Finally, after seven months, the flatmate moved out of the apartment. Maybe I should have asked her to move earlier, just be hard on her and not care if she has a place to stay or the money to pay for a place to stay. But I guess, like someone said, I'm too soft, too nice. Plus I was away for a while, so I just let my friend stay around. Two weeks turned into two months, turned into seven months...
A month or so ago I gave her notice and now I can hardly believe she finally moved out. It's not a completely clean move, as in there are still many things she left behind, and and pick things up over the next few days.
I had originally planned to start cleaning her room, as since she moved in, it's been cluttered with her belongings that there is barely any space to walk on. Even now, with half of her belongings gone, the place looks like a refugee camp that's been plundered not once but three times over. She'll be back to pick up the rest of her things, she said, but I wonder how long still till my cat and I get full 'visitation' and usage rights of the room that for the last seven months was effectively severed from the rest of the house ( she had habit of keeping the door closed to prevent the cat from getting in... And perhaps to prevent the mess from being seen or getting out...)
I came home tonight after a night out with two friends. I entered my apartment, and for the first time in such a long long time , I felt so free to do as I wished and to walk around the place without having to think that there is someone there. For the first time in such a long time, I don't have to smile and make conversation or appear interested in small talk Nd exchange pleasantries. Maybe it's me, the way I'm, but after this experience of living with someone, I would think long and hard before living with another person.
I enjoy living alone, and the peace and quiet and freedom. That fonts with it.
02 April 2011
31 March 2011
Brother's birthday
I called my brother today, the second time since we last saw one another around a month and a half ago. I wished him a happy birthday, and spoke to him for a while, asking him how he and my sister-in-law (and baby) are doing these days. Just a little catching up, and a sign that our relationship has improved much in recent times.
He sounded a bit down, as he is worried about the process of his wife immigrating to the Netherlands. For the last decade or so, it has become notoriously difficult to immigrate to the Netherlands. The situation is so dire that human rights organisations as well as the European Court of Justice have on several occasions chastised the country for having an inhumane and excessively strict immigration policy-- a policy that has seen the imprisonment of children, the deportation of young girls to countries like Afghanistan, and forced separation of families and partners. According to the authorities, it is not enough that you are married to someone who is a legal resident or citizen of the Netherlands. You must demonstrate the ability to communicate in basic Dutch before you can even begin the process of applying for immigration. And being able to converse in Dutch does not automatically mean you are eligible. All sorts of papers have to be filled in, and a long waiting process is due before you can actually set foot in the country.
What does this all mean for my brother and his wife? The very likelihood of very long delays, bureaucratic hurdles as well as headaches for my brother and his wife, even if they fulfill all the necessary and legal requirements to immigrate.
I listened to brother's troubles, and tried to be helpful by saying that I'll try to do what I can to help if need be. I think he was touched by that, and we ended the conversation on a lighter note.
As I put down the phone, there was a warm fuzzy feeling inside. We are connecting on a whole new level, and that is heartwarming.
He sounded a bit down, as he is worried about the process of his wife immigrating to the Netherlands. For the last decade or so, it has become notoriously difficult to immigrate to the Netherlands. The situation is so dire that human rights organisations as well as the European Court of Justice have on several occasions chastised the country for having an inhumane and excessively strict immigration policy-- a policy that has seen the imprisonment of children, the deportation of young girls to countries like Afghanistan, and forced separation of families and partners. According to the authorities, it is not enough that you are married to someone who is a legal resident or citizen of the Netherlands. You must demonstrate the ability to communicate in basic Dutch before you can even begin the process of applying for immigration. And being able to converse in Dutch does not automatically mean you are eligible. All sorts of papers have to be filled in, and a long waiting process is due before you can actually set foot in the country.
What does this all mean for my brother and his wife? The very likelihood of very long delays, bureaucratic hurdles as well as headaches for my brother and his wife, even if they fulfill all the necessary and legal requirements to immigrate.
I listened to brother's troubles, and tried to be helpful by saying that I'll try to do what I can to help if need be. I think he was touched by that, and we ended the conversation on a lighter note.
As I put down the phone, there was a warm fuzzy feeling inside. We are connecting on a whole new level, and that is heartwarming.
28 March 2011
Feast for my family
It wasn't exactly today, but I woke up early to shop and start preparations for a big feast for my ancestors.
Traditionally, Qing Ming Festival 清明節 or Tomb Sweeping Day falls some day in April or May, and it's a day for Taiwanese to pay respects to the deceased family and relatives. Food and offerings play a central part in the commemorations, and families usually cook elaborate meals and put it in front of the family altar for the spirits of loved ones who have left before us.
Mum wanted to commemorate this day by visiting the temple where dad is laid to rest, and like everytime when she visits, she tires herself out by waking up especially early to cook, not to mention the trips to the market the day(s) before to buy fresh produce and flowers and paper money to burn. So this time I made a 'pact' with her: I will host my own feast and celebration here in Canada so she doesnt have to make it so elaborate and exhaust herself there.
I cooked nine dishes, including soup, a dessert, and variety of vegetables and bought half a roasted duck to offer, together with packets of biscuits and bottles of fizzy drinks. Luckily my friend was with me to help out and lay the tables, so it was all done with relative ease and speed ( but still it till over 3 hours from start to finish...)
I had my neighbours over to eat the 'leftovers'. While people may have mocked or thought it strange that I would go through all that trouble to cook for 'invisible' guests, I didn't find it at all odd. I may have lived abroad almost all my life, but there is a deep part of me that is still rooted to my roots. Roots that are tied to my ancestors, my forefathers and foremothers, tied to my late dad, without whom I would not be here and live with such ease and in such comfort today. People may not understand why I choose to engage and trouble myself with rituals and superstition, but what's wrong with giving my ancestors and dad an opportunity to visit Canada? :)
I put my hands before my chest and spoke to them quietly in my heart... Thanked them for their hardships and sacrifices, remembered them for who they were and what they meant to me growing up. What little food and drink I could offer then is but a small token of my eternal gratitude and appreciation.
Traditionally, Qing Ming Festival 清明節 or Tomb Sweeping Day falls some day in April or May, and it's a day for Taiwanese to pay respects to the deceased family and relatives. Food and offerings play a central part in the commemorations, and families usually cook elaborate meals and put it in front of the family altar for the spirits of loved ones who have left before us.
Mum wanted to commemorate this day by visiting the temple where dad is laid to rest, and like everytime when she visits, she tires herself out by waking up especially early to cook, not to mention the trips to the market the day(s) before to buy fresh produce and flowers and paper money to burn. So this time I made a 'pact' with her: I will host my own feast and celebration here in Canada so she doesnt have to make it so elaborate and exhaust herself there.
I cooked nine dishes, including soup, a dessert, and variety of vegetables and bought half a roasted duck to offer, together with packets of biscuits and bottles of fizzy drinks. Luckily my friend was with me to help out and lay the tables, so it was all done with relative ease and speed ( but still it till over 3 hours from start to finish...)
I had my neighbours over to eat the 'leftovers'. While people may have mocked or thought it strange that I would go through all that trouble to cook for 'invisible' guests, I didn't find it at all odd. I may have lived abroad almost all my life, but there is a deep part of me that is still rooted to my roots. Roots that are tied to my ancestors, my forefathers and foremothers, tied to my late dad, without whom I would not be here and live with such ease and in such comfort today. People may not understand why I choose to engage and trouble myself with rituals and superstition, but what's wrong with giving my ancestors and dad an opportunity to visit Canada? :)
I put my hands before my chest and spoke to them quietly in my heart... Thanked them for their hardships and sacrifices, remembered them for who they were and what they meant to me growing up. What little food and drink I could offer then is but a small token of my eternal gratitude and appreciation.
Charity?
I've been told I was too naive, too nice, and even too stupid (well, maybe not with that exact word, but something to that effect) to offer a friend my spare room to stay in. She'd never leave, they said... She's exploiting you, they said.
Perhaps... Perhaps... But after seven months, it looks like she's finally found an alternative solution to her housing problem, as my roommate found a room to share in an apartment elsewhere.
It hasn't been completely easy living with her. especially after being away for so long, what I most wanted was a place of my own, without having to think about whether there's someone in the next room I might be disturbing. But that will all come to an end soon enough, and my cat will also be glad to know the room she has been physically barred from entering will soon be free territory for her to roam in.
Was it out of a sense of charity that I took my friend in, and let her stay for so long without ever asking for a cent in rent? I'm not sure. Maybe I'm too idealistic, too nice as they say, but in my mind from the very beginning was the idea that if I could do something to help, why not? If I had the spare space to offer, even if to offer to someone j knew would be difficult to live with, why not? Even if it might be to my own detriment and growing inconvenience, if I could help A friend in need, why not? I wouldn't call it charity, as such. Just trying to help someone in need to the best of my abilities, which is more than what a lot of people would do, and I can be grateful that I have the patience and space in my heart to be able to do so.
The motivation has changed little from the day I offers her the spare room to live in, despite seeing my own things gradually shoved aside to make room for hers, despite having to come home at night only to find the kitchen sink cluttered wish unwashed dishes.
Seven months on, the sharing of my living space with another is soon over. I really look forward to having my little comfort zone where u can retire to at the end of the day... And I deserve it.
Perhaps... Perhaps... But after seven months, it looks like she's finally found an alternative solution to her housing problem, as my roommate found a room to share in an apartment elsewhere.
It hasn't been completely easy living with her. especially after being away for so long, what I most wanted was a place of my own, without having to think about whether there's someone in the next room I might be disturbing. But that will all come to an end soon enough, and my cat will also be glad to know the room she has been physically barred from entering will soon be free territory for her to roam in.
Was it out of a sense of charity that I took my friend in, and let her stay for so long without ever asking for a cent in rent? I'm not sure. Maybe I'm too idealistic, too nice as they say, but in my mind from the very beginning was the idea that if I could do something to help, why not? If I had the spare space to offer, even if to offer to someone j knew would be difficult to live with, why not? Even if it might be to my own detriment and growing inconvenience, if I could help A friend in need, why not? I wouldn't call it charity, as such. Just trying to help someone in need to the best of my abilities, which is more than what a lot of people would do, and I can be grateful that I have the patience and space in my heart to be able to do so.
The motivation has changed little from the day I offers her the spare room to live in, despite seeing my own things gradually shoved aside to make room for hers, despite having to come home at night only to find the kitchen sink cluttered wish unwashed dishes.
Seven months on, the sharing of my living space with another is soon over. I really look forward to having my little comfort zone where u can retire to at the end of the day... And I deserve it.
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