Happy new year...

If  we open the window of our heart
[We] will see the beautiful dream of youth
Even if the future is hopeless
It will somehow make the sighs in [our] chest disappear
Beautiful dream of youth, where are you?
Hopefully you are always in our hearts
If we open the window of our heart
[We] will see the beautiful dream of youth...

On the TV sparks and flashes of fireworks exploding over the night sky across the island. I hugged mum tightly, and closed my eyes to savour the passing moments after the clock struck midnight.

I can't recall the last time I spent new year's eve/day with mum at my side. Even though it's quiet at home, and even though mum was almost falling asleep, I am glad I decided not to go into town to see the celebrations live. "I'm so lucky to have you with me this year," she whispered.

The new year has come, and though less than an hour of it has passed, mum was again worrying about things. As she prepared to go to bed, she began to talk of past events and distant memories, began to recall the people and events that made her upset, that make her feels frustrated and angry. Almost everything revolved around money... cold, meaningless money. In fact, a few hours ago, my brother actually called to ask for it, to sponsor him in his future plans, as if mum has not done enough in paying for everything for the wedding. Doesn't have enough and can't afford this and that, he complained. No happy new year, no well wishes. Just called to ask if mum could send him some money.

I'm not sure how to react. A new year has come, yet the problems, the topics of worry and sources of discussion are still the same. But this is life. These are the circumstances. These are the people we have to deal with, whether we like it or not.

I listened to mum's complaints, stroked her back to reassure her, to tell her not to let these trivial things bother her. "A new year has come. Be happy, be healthy, this and every year", I said.

Deep down, there really is nothing else I wish for...

Wedding plans

I met up with mum in Tainan today, in the ancient capital of the island. On the shores of this city brimming with age-old temples, monasteries and relics, the Dutch once settled and built a fort where they began trading with aboriginals in the precious hide of the Formosan Sika Deer. This is a city of history, but also has recently been named by the Wall Street Journal as capital of culinary delights.

The main reason to come here is to get a tailor-made suit for me to wear to the upcoming wedding. My sister-in-law has many close friends in the fashion industry here, and she recommended I make a special trip to get myself measured and suited up. Even if it means travelling to the south of the country, the good deal and expertise, I was told, is worth the trip.

We got to the tailor store, and a lovely older man took out a measuring tape and started to note down my dimensions. "You have a really nice build, perfect for making a suit", he said, as he took out all sorts of fancy fabric and donned them on me. I looked at myself in the mirror, admired myself a little, and smiled when I noticed how good I actually looked (something I rarely do). With mum's help and advice from the tailor, I picked a blue-black fabric with stripes, a beautiful pinkish striped tie, and two colours for two tailor made long-sleeve shirts, light grey and light purple. As I left the tailor's, I was excited at what I will receive in the mail in two week's time when finished product wiil be mailed to my home.

Later, mum and I went to the department store to pick out new bedding for the newly weds, to be used on their 'first' night together at our home. Money aside, mum appeared so happy as we went about shopping for the new couple, and she had maticulously been planning how to set up the 'wedding room' for that special day. "We have to make it very special..." she said.

I looked at her, and deep down felt warm and comforted to see her smile and so happy. It is all so beautiful, so magical, so memorable. The coming together of two people, the joy and celebration, the hopes and well-wishes of so many people in the background. What could be more joyous than this?

While I feel warm and happy to be part of it all, to be involved in the wedding plans for my own brother, I cannot hide feelings of being envious. I'm not going to say it out loud, for I don't want to ruin the atmosphere and make it about 'me' and about my feelings... but I do wonder more and more as that big day approaches, when and whether I can one day also experience the same, not for someone else's big day and life-long commitment, but for my own. I would love to plan, to think of all the little details, fine touches, touching little words and speeches, express all the gratitude and love to all the people in my life...  But it's not the time. Not yet. Not ever?

Perhaps wallowing in self-sorrow, I imagine myself at the wedding, smiling, celebrating and toasting the new couple... but deep down, feeling kind of lonely that there will be no-one by my side.

 But that's just the way it is, I guess...

Short retreat

(Sitting in a loud internet cafe, with lots of gamers players their games and listening to loud pop music... so my thoughts might not be so conherent...)

Outside the window, there rows and rows of banana trees, rice paddies and flower fields. Rural Taiwan has a charm that is warming to the heart, and that makes me feel calm and at home.

The last two days I left Taipei and headed down to the monastery in Puli for a short retreat. Partly, I wanted to get away a bit, have some time to think things through. Partly, I wanted to give mum some time and space, as she wanted to deal with some issues that she could better deal if I were not around. When I call her to check up on her, she jokes that she feels so much freer without me around and scrutinising everything that she does!

However troubled I feel or I am, I always seem able to find myself at the monastery. The surrounding mountains, the view, the quiet setting brings me to this moment, away from worries and myriad of proliferating thoughts and anxieties in my mind. And the Hawaiian monk who lives there, has for years been my spiritual guide, my confidante and like a father-figure.

It was only two days, but I spent some of the time meditating. Even though I try to meditate at home, there are always many distractions and disturbances, wheras at the monastery, perhaps the serenity of the place and ths gaze of many Buddha statues prompt me to practice more diligently than if I were any where else. Other than meditating, I spent time doing some light translation work, sweeping the floors and cleaning
Outside, there is a golden statue of the Buddha, and for a number of years, I've been responsible for washing and cleaning the Buddha. They say whoever cleans a Buddha statue will receive great merit... to me, it is something I thoroughly enjoy doing, like a ritual cleansing. As I scrub away the moss, bird faeces and stains of nature from the Buddha's body, I feel like I'm cleansing some of entanglements and attachments of my mind...

At night, I would spend hours talking to the monk, about Buddhist practice, about Dharma, about life. I poured out my feelings, feelings that have been accumulating throuhgout the last few months, if not years. Torn, I said I feel, between my duties as a child, and my duties to myself. I guess I put a lot of pressure on myself, and am always trying to please others, trying to make others happy. But all the while, I often forget about myself.

"Whatever will happen will happen..." I can stay around, thinking I could make a difference to mum's life by keeping her company... but I am growing older, and have to decide for myself what I want to do with my life. I could live for someone else, live to please and live to make someone happy... but ultimately I am only able to make myself happy, if I choose to.

"Is it selfish to want to be happy?" No, it's not. All any one ever wants is to be happy. It is very human. Happiness is all we ever seek in life, and the Buddhist practice is all about life lived in peace and happiness, away from worry and suffering.

"But being happy, does it mean you don't care about other people's happiness?" Being happy doesn't mean that you don't care about other . You can be happy, and you can wish other people to be happy. But you cannot make someone happy. "You're already doing the best you can," the monk reminded me, "You've done so much to care for your mother, and I'm sure she knows it..." Hearing that, I felt a tear burst...

I do try... I do try to juggle between my own life elsewhere, and being there for her whenever I can. I often question myself whether my phone calls, my little postcards and gift packages, my surprise visits are ever enough. I do ask myself often whether I am loving and caring enough, and whether she feels it... but really, if I look back, if I think back at all the things I've done or tried to do to make her feel cared for, I have only ever done what I could in the circumstances, nothing more, but also nothing less. And that is apparently enough. And I think I can be proud that even though I'm already grown-up and live so far away from her, she is still so close to me and  so close to my heart.

Sometimes in life, we have to be a little 'selfish'. Selfish not in the sense that everything is about me, about what I want, about getting what I want, and having no regard for the feelings or wellbeing of others. 'Selfish' as in you have to think about your own life, your own future and make plans accordingly.

It is not wrong to want to do something with your life... it is not wrong to want to find love and settle down one day... and it is not wrong to be away from your parent, especially when you've already reached a certain age. Doing all those things, whether at the same time, or one by one, does not mean that I have to forsake my mum. And I think I know myself that I am not someone who can just turn away and forget about my mum, for she will always be on my mind, for she is my mum, and I love and care about her.

I guess for a long time, I thought to myself and imagined that I needed to give up everything I have going well just to be with her until the day she passes away... But she wouldn't want that. And I definitely would not be happy in the long run.

 "You need to take care of yourself well before you can take care of others..."

Time to take care of myself...

Exhausted

"You look so frail," my cousin said, "So different from last time I saw you." Which was just over six months ago. I'm not sure if it was the jetlag, which seem to be especially acute in the afternoon (which is way past midnight Montreal time). But I do feel tired, frustrated and agitated for some reason, and have been feeling this way ever since I got back to Taiwan.

It's probably a combination of factors. Dealing with mum's illness face-to-face takes a heavy strain on me and my mind, even if I don't do much during the day. And the heavy conversations we've been having also is very strenuous. All the while, I'm kind of on the edge, wondering what's happening, if anything, between me and my friend, who I miss and think of often, but at the same time feel wrong to feel that way, especially given the uncertainties and unknowns. In short, my mind is in flux, driven and weighed down  by a mix of up and down emotions, tiredness, worry and stress, and it is all really tiring me.

And this tiredness, this agitation I am beginning to feel physically too. My skin itches and the red rashes are coming back (seems to happen every time I'm in Taiwan, possibly due to the sudden change of climate...). I feel my stomach is becoming more and more upset, and my appetite is also down too. Some meals I just don't feel like eating much, if anything, and I feel kind of moody too. Last time I weighed myself, I actually am now a kilogram or two lighter than my mum, which is worrying (but good for her, since she hasn't lost too much weight since her treatment!)

Time to slow down, take a deep breath, take a break, and recuperate...

Dear friend

I have this friend I've only met twice in my life, but she and I seem to connect on so many levels. For one thing, she is seven days younger than me, so she's a Pisces, a dreamer, an idealist, a leftist, and a jurist-in-training. But most importantly, she and I share similar experiences, fears and traumas of living with a parent with cancer.

I've only met her twice in her life, once at an event, where we only spoke briefly. The second was  earlier this year, when I made a special day trip to just go see her. But we've mailed one another back and forth at regular intervals, and almost always the main topic of our messages is about how our mums are doing.

I look forward to her messages, and read them as if they were written about my feelings, about my dilemmas and insecurities. She writes about how torn she feels having to juggle her professional life and studies with taking care and being there for her mum. I write about my mum's latest chemo treatment, and the heart-wrenching side-effects it has on her, and how helpless I often feel seeing her suffer and in pain. She writes about how it pains her to see her mum so weakened and so changed physically and mentally by the illness. I write about my frightening nightmares, my fears of receiving that phone call one day that may be the last...

Sometimes her messages brings me to tears, and perhaps my words have the same effect on her. At other times she makes me smile and feel warm inside, because she cares about my wellbeing, and about my mum, who she's never even seen before. And I care about her wellbeing, and her mum's health too, for for some reason, reading about her mum's trials and setbacks makes my heart ache, even though I do not know her personally. More than once I have been tempted to write a little card to her mum, to show her support, to tell her to hang on there and not to give up on herself. And last time I saw my friend, my mum actually had a gift to give to her mum-- a bottle of propolis, which works wonders and alleviates pain for patients receiving chemo.

Even though we do rarely meet or see one another, when I read her messages, I am filled with such gratitude, with such a sense of inspiration and encouragement. Perhaps because she manages to strike a deep chord within me, and she lets me know that I am not alone in what I feel, in what I experience.

It is comforting to know that despite the distance and many degrees of separation, despite only have met twice in our lives, we can relate to one another in so many ways.

Taiwan Teddy

I wanted to buy it myself to add to my collection. A special edition, German-made white teddy bear to commemorate the 100^th anniversary of ‘Taiwan’ (actually, of the Republic of China…).

A few days ago, I had seen it on sale at the store next to my house, and today was the last opportunity to buy it. After lunch, mum and I went for a walk, and I actually wanted to sneak up to the store to get that teddy, somewhat embarrassed that I, a big boy already, was buying a teddy. 

Mum said she wanted to come along too, and in fact she wasn't all that surprised about me wanting to buy a teddy, seeing as I have a collection at home. Every time I travel, I have a soft toy with me, and she knows that. 

I took a good look at the soft toy, but hesitated a little because of the price. It does look and feel very nice, the fabric is so soft, and really there is a difference exactly because it's made in Germany. I decided to buy it, but mum beat me to the cashier. 

"It's from me to you," she said, "You can take it home, hold it in your sleep when I'm not around". I wasn't sure whether she meant when she's not close by, or whether she meant something else. But I was moved, and will treasure this teddy bear for ever and ever.

When she got home, she asked if she could have a hug. With the teddy, she meant. I gave the soft toy to her, and watched her caress the bear like she would a child. For a few moments, she leaned in close and closed her eyes. What a beautiful moment that was.

The Taiwan Teddy is number 136 of 200 in the world. And through my mum's caress and embrace, this special edition teddy just became even more special.