Happy Canda Day

Woke up early in the morning, having gone to bed early. By ten, I could hear my pillow calling, and almost as soon as I lay down I fell asleep. Sleep has not felt so fine in so long, especially as when I was travelling most of the time I slept on the floor. It's good to be in the comfort of your own home after such a long time away...

It's a gray morning, cold and damp hanging in the air. Unusual for this time of the year. But it is an special day. Not only dad's birthday, who today would have turned 63. It is also Canada Day, the birth of my new homeland 143 years ago. The day when a nation of beavers and bears, of great lakes and majestic mountains, of remote hamlets and sprawling cosmopolitan cities, of natives and newcomers, of diverse cultures and of acceptance was born.

Canada means a lot of things to a lot of people. And to me, it is a new land of opportunity to be myself, to 'make' and discover myself.

How fitting that I come back here after the series of unwelcome experiences in Europe, and it just happens to be Canada Day.

Sleepless at AMS

I should sleep, but I can’t. Perhaps I’m too excited, irritated or sad by the dramatic events earlier this evening. I can only lie awake on the comfy bed, with mum slightly snoring by my side, and see all these thoughts and images run through my head…

It’s been a long time since I have become sad prior to leaving. But this time, as I lie next to the silhouette of my mum, I cannot but feel sorry for her… sorry for what she has had to go through, what she has had to experience, and most of all, because of whom she has bear all this disappointment and hurt. So sorry that I feel the corners of my eyes moisten at the thought…

I lie awake, and she is already fast asleep. I sure hope she can rest well and wake up refreshed in the morning. But I do wonder… what originally was a trip for her to recuperate from her chemo turned into an experience of great mental trauma and emotional upset. How many cancerous cells have been multiplying since…? How many cancerous cells are now feeding on her sadness and deep heartache…? Is her cancer index again through the roof, like last time when brother tormented her emotionally about funding his renovations?

“I will never come here again…” she said earlier as I journeyed to the airport. Maybe she said it because of her deep disappointment at my brother’s behaviour… but maybe, just maybe, deep down inside she knows that this may be the time that she has the chance to visit the Netherlands.

And what a memorable time it has been…

Forgiveness

How many times can you forgive someone who continues to hurt you again and again?

How many times can you just forgive someone who does not seem to know or understand how much hurt and wrong he can cause to others?

The monk in the mountains told me the Buddha never taught that endless forgiveness is compassion. You can forgive, but do so with wisdom. Forgive not for the sake of forgiving, for forgiving without wisdom is foolishness. Forgiving only to make the person repeat the same mistakes again and again is not helping him, but instead hurting him, and others. Someone who continuously beats you and torments you can be forgiven. But forgiving with wisdom is to let go of the past, and let go of this person who brings no benefit to your spiritual or physical wellbeing.

There are those who can be forgiven, and shown the path. But there are those who can be forgiven, and are forever lost in the vices of greed, hatred and delusion.

Forgive, pardon his ignorance and not knowing better. And let go.

Breakdown

How has it come to this…? On the eve of mum’s (and my) departure, we resorted to quickly packing our bags and leaving our own home to go stay in a hotel? It just shows… it really is no longer our home anymore… it’s just another closed door with lots of memories behind it…

Quickly I booked a room online, right next to the airport for convenience. Brother slammed his own bedroom door shut and did not even come out to say goodbye. They say one should never part company on angry terms, for you never know when or whether you will see one another again. That age old wisdom is apparently lost on my brother.

We rode to the airport, and I could see mum’s cheeks were damp. “I am so sad…” she said. I turned away, closed my eyes tightly to dispel my own pain, and turned back to face her, smiling. “Maybe it’s for the best. We don’t have to get up so early tomorrow.” I patted her on the shoulder.

One moment we were sitting at the table sharing our last meal together, the next brother is standing in the kitchen, holding a cloth and a bottle of cleaning solution, looking angry and inspecting his precious kitchen counter for water damage and stains. So full of anger, so full of hatred, so full of pettiness… all targeted toward his own mother. Our own mother…

Within an hour after that, it was all decided. We would leave tonight, leave my brother all in peace. We would never come back again. Why should we return to such an estranged and cold house, and stay in a place where every single move and action is scrutinised for fear of causing damage to his precious little house?

Mum and I wandered around Schiphol airport. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful and mesmerising yellow glow on everything.

It all seems like a dream, a nightmare… a joke, a farce.

Letter

Sometimes when at an impasse, when all communication has broken down, when there is but blind anger and delusion, it helps to write. So I stayed up while everyone else had gone to bed and wrote a letter to my brother, which I intend to leave somewhere for him to discover after I leave in two days.

It's not an angry letter, nor is it a letter full of blame or scolding. I simply put it clear to him that his behaviour towards mum in the last couple of weeks is not right, and that she, of all people, especially all that she has done for us, for him, deserves much better and much more.

At one point in the letter I ask him to take the chance to take a long look at our mother...

...to see how age and her illness has worn her, has changed her... to see the frowns and wrinkles left behind from years of worry and care for us. When someone has seen that, when a child sees that, how can anyone with a heart and soul not feel for her, not perhaps want to give her a warm, heartfelt hug... or perhaps even shed a tear...?

Maybe my brother will tear the letter up when he finds it, or maybe he'll read it and think nothing of it and stay the way he is.

But I am hopeful that there is a bit of human-ness and love in everyone. Sometimes all that is needed are a few words and feelings to uncover them...

I want to go home

Sunday, two more days till departure. Woke up early, wondering whether brother had any intention of maybe taking us out somewhere and spending some time with us. I even rushed out and made every effort to secure a third bike so perhaps we could take a cycling trip together.

"Too busy..." Perhaps today is the last opportunity to spend some quality time together, and my brother is too busy. Doing his plants, cleaning up his house, organising his dining room... He may be busy, but really, he will be sorry one day... It's not a curse or out of ill will I say or think this. It's just predictable. How can planting flowers be more important than spending time with your own mother?

Instead, mum and I left and went cycling in the nearby dunes and forests. A beautiful route through the country's poshest neighbourhood, past some very exclusive mansions in the middle of nature. It's a route that mum enjoys thoroughly every single time, and she would always say it's her dream to live in one of these secluded houses and retire. It's a shame I do not have the means to realise that dream...

Heard this song on the radio yesterday, and it's as if it was written with my current mood in mind...

Another summer day
Has come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I wanna go home
Mmmmmmmm

May be surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
I just wanna go home

...

Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky, I know
But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I’ve got to go home

Let me go home
I’m just too far from where you are
I wanna come home

And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life
...

Let me go home
I’ve had my run
Baby, I’m done
I gotta go home
Let me go home
It will all be all right
I’ll be home tonight
I’m coming back home

OK, I wasn't in Rome (though I was in Florence). Even so, I do feel like the days are passing meaninglessly and for a while I have been counting down the days till I get on the airplane and fly off. Not that spending time with mum is a waste of my time... but who would have thought that this "home" of ours in the Netherlands would become so estranged and foreign?

Just a minute ago mum and I were talking about booking a hotel for the next two nights, just to 'escape' being here. But really... how ridiculous is it to pay for a hotel in your own town, when you have a home to go back to? But that's just it... the whole situation and circumstances is beyond ridiculous I have no words to describe it.


Two more nights...