I stood in the pouring rain, getting drenched as I waited for a bus home. My hair felt heavy with the downpour, and droplets of water were blurring my vision. Less than an hour to go before we had to leave for the airport, and I frantically running around on an errand.
Mum had forgotten to get an extra prescription of medicine, even though she’ll most likely be away for around two months. She said she’d be fine, but I didn’t want to risk it. Even if she didn’t need to take the painkillers (and she hasn’t really taken much in the past two weeks already, since the last few of her radiotherapy sessions), I wanted to make sure she had her pills with her, just in case her pains come back again while we’re traveling. So though I had just returned from an afternoon doing some last-minute shopping downtown, as soon as I finalised packing my bags, I rushed to the hospital, for the second time today. The first time was earlier in the day, when we went in together to get her artificial vein cleaned for the two months to come…
…the nurse was happy to see her, and greeted her as if greeting an old friend. Carefully, the nurse placed a needle into mum’s right shoulder, close to the shoulder blades where a round cap-like object can always be seen just under the flesh. “Be brave, auntie,” the nurse said with a caring and kind voice, “Bear with it a little…” I stroked mum, and silently thought that this would be the last time mum has to come to this place… to this place filled with so many painful and difficult memories… to this place with all those patients, young and old, whose faces and facial expressions depict sorrow and hopelessness… An elderly lady walked past me and approached a nurse. “It hurts so much…” she moaned, “Is it supposed to hurt so much?” The nurse just nodded with a look of sympathy, and comforted her by saying the pain will go away. Perhaps not now, perhaps not soon, but it will go away…
Back to the evening, to when my mind was racing to get back home while my clothes dripped with cold rain. The sky was heavy, and thundering, and the traffic was terribly slow. I was getting extremely anxious and hadn’t even eaten yet. It was already past seven, and the taxi was due to arrive at eight. The time was ticking away, the roads were terribly congested due to the rain and Friday evening rush hour. But anything, anything to make sure that mum’s trip is as trouble free as possible.
Eventually I made it home, after a visit to the local temple to pray for the protection and blessings of the deities as we embark on this long, long awaited journey. What a sense of ‘accomplishment’ and relief I felt handing mum her pills! With around half an hour left, I changed out of my wet clothes, quickly showered and gulped down a bowl of mung bean and barley soup mum had bought earlier. On the table were two wild mangoes, given to me in the morning when I went to the market to bid farewell to the lovely storekeepers of the organic grocery store mum frequents a lot. The ladies seemed touched that I went to say goodbye, and gave me the mangoes as a parting gift.
Sweet… sour… savoury. That is the taste of wild mangoes, a taste and smell reminiscent of my childhood, and summers spent in the countryside. Each mango is no bigger than half a fist, oblong shaped, green skinned, with succulent bright orange flesh. Somehow, biting into the mangoes, I felt so touched. A taste of Taiwan, a taste of the kindness and goodness of this land and its people, of the place I grew up, and still am very fond of. One last taste before I leave home again…
I knelt down before dad’s portrait, and saw him smiling down at me. I smiled back, silently told him that I’m going away, but that he will always be with me. “Take care of this house, and protect mum when she is away…” I asked of dad. I think he heard and understood.
One last check around the house, for food that might spoil, for electrical appliances that need to be unplugged, for windows that need to be open just a little bit to let some fresh air in, but not too big in case the onslaught of a violent typhoon causes rain to pour in. I had wanted to give the house a big clean and sweep, so mum could come home to a clean place, to a clean start after her trip. But with the last minute rush to the hospital there was
no time.
On the way to the airport, I watched the raindrops slide down the glass window of the taxi, and I nodded off. It has been a long two days, with very little sleep, and a floating, uncertain feeling gnawing inside of me that I cannot describe or explain. This trip, this long awaited trip together with mum is finally upon us. I am happy, mum’s spirits are high, and her pains seem to be subsiding.
She said a couple of times before, that traveling will make her forget her pains, forget that she is ill. I really do hope so, and hope that she will forever take the beauty and memories we are about to experience on this trip with her, wherever she may be, even long after the trip is over.
No comments:
Post a Comment