
I had risen very early in the morning to run to the train station so I could catch an early flight to take me across half of Europe to Switzerland. Once in Switzerland, I hopped onto two trains and rode for another two hours to arrive at this secluded bed and breakfast at the foot of mountains close to Aigle.
What for? For moments and memories like walking through a field of wheat with mum just after a nice evening meal in a quaint little village. For the precious minutes and laughs we shared talking about this and that (mostly about how unbearable it can be living in brother's house...).
12 June 2010
11 June 2010
Far
How far would you go to make someone happy, to put a smile on someone's face? Far, far...
Barely two days after I arrived back in Europe, I'm on the move again. Going to catch an early flight (so early there are no buses, I have to walk 5km to the train station...) to Switzerland. That's where my mum is now, somewhere in the mountains.
I know where she's staying, just not sure if she'd be there when I arrive to surprise her...
Seems like a real episode of hide and seek, where the person I'm seeking could be anywhere!
Wish me luck.
Barely two days after I arrived back in Europe, I'm on the move again. Going to catch an early flight (so early there are no buses, I have to walk 5km to the train station...) to Switzerland. That's where my mum is now, somewhere in the mountains.
I know where she's staying, just not sure if she'd be there when I arrive to surprise her...
Seems like a real episode of hide and seek, where the person I'm seeking could be anywhere!
Wish me luck.
Becareful!
I come all the way to the Netherlands, and it seems like I'm not all that welcome here. Forget about the fact that I hauled a huge mattress all the way across the world, or the fact that over half of my suitcase was filled with my brother's things...
Been less than 24hrs, and my brother's been going on about how careful I should be with the white walls and wooden flooring. I should not drop things, lest the object makes a dent on the flooring... I should wipe the kitchen counter clean and dry, or otherwise water will seep through the (mind you: waterproof...) countertop and start to rot... I must be careful of the walls and ceiling, or there might be 'bump' marks... Whatsmore, brother's also been complaining to me about what 'damage' mum has done to the kitchen, window sill, bathroom etc. Scratch marks, water marks, bike tracks, finger prints... I went to inspect the bath-tub, which just last week was the source of a row between them. Allegedly mum had used a rough sponge to clean the tub, which created some scratch mark... but however I look, I just can't see anything that's worthy of getting upset about. Least of all, I can't see anything that's worth making mum feel uncomfortable being here, especially as the whole purpose of her stay is to relax and recover from her chemo.
I think it's become an (unhealthy) obsession for him. I can partly understand why, as he spent a lot of time and money on renovating this place to make it his home (if it wasn't his home already before...). But then again sometimes the carefulness goes a bit too much. Earlier, I joked that mum should wear one of those anti-dust suits that scientists wear in laboratories and put on gloves when moving around the house. Now I think that it's actually very fitting.
Most extreme (and ridiculous) of all, brother even complained that because mum feeds our cat too early in the morning, it disturbs the cat's sleeping patterns, so she's awake at night and making a lot of noise...
So at one point I 'snapped' back at him: " Mum's here for not long..."
Only when those words escaped my mouth did I realise the double meaning behind them. I hope he understood what I said to mean she's only staying here for a month... but on the grander scheme of things, however unpleasant the thought, the words could very well be true too...
Brother did not say anything after that.
10 June 2010
At FRA
It was an extremely turbulent flight, especially so as we gradually approached the proximity of Iceland. I looked into the darkness, and tried to spot signs of the insidious ash that had plagued the airways above the North Atlantic in recent months.
I don’t think I can remember another flight that was as bad as this pone, for there was at least two hours out of the six and a half that the seatbelt sign was lit. Over the intercom, a nervous sounding cabin attendant regularly reminded passengers to fasten their seatbelts and not to get up from their seats.
The shaking was so intense that a number of times the plane just ‘dropped’, causing that sickening sensation in the stomach. I looked outside, and it was as if I could see the wing tips flap up and down from the violent turbulence. Cold sweat seized my body as I clenched to the armrests and tried to divert my attention to a much younger Tom Cruise in “The Firm”. The engine groaned loudly in resistance, and I could hear muffled gasps echo around the cabin.
A girl in the aisle seat across from me was so frightened she burst out in tears. A member of the crew knelt down next to her and held her hand for a while in an effort to calm her down. In the dimmed cabin, I could see the fear on her face.
I remember on the many, many flights I took by my self as a boy, turbulence would always frighten me terribly. I had this irrational fear that the plane would shake so hard the engines would break off, and so send the entire plane tumbling earthward to a brutal death. Watching episodes of “Air Accident Investigation” on Discover did not help. Somehow, being in the middle of the ocean, with the dark, icy depths below, always accentuates that fear.
Now, a little more grown up, I know better. Turbulence is but wild streams of air currents that happen to cross the plane’s flight path. The plane shakes because the wild air currents that flow over and under the wings in pockets of turbulence are not smooth, causing the wings to flex and bend. But usually it will pass sooner or later. And modern planes can still keep on flying even if an engine (or two) is lost.
Most important of all, in the (unlikely) event of an accident, the Warsaw/Montreal safety net will break my fall…
I don’t think I can remember another flight that was as bad as this pone, for there was at least two hours out of the six and a half that the seatbelt sign was lit. Over the intercom, a nervous sounding cabin attendant regularly reminded passengers to fasten their seatbelts and not to get up from their seats.
The shaking was so intense that a number of times the plane just ‘dropped’, causing that sickening sensation in the stomach. I looked outside, and it was as if I could see the wing tips flap up and down from the violent turbulence. Cold sweat seized my body as I clenched to the armrests and tried to divert my attention to a much younger Tom Cruise in “The Firm”. The engine groaned loudly in resistance, and I could hear muffled gasps echo around the cabin.
A girl in the aisle seat across from me was so frightened she burst out in tears. A member of the crew knelt down next to her and held her hand for a while in an effort to calm her down. In the dimmed cabin, I could see the fear on her face.
I remember on the many, many flights I took by my self as a boy, turbulence would always frighten me terribly. I had this irrational fear that the plane would shake so hard the engines would break off, and so send the entire plane tumbling earthward to a brutal death. Watching episodes of “Air Accident Investigation” on Discover did not help. Somehow, being in the middle of the ocean, with the dark, icy depths below, always accentuates that fear.
Now, a little more grown up, I know better. Turbulence is but wild streams of air currents that happen to cross the plane’s flight path. The plane shakes because the wild air currents that flow over and under the wings in pockets of turbulence are not smooth, causing the wings to flex and bend. But usually it will pass sooner or later. And modern planes can still keep on flying even if an engine (or two) is lost.
Most important of all, in the (unlikely) event of an accident, the Warsaw/Montreal safety net will break my fall…
09 June 2010
En route
The plane broke through the dense cloud cover, but it is shaking from the lingering and invisible turbulence. The horizon looks beautiful, a blend of blue fading into ever darker shades, with a slight touch of yellow and orange, which is heaven’s hint of the approaching dusk.
Who would have thought that I would be on a plane again, less than 48 hours after my long, long crossing half way around the globe? Until last night, I was convincing myself that I should and would stay put in Monteal. But waking up this morning I had a sudden urge, an intuition while I was jogging in the park. With every step I took, I could hear this nagging voice inside of me which told me if I do not leave on this flight I would regret it.
As I head back to Europe, I am defying the very words and warnings of someone who just two weeks ago reminded me again how irresponsible of me it would be to be home for so short a time and to leave my poor little cat house-sitting again. Not that the words of this friend fell on deaf ears. In fact, they troubled me for a while, and again I found myself wondering whether it is “right” to keep on abandoning my cat and to be away so long… I know it is cruel to adopt a cat and then not be there a lot of the time. As I was packing my suitcase (with clothes that were barely dry because I had only washed them earlier this morning), my cat took a nap on my suitcase. Perhaps it was coincidence. Or perhaps she felt and knew that I was planning to leave her again, and was lying on my suitcase in protest. It pains me to see it, even though I may very well be projecting my own human emotions onto her innocence looking face and eyes.
But then again, what could be more important than spending precious time with my mum at this stage in my life? Having lost my dad, and seeing just how fragile mum’s health and life is, I just feel I need to spend as much time and opportunity I have with her. A week, a day, a few more minutes may seem so insignificant… but when someone dear is still here, is still on this Earth for me to see, for me to talk to, for me to hug and hold, the day that she is gone, those few moments together count for a lot. A friend compared to what I am going through to a “mission” I need to fulfill. Even though the process may be tiring, even though in the process I am letting my cat down. All else seems to pale in importance…
By flying off again, I am sure to raise eyebrows and cause people to talk and judge. But at the end of the day, I think to myself, others do not feel what I feel… others cannot possibly comprehend why I do what I do, and why I put myself through the torments of jetlag and stress just to be with my mum (who still has no idea that I am heading back today).
How surprised she will to see me. I try to imagine the possible look on face, the likely smile that it might just give her, the happiness that could possibly heal her weakened body little by little. Just those possibilities, even if none of them are realised, is worth me leaving again.
Clear skies in Europe, the captain predicts…
Who would have thought that I would be on a plane again, less than 48 hours after my long, long crossing half way around the globe? Until last night, I was convincing myself that I should and would stay put in Monteal. But waking up this morning I had a sudden urge, an intuition while I was jogging in the park. With every step I took, I could hear this nagging voice inside of me which told me if I do not leave on this flight I would regret it.
As I head back to Europe, I am defying the very words and warnings of someone who just two weeks ago reminded me again how irresponsible of me it would be to be home for so short a time and to leave my poor little cat house-sitting again. Not that the words of this friend fell on deaf ears. In fact, they troubled me for a while, and again I found myself wondering whether it is “right” to keep on abandoning my cat and to be away so long… I know it is cruel to adopt a cat and then not be there a lot of the time. As I was packing my suitcase (with clothes that were barely dry because I had only washed them earlier this morning), my cat took a nap on my suitcase. Perhaps it was coincidence. Or perhaps she felt and knew that I was planning to leave her again, and was lying on my suitcase in protest. It pains me to see it, even though I may very well be projecting my own human emotions onto her innocence looking face and eyes.
But then again, what could be more important than spending precious time with my mum at this stage in my life? Having lost my dad, and seeing just how fragile mum’s health and life is, I just feel I need to spend as much time and opportunity I have with her. A week, a day, a few more minutes may seem so insignificant… but when someone dear is still here, is still on this Earth for me to see, for me to talk to, for me to hug and hold, the day that she is gone, those few moments together count for a lot. A friend compared to what I am going through to a “mission” I need to fulfill. Even though the process may be tiring, even though in the process I am letting my cat down. All else seems to pale in importance…
By flying off again, I am sure to raise eyebrows and cause people to talk and judge. But at the end of the day, I think to myself, others do not feel what I feel… others cannot possibly comprehend why I do what I do, and why I put myself through the torments of jetlag and stress just to be with my mum (who still has no idea that I am heading back today).
How surprised she will to see me. I try to imagine the possible look on face, the likely smile that it might just give her, the happiness that could possibly heal her weakened body little by little. Just those possibilities, even if none of them are realised, is worth me leaving again.
Clear skies in Europe, the captain predicts…
08 June 2010
Leaving again...
Judge me, scold me, criticise me, blame me.
Call me irresponsible, call me insane, say that I have lost it...
I am leaving again.
Call me irresponsible, call me insane, say that I have lost it...
I am leaving again.
07 June 2010
500 days of Summer
When I first saw the trailer a few months back, I dismissed it as yet another cheesy romantic movie. But on the long trek across the Pacific, even “yet another cheesy romantic movie” can slowly chip away the minutes till landing.
And how wrong I was about “500 Days of Summer”. It’s not your typical story about a boy who meets a girl, but a story about those little chance meetings and moments in life that could change things completely. It’s a little sweet story, with characters hat are opposites of one another, yet bound together by this strange, indescribable, unfathomable thing called… love (of the romantic kind).
There are those who believe in it, believe in its purest form, believe in the existence of “the one”. And there are those who, by reason of being witness, or even participant to, disappointments promise themselves that they will never be foolish enough to be blinded by this intoxicating and miserable feeling. Everyone has a different definition for love, but most people cannot even it into simple words… hence we rely on songs, movies and pre-written greeting cards to help us capture and convey love. The pessimist closes his eyes and ears to the sounds and sights of love that are all abound, while the optimist chooses to see little signs of the magical feeling, even when foreshadowed by the possibility of dashed hopes and expectations
I know not what love means, and less can I describe something that I have never truly felt towards anyone. And perhaps that’s why I identify with the protagonist (aside from the good looks, and melting smile of the boy in Third Rock from the Sun)… with his daydreaming, his longing, his deep depression after the heart-break, and with his ability to pick himself up again and to let (call it what you will…) fate, destiny, life take its course.
Perhaps one day I could know what love really means. And find it, feel it, be cushioned by it. And maybe even be hurt by it.
06 June 2010
Night before departure
I've been up and down the island in the past four days. Chasing time, trying to capture the most of it. Chasing memories, trying to make them with relatives and family I have spread over the country.
It's been a rushed few days of rushed greetings, rushed getting-to-know-one-anothers, and rushed goodbyes. Physically I'm tired, weakened further by the cold that's only still taking leave. But I feel I have accomplished what I always try to do whenever I'm here, and that's to see every one and not leave any person unvisited. At times we may not say much meaningful, but most important for me is to see how my family, my friends are faring, how they are aging, and to know that they are still there, and hopefully doing well. That's more or less the case with everyone, despite the unbeatable obstacles of aging and illness, everyone seems to be alright. And that's what I pray for whenever I visit a temple, or when I kneel before my family's ancestral shrine. For people to be happy, healthy and well...
Finally back home by myself, and the daunting task of packing my suitcase(s) still lies ahead as I count down the hours and minutes till I leave home again. In these last couple of days, as I wandered around the island and the cities, I felt a strange sense of belonging mixed with a strange sense of loneliness. At times, as I stare out at the busy streets and crowds of people, I imagine what mum must feel when she is alone here by herself. It's true.... life in the big city, away from family and dear ones can be very lonesome...
I'm going to finish packing my suitcase, and then tidy up the house a bit.... so that when mum comes home in a couple of weeks, she will come home to a clean place, and be ready to start life afresh. Even though I will no longer be here with her...
It's been a rushed few days of rushed greetings, rushed getting-to-know-one-anothers, and rushed goodbyes. Physically I'm tired, weakened further by the cold that's only still taking leave. But I feel I have accomplished what I always try to do whenever I'm here, and that's to see every one and not leave any person unvisited. At times we may not say much meaningful, but most important for me is to see how my family, my friends are faring, how they are aging, and to know that they are still there, and hopefully doing well. That's more or less the case with everyone, despite the unbeatable obstacles of aging and illness, everyone seems to be alright. And that's what I pray for whenever I visit a temple, or when I kneel before my family's ancestral shrine. For people to be happy, healthy and well...
Finally back home by myself, and the daunting task of packing my suitcase(s) still lies ahead as I count down the hours and minutes till I leave home again. In these last couple of days, as I wandered around the island and the cities, I felt a strange sense of belonging mixed with a strange sense of loneliness. At times, as I stare out at the busy streets and crowds of people, I imagine what mum must feel when she is alone here by herself. It's true.... life in the big city, away from family and dear ones can be very lonesome...
I'm going to finish packing my suitcase, and then tidy up the house a bit.... so that when mum comes home in a couple of weeks, she will come home to a clean place, and be ready to start life afresh. Even though I will no longer be here with her...
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