I said goodbye and walked into the crow of people catching the metro. Upon leaving, my friend stood there and said: "Take good care of yourself..." I simply nodded, but was extremely touched by the words. Moments later, another friend texted me and also told me to take care.
A heavy heart, a heavy weight cannot be hidden, can be seen sometimes on the expressions of one's face, in the silence or fatigue of one's words. I met up with two friends today, and yet I was somewhat lost in my own world, in my own worries. And they could see that. I came home straight after meeting them, and stared out the window for a while.
I felt so extremely tired. Not from doing anything physical, but from the mental images and thoughts that keep on bothering my mind. How I miss my home back in Canada... how I hurt to see mum in pain and suffering... how I hurt to think of the fact that two weeks from now I am boarding a plane to leave all this behind... how I feel so down, so very down... And how unhealthy that is, not only for my own well-being, but also for mum's sake, for sadness and frustration is infectious.
I know it is all in my mind. All this worry, all the fear, all the anxieties, all that inability to let go... it is all the creation of a restless mind that is caught between wanting and not wanting, that is swinging from desire and aversion, like and dislike. It is hard to shake these feelings away, however much people around me tell me otherwise, or try to comfort me by offering words of solace and encouragement.
Sometimes, I wish I could go away and just shut everything out. If only temporarily.
12 February 2011
11 February 2011
Night Market Hero (雞排英雄)
It was a quaint and somewhat predictable melo-drama, yet it brought me to tears on several occasions. Not just tears around my eyes, but tears that actually streamed down my cheeks and to the corner of my lips that I could taste their saltiness.
Set in a (fictional) Taiwanese night market, the Night Market Hero (雞排英雄) revolves around food vendors, whose livelihood depends on their hardwork and the local delicacies they sell. Their beloved night market becomes threatened by the plans of a construction company to build on the land. After a long struggle and winning the hearts of the general public, the future of the night market, and the many mouths that it feeds, are safeguarded.
I guess it was the simplicity of the story, and the stories of the characters that moved me (and mum, whom I could hear was sniffing next to me...) to tears. Every night they come out to make a living, smile and laugh as they tend to the needs of their customers. But behind every stall, behind every stand, is a story of hardship, of real life, of pains and sufferings, of family and complex pasts. These people are all brought together by the foods they sell, by the customers they can attract, and by the fact that every one is simply trying to make a living from what they can do best-- whether it is frying chicken steak, cooking beef steak, selling bubble tea or pirated DVDs.
The night market embodies a colourful and central part of Taiwanese food culture and community life. And street vendors, with their strong work ethic and dedication, with their sweat and bare hands, keeps the many memories alive. The sight and sounds of food and games bring people together, and can also bring people back to their childhoods years, filling not only empty stomachs but also contented hearts with feelings of nostalgia and longing.
Old songs from my childhood, and the comic use of the Taiwanese language and cute hand-puppets (another important part of local life for many here) all touched a part of me, and made me realise that even after so many years of living away from my birth-country, I am still very much very fond of this land, its people... and of course, the many, many mouth-watering delicacies.
.
Set in a (fictional) Taiwanese night market, the Night Market Hero (雞排英雄) revolves around food vendors, whose livelihood depends on their hardwork and the local delicacies they sell. Their beloved night market becomes threatened by the plans of a construction company to build on the land. After a long struggle and winning the hearts of the general public, the future of the night market, and the many mouths that it feeds, are safeguarded.
I guess it was the simplicity of the story, and the stories of the characters that moved me (and mum, whom I could hear was sniffing next to me...) to tears. Every night they come out to make a living, smile and laugh as they tend to the needs of their customers. But behind every stall, behind every stand, is a story of hardship, of real life, of pains and sufferings, of family and complex pasts. These people are all brought together by the foods they sell, by the customers they can attract, and by the fact that every one is simply trying to make a living from what they can do best-- whether it is frying chicken steak, cooking beef steak, selling bubble tea or pirated DVDs.
The night market embodies a colourful and central part of Taiwanese food culture and community life. And street vendors, with their strong work ethic and dedication, with their sweat and bare hands, keeps the many memories alive. The sight and sounds of food and games bring people together, and can also bring people back to their childhoods years, filling not only empty stomachs but also contented hearts with feelings of nostalgia and longing.
Old songs from my childhood, and the comic use of the Taiwanese language and cute hand-puppets (another important part of local life for many here) all touched a part of me, and made me realise that even after so many years of living away from my birth-country, I am still very much very fond of this land, its people... and of course, the many, many mouth-watering delicacies.
.
09 February 2011
At the ward
I heard a child cry, and did not think too much of it. A few moments later, I saw my sister-in-law walk out of the oncology ward, and saw that her eyes were moist and red.
I suspected as much, but did not ask. Instead, I gave her a weak smile in an attempt to tell her that it is alright. Brother walked out soon after and stood next to her. "There was a little child," he said, "He was crying because the nurse put a needle in him. She saw that, and started crying..."
Perhaps it was the first time my sister-in-law saw anything like it. Whether it is the first time, the second time, or the last time, it always moves you, always affects you. Even to this day, every time I walk into the oncology ward, a heavy mood sets in. A mood that easily trickles tears to flow, at times unexpectedly and out of control. The suffering of another fellow human being, the pain and fear in their eyes is at times too much to bear.
Mum sat in her chair. Toxic chemical began dripping into her shoulder, into her veins. I don't know how many times she has been her for I have lost count. Perhaps she does know, for every time is an ordeal, a struggle and a test of the mind and body. "Come back in three hours or so. Please, go and don't stay here. The air is stale and polluted here," she said to all of us, as she always does.
I looked around, at the nurses, at the patients patiently waiting for their turn. I looked around, and saw the patiently waiting relatives, the foreign care workers, the children, saw the sons and daughters, saw the mother and fathers of cancer patients who are about to undergo a testing ordeal. Their faces barely masking their sadness and desperation. "I'll be back later," I said to mum, as I patted her on the shoulder. As I patted her on the shoulder, I wondered how many more times I can be here to pat her shoulder, to silently transmit my well-wishes and care from my open palm into her body.
I suspected as much, but did not ask. Instead, I gave her a weak smile in an attempt to tell her that it is alright. Brother walked out soon after and stood next to her. "There was a little child," he said, "He was crying because the nurse put a needle in him. She saw that, and started crying..."
Perhaps it was the first time my sister-in-law saw anything like it. Whether it is the first time, the second time, or the last time, it always moves you, always affects you. Even to this day, every time I walk into the oncology ward, a heavy mood sets in. A mood that easily trickles tears to flow, at times unexpectedly and out of control. The suffering of another fellow human being, the pain and fear in their eyes is at times too much to bear.
Mum sat in her chair. Toxic chemical began dripping into her shoulder, into her veins. I don't know how many times she has been her for I have lost count. Perhaps she does know, for every time is an ordeal, a struggle and a test of the mind and body. "Come back in three hours or so. Please, go and don't stay here. The air is stale and polluted here," she said to all of us, as she always does.
I looked around, at the nurses, at the patients patiently waiting for their turn. I looked around, and saw the patiently waiting relatives, the foreign care workers, the children, saw the sons and daughters, saw the mother and fathers of cancer patients who are about to undergo a testing ordeal. Their faces barely masking their sadness and desperation. "I'll be back later," I said to mum, as I patted her on the shoulder. As I patted her on the shoulder, I wondered how many more times I can be here to pat her shoulder, to silently transmit my well-wishes and care from my open palm into her body.
Night at the circus
The audience cheered and applauded loudly, as the performers each came out, smiling and bowing. It was a wonderful performance, a beautiful mixture of colourful costumes, of beautiful music and vocals all beautifully choreographed to portray the beauty of the human body and the art of dance and human strength and endurance.
I sat with mum, my brother and sister-in-law. It was our first outing of the new year together, and the first time that my family had seen Cirque du Soleil live. They were awed beyond speech, and mum’s joy and amazement at the performance was shown on her face.
For the first time in a long time, I felt a connection to Canada , to Montreal
08 February 2011
Ripple in the water
I said goodnight to mum, and closed her door. As I left her bedroom, I stroked her blanket, and wished her a good sleep. It has been a long, long day...
After a few days away visiting relatives in the central and south of the country, I rushed back to Taipei this morning to join mum at the hospital. She was number "53" on today's waiting list, and by eleven o'clock, the doctor had only seen 15 patients.
We sat around the hospital and waited, and waited, and waited. We walked around, had lunch, drank coffee at a cafe, and waited and waited. We talked about my last few days, about my life back in Canada, about my plans and future, and we waited. We talked, we laughed, and I cried as we touched on emotional topics, and we waited. It was close to five when we left the hospital again, our footsteps heavy and our hearts weighed down.
There does not seem to be any good news; the only good news is that there is no worse news. The CEA level is still extremely high, and further chemo treatment is planned for the next two days. I touched mum's hand on occasion as we made our way home, and would sometimes nudge her arm in an attempt to solicit a response or smile from her. For a while, it was in vain.
Later in the day, mum and I sat and talked some more. "You know, mum," I said, "A lot of people say you are very strong, and that they admire your strength." Indeed, she has gone through so many treatments in the last three, four years, and mum still looks like a 'normal' person from the outline. Her hair may have thinned, her hair may have gone gray, her cheeks bones may have caved in a little from loss of weight, but overall, her body is still fighting, still going strong. I have seen a number of people leave my life in recent years, all succumbing to the terrible, terrible mental and physical torment of cancer. Yet, mum seems determined to stay in my life that little bit longer. Or at least so I hope.
I stroked her arm, and held onto it. "My only wish is that you will be strong, and that you will not think negatively about things. I only wish that you are happy, and that you can come to terms with everything. I can only do so much..."
At that point, I had to rub the moisture in my eyes. As I played with the tears between my fingers. It was difficult to continue, for my mind wandered to imagine how painful and difficult the moment of leaving would be in a week or two... My mind imagined tears, imagined that heart-wrenching feeling of unwillingness to let go... unwillingness to let go of mum as I hug her before leaving home to catch my plane...
"I can really only do so much while I am here. The rest is up to you. I can only hope that when I go, you will live well and take good care of yourself. When you are strong and healthy enough, you will visit me in Canada, or go visit brother and his wife in Europe. Live happily, do whatever you like to do, live life well..."
Mum nodded, and looked at me with a face of calm, with resolve reflecting in her brown eyes.
After a few days away visiting relatives in the central and south of the country, I rushed back to Taipei this morning to join mum at the hospital. She was number "53" on today's waiting list, and by eleven o'clock, the doctor had only seen 15 patients.
We sat around the hospital and waited, and waited, and waited. We walked around, had lunch, drank coffee at a cafe, and waited and waited. We talked about my last few days, about my life back in Canada, about my plans and future, and we waited. We talked, we laughed, and I cried as we touched on emotional topics, and we waited. It was close to five when we left the hospital again, our footsteps heavy and our hearts weighed down.
There does not seem to be any good news; the only good news is that there is no worse news. The CEA level is still extremely high, and further chemo treatment is planned for the next two days. I touched mum's hand on occasion as we made our way home, and would sometimes nudge her arm in an attempt to solicit a response or smile from her. For a while, it was in vain.
Earlier, as we waited and waited, I looked at the pond next to the hospital ward. I watched as a leaf fell and caused a stir in the still water. A ripple echoed across the pond, disturbing the peace for an instant, then dying down as the ripple dissipated. Many things in life are like this... there is a disturbance, an agitation, some kind of frustration that causes your mind to stir, but eventually, with time, and letting things run their course, the disturbance dies down, and disappears.
This should be no different from the setbacks and feelings of defeat with which every time we leave the hospital...
Later in the day, mum and I sat and talked some more. "You know, mum," I said, "A lot of people say you are very strong, and that they admire your strength." Indeed, she has gone through so many treatments in the last three, four years, and mum still looks like a 'normal' person from the outline. Her hair may have thinned, her hair may have gone gray, her cheeks bones may have caved in a little from loss of weight, but overall, her body is still fighting, still going strong. I have seen a number of people leave my life in recent years, all succumbing to the terrible, terrible mental and physical torment of cancer. Yet, mum seems determined to stay in my life that little bit longer. Or at least so I hope.
I stroked her arm, and held onto it. "My only wish is that you will be strong, and that you will not think negatively about things. I only wish that you are happy, and that you can come to terms with everything. I can only do so much..."
At that point, I had to rub the moisture in my eyes. As I played with the tears between my fingers. It was difficult to continue, for my mind wandered to imagine how painful and difficult the moment of leaving would be in a week or two... My mind imagined tears, imagined that heart-wrenching feeling of unwillingness to let go... unwillingness to let go of mum as I hug her before leaving home to catch my plane...
"I can really only do so much while I am here. The rest is up to you. I can only hope that when I go, you will live well and take good care of yourself. When you are strong and healthy enough, you will visit me in Canada, or go visit brother and his wife in Europe. Live happily, do whatever you like to do, live life well..."
Mum nodded, and looked at me with a face of calm, with resolve reflecting in her brown eyes.
06 February 2011
Love
It is such a mysterious yet wonderful thing, love… Quietly I sat with the monk and contemplated what it means, and whether I feel it at all. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange, warm glow on the entire world.
“When you feel it, there are no doubts, there are no questions. You just know it.” People may go astray, minds may wander, arguments and quarrels may erupt, yet when there is love between two people, when that love is certain and still passionate as the first day that it all began, there are no obstacles that are insurmountable for two people. To love, to be truly and deeply in love, you are able to find compromise, to treasure and cherish one another’s personalities and differences.
“What is it that you feel towards him?” I was asked about how I feel toward my friend. It is all so new for me, especially the intensities of emotions (both negative and positive) and emotional and physical intimacies we have experienced and shared in the last two month or so. I have not really stopped to think what it all means, what he means to me…
“Well, he makes me feel special, feel cared for, feel loved,” I said, “I feel like he will be there for me, and he listens to me and my problems. I don’t think anyone has ever made me feel this way before.” I looked down at my feet, and pictured him in front of me. “And I care about him. Care about his wellbeing, his happiness, his feelings. I think about him often, and it makes me feel warm inside when I think of him…”
“Well,” the monk said, “That’s love.”
So this is what love is?
So this is what love is?
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