Wedding

 

It was so uncertain, but in the end mum decided really at the very last minute to go to a wedding she was invited to. Partly, she felt she needed to because it is the big day of her best friend's daughter. Partly she felt somewhat obliged to attend, because according to tradition,  she feels she should personally return the same amount of money ("wedding money" in a red envelop) that her friend gave to my mum at my brother's wedding. So she put on a dress, a beautiful black dress that had a glossy glare and delicate blue embroidery at the waistline, and quickly went to trim her hair in the morning. With a little bit of make-up, she looked really nice, and I complimented her many times, and told her she could look well, and feel well, if she just took a little effort.

I recognised that dress, and it turns out she last wore that dress at my brother's graduation back in 2003. She still fits in the dress just fine, and though her hair is thinner now, with her wig, she looks energetic and just like so many years ago.

She sat with her university friends of over thirty years, laughing, eating and enjoying the festivity and joy of two people coming together. It was beautiful seeing more out and back to 'normal' again, even though I did wonder at times whether she was suppressing her discomforts.

Mum asked me to come along, so I did, just to make sure she'll be alright, and should she need me, I can take her home. Every time I check up on her, she has a broad smile on her face. To think just yesterday she was so agitated and restless, and throwing up too. Afterwards, I reminded her again how a change of mentality and a change of scenery can really make a person feel better, physically and mentally.

Though I was very welcome, I literally just showed up at the wedding, and so I was put at a table with relatives of the bride and groom. Not knowing anyone made me feel awfully awkward, and like every Taiwanese social event, it was made worse by a mother next to me trying to ' sell' me her eligible daughter.

I was deeply moved by the celebration of love of the newly weds. The last wedding I attended was my own brother's, and there at various moments I was so moved that I shed a tear or two. The celebration of love, the uniting of two previously separate lives, the miracle of meeting, of falling in love, and of wanting to spend the rest of their lives together "till death do [they] part". It is simply so romantic, so beautiful, the stuff of fairy tales and my dream fantasy. Before I thought it was because it was so close to my own family that I was touched, but today's event proved that those feelings are not isolated, but something deeply ingrained in my heart.

As I watched videos of the new couple projected in the banqueting hall, that sense of intimacy, warmth and comfort radiated from the way they held one another's hands and bodies, the way the laughed and joked around. Of course, the videos have probably been choreographed to look picture-perfect, yet the sentiments are there, and those sentiments came alive as the couple walked down the aisle hand-in-hand and kissed one another for the longest time before all the guests. 

My heart swooned with emotions, longing, and in a way, also with hurt. Like at my brother's wedding, I wondered about  my own life, and when or whether I will ever experience such a beautiful wedding. Will I ever experience the joy and blessings of so many guests gathered to celebrate the beginning of starting a life with someone I love deeply and who loves me deeply too?  With the recent separation from my friend, I wondered whether we can get back together, and if not, whether I will ever find someone who can come close to him, who managed to so captivate my heart and mind... How wonderful it is to build a stable home together, to be with someone and together go through life's trials and miracle moments, to hold and be held when one person is in need of comfort and support...  

A song began to play as scenes from the coming-together of the newly-weds flashed across the screen. 

When there's love inside (I swear I'll always be strong.) Then there's a reason why. (I'll prove to you we belong.) I'll be the wal that protects you From the wind and the rain, From the hurt and pain.

Let's make it all for one and all for love. Let the one you hold be the one you want, The one you need, 'Cause when it's all for one it's one for all. When there's someone that should know Then just let your feelings show And make it all for one and all for love. 

I had to excuse myself from the table and temporarily step outside. In the corridor, were pictures of the couple next to memorabilia of their coming together. Petals of white and red roses were strewn all over the ground. I looked at it all, at the beauty, at the romance, at the colourfulness of it all, and felt a painful lump in my throat that was difficult to swallow.

Sick

Our seats were barely warm, but we got up again. Mum rushed out of the restaurant, gagging and her mouth puffed from wanting to throw up. Moments earlier, from the expression on her face, I could tell she was not well, and that it pained her to be in that restaurant at that time, even though it was her who proposed we go out for dinner.

I quickly told the waiter to pack everything, anxiously waiting as the rest of our order was placed into containers for me to take away. I apologised that we had to rush off like this, "She is suddenly unwell. I am sorry," I said as I paid and made for the door. I was shaking, really shaking from the entire episode, and out of worry for mum's wellbeing.

I walked into the busy street, and saw mum sitting on a bench, quietly wiping the corner of her mouth with a tissue. I patted her on the back gently, and confirmed that she threw up again, for the second time today. The first was just when she came out of her radiotherapy. One moment she was walking toward home, looking fine, the next, she was gagging on the pavement as passerbys looked on. 

"Let's go home and you eat first," she said, "I'm sorry you have to see this..."

"Why are you apologising?" I said, my tone louder and more abrupt than I would have liked, "I have no appetite any more". I was frustrated, I really was. I was frustrated, angry perhaps even, and so pained deep down inside because there and then I was not sure what I could do to make her feel better. That pain is still there...

Home we went, and she lay down on the bed as I put the food out on the table to cool down. Noodle soup, two types of vegetables, and some pork ribs, on the nurse's recommendation, in order to quickly restore her white blood cell count. I handed her some water in the metal thermos she likes drinking from, and I stood by her bedside. 

"I'm sorry I got angry," I said, "It's just that I feel so useless." So useless, so helpless, so hopeless that I cannot do anything other than hand her water or stroke her hand to try to alleviate her pain. She forgave me, and said she can imagine how I am feeling. Of course she does not wish to be this way, nor does she wish that I have to see all this. "It was easier when I was by myself," she said, feeling as if she is burdening me, which made me feel even worse.

I sat down on the floor by her bedside and talked for a bit. About my sister-in-law, about my nephew-to-be, about brother and his/their house, and about the Taiwanese superstition (or banality) that one is not supposed to do any renovation work on the house if a baby is coming, for it may 'injure' the newborn. Apparently, my sister-in-law's mother had been wanting to install new air conditioning units. Though already paid for, the installers have been told to wait until my sister-in-law leaves the country, even though the oppressive heat of summer is fast approaching. I think that the conversation distracted mum from her discomfort and pain, and soon she was dozing off. To a state of sleep and semi-consciousness where there is no more pain, no  more discomfort...

I quickly scoffed down my own noodle soup. What normally would taste wonderful tasted so tasteless, and now I feel my stomach churning in discomfort, from indigestion and from worry. I left some food for mum to eat. I am not sure when she will eat again, but eat she must if she is to regain her health and strength. 

Please be well, mum... please...

Treatment number 8

We sat in the corridor as mum waited her name to be called. A big flatscreen TV attached to the wall was muted, but the images and flashy icons of the news channel was very much alive. Mum kept on stroking her left shoulder, where the pain is returning, six hours or so after she took the medication earlier int he day. The day seems to be in six to eight hour increments, depending on how soon she feels the pain. Yellow pills, red triangular pills. Pills, pills, so many of them. I watched as she popped them, and as her face grimaced.

A few steps to our left was a man in his sixties or so, who lay there motionless with his eyes tightly closed. He had just been wheeled out of the radiation room next to us. His nose and mouth was covered by an oxygen mask, and by his bedside stood his daughter stood, who rubbed lotion on his forehead to moisten the flaky dry skin caused by the radiotherapy. "What a caring daughter you are," a nurse commented. I looked at them, and was moved by the scene.

A few moments later, the daughter walked up to the counter and demanded the name of the radiation specialist. Her tone was curt and to the point. Before I realised what was happening, she raised her voice "...do you care more about your machine or to the patient?" She looked sad, and though I did not dare to look at her, from her wavering voice, I could hear she was crying. "You told my dad not to move or otherwise he will damage the machine! As a medical specialist, your duty is to the patient, not to the machine!"

The specialist apologised profusely, and the daughter stepped aside and leaned against the wall. I still dared not look up at her face, but I sensed she was overcome with pain and grief. Her  outburst was justified, and probably intensified from the prolonged agony of watching her loved one suffer and lie there in a coma state of mind. As an orderly helped the daughter wheel her father way, she turned around and quietly thanked the specialised.

My mum's name was called, and into the radiation room she went, leaving me standing in that corridor, watching as the daughter and her father turned a corner and disappeared.

Unwell

Mum is lying on the sofa, her eyes are closed. Yet on her face is the grimace of someone in discomfort, possibly even pain. I put on soft classical music from her own easy-listening collection, Hoping the music will calm her more.

Every few minutes she'd get up, wriggle around, go sit or lie down somewhere else, trying to find a pose or place where she feels more comfortable. Every few minutes she gets restless and agonised. Lying down doesn't feel right, sitting doesn't feel right, watching tv doesn't feel right, me sitting her side trying to calm her and talking to her doesn't feel right... Nothing feels right when your body has undergone eight chemotherapy treatments over a span of close to six months, and to know that there are ten more radiotherapy treatments to go... It pains me so to see mum like this, it really really does....

She feels her throat is aching, like the mind of discomfort and dryness when you are showing the first symptoms of a flu... Only with this one, it will last for some time and get worse before it gets better. I try to comfort her in any way I can, by stroking her arm, holding her hand, by cooking what she wants or feel she can swallow without too much pain or effort. But am I doing enough? Am I ready for this, ready to see once again my own mother suffering and in pain for the coming period? Being away for two months I did not have to see or experience this first hand. It was like a selfish escape from seeing her in pain. But now I'm back here, back by her side again, and must swallow whatever pain or frustration I feel seeing mum like this deep inside, for her sake, and for my own.

I feel the exhaustion and moodiness creep slowly in and get ahold of me. Maybe it's all related to the jetlag too. At this point I really don't know if I can cope with all this again by myself... I feel my heart and mind becoming so disturbed and agitated. more so after learning that my friend's mother just suddenly passed away

My friend, the one with whom I recently was together with, kept calling this morning and texting me to make sure I'm alight. He finds out news about me and how I'm feeling thorough this very blog. I know he is very concerned about my wellbeing and my feelings, but after our separation, after he said he needed to take time out to think, I don't think it's fair for me to burden him any longer with my own problems.

I am touched, so very grateful that he still cares and thinks of me so much, and I let him know that. He said once before he cannot stop caring, but It cannot be healthy to talk or message one another so much, however much I need it, when the object of me being here is to create some distance. How can he think clearly when I am emotionally dependent on him and when he is still so willing to just call and listen?

I need to calm down and collect myself, remind myself whatever I am feeling, however agitated I am, mum has it so much worse. I must remind myself that all this will pass.... But the passing is so agonisingly slow and painful...

A dieu

I gave mum a hug, and I could not hold back my tears. Mum was right in front of me, I could feel her body, feel her warmth, hear her breathing and her voice. Mum was right here with me, but to my great shock reading her mail a few moments earlier, my friend's mum is no longer with her.

I wiped the tears, but more seemed to follow. My mum comforted me, told me that life is only so much... there is life, and there is death. We all must leave this world one day. She herself must have been impacted by seeing me cry. Was I crying for my friend, for the loss of a mother I have had the privilege to hear so much about, but have never met... or was I selfishly crying for myself, crying out of fear, out of the realisation that one day I too will lose my mother? I have this intense, intense feeling bottled inside, and I am not sure how to release it...

I do not know, cannot possibly imagine how my friend, so far away is feeling right now. Over our last few email exchanges, she expressed her great fear and pain about slowly losing her mum, the rock and the core of her life. And now she has lost that, and worse still, she was not there when her mum left this world. What sense of loss, what sense of guilt, pain, hurt and deep, deep sorrow my friend must feel!

How she must ache so terribly inside... how I wish I knew what I could write to her to comfort and console her or at least take away part of her pain and sorrow...

I accompanied mum for a jog at the sports field close to our house. I was solemn and quiet, my mind drifting away to my friend and her family. At one point mum said she wanted to rest, so I went off jogging by myself. From a distance I looked back saw mum, saw her slim, frail figure sitting there in the shade. She had her left arm held upward to alleviate the ache and sore she is increasingly feeling. Mum was there, in the distance, and I could see her. But one day, she will no longer be there, she will no longer sit there, and I can no longer see her, even from a distance.

And that pains me greatly...

I cry as I write this... again confused whether I am crying over my own fears, or over my friend's great loss. I have never met her mum, but little by little, from the way my friend has been describing her in the past three years, I have this image of this kind, gentle lady who worked so hard and endured hardship throughout her life to raise so many children. I have this image of the pain and suffering she has been enduring in the past decade or so battling the cruel illness of cancer... Now that battle is lost, and she has left this world.

I will never know this brave soul and caring, loving mother. I do not even know her name. I will never see her face. Nor will I be able to write to her, as I have wanted to do so many times before, to encourage her and to let her know that somewhere out there, someone is thinking of her and wishing her well.

But she has been in my life, in my mind, indirectly through the words and narrations of my friend...

Rest in peace, kind, gentle soul... may you finally rest without pain or suffering, and may you forever protect and watch over the beautiful and fine daughter you have brought into this world...

Treatment number 7

"You brought a bodyguard today?" the nurse joked as we stepped into the radiotherapy room.
 "Yes," mum replied, "All the way from Canada!" She sounded proud and happy that I was there with her.

At the entrance was a wall with a scenery of majestic mountains, which brought life to the otherwise sterile room. I turned a corner, and saw mum climbing onto an adjustable platform. Behind it, a massive contraption made of shiny metal, with two parts protruding out of the front like outstretched arms. The body of the machine had a monitor of some sort, dotted with figures and what looked like a bulls-eye. By now, mum was on her back, and the nurse fitted her custom-made protector guard to protect her head and face from excess radiation. Like a friend described, it looked like an iron mask, and according to her, being confined under that mask and being unable to move was one of the most excruciating experience she has ever had.

The nurse motioned to me to leave the room, and everyone left except for mum who lay on the table. The thick door slowly closed, and a red light flashed above it to warn others about the risk of  radiation exposure and to keep away.

I watched from a few steps away at the tightly shut door. I stood there for a few moments, wondering about what must be going through mum's mind at the time. She has done this five times already, and she looked like it was nothing daunting or new to her. Perhaps, as my friend assured me, radiotherapy is less strenuous on the body compared to chemo therapy. But, as I later learned from talking to the nurse, there are still side-effects. Constant feeling of thirst and dryness of the mouth, throat aches, pain in swallowing, and if the radiated area is exposed to sunlight, it will make the skin blacken.

Mum has already begun to complain of pain in swallowing and the thirst. The nurse said that it will get worse as the treatment continues, and told me a few things about what she should eat. Hot foods can irritate the throat further, so better to have cooled foods, and soft foods to ease swallowing and alleviate pain. My friend said for a while she ate lots of juices and soups, and blended just about everything, including meat. Nutritional beverages exist that can act as a meal replacement and contain all the essential nutrients necessary for the patient. What is important is to continue eating, so as not to loose too much weight.

The door slowly opened, and I followed the nurse into the room. Mum was sat up and removed her mask slowly. She looked a little tired, but looked relieved that it was over. The whole procedure must have lasted five minutes, not much more. But did it feel like an eternity for her, strapped and confined under that mask and unable to move, while machines and lights whirled above your body?

Six treatments down... ten more to go.

First morning

What is wrong with me that I cannot shake off thoughts of him? I promise myself I shouldn't think of him, should try to focus on what is important in my life at this moment, and yet, my thoughts, my mind naturally seem to drift to him.

Exhausted from the trip, I went to bed at half past ten last night. I fell asleep pretty quickly, and woke up a couple of hours later to the sound of mum's groaning from her bedroom. The radiotherapy, combined with her chemotherapy just two days ago, is beginning to have painful side-effects on her throat. It feels constantly dry, she says, and she feels pain every time she swallows. She told me how affected she is every time she has to go to the hospital, and for a week now, it has been every single day. Just seeing those other patients, just hearing their groans of agony, or seeing their sad, hapless faces makes her sad. The sore in her throat will get worse before it gets better, especially as her radiotherapy progresses in the next two weeks. I spent some time comforting her, gave her a bottle of water to drink from, and went back to lie down more.

My thoughts should be with mum, for that is the reason I am here... and yet, I drift back to Canada, drift back to those beautiful memories of him and I, to those passionate moments in bed. I miss him dearly, I know, more than I would like to know or admit, and I am scared of feeling this way.

Last night, we exchange a skype call after he wrote a brief email to me, telling me about the emptiness he feels inside. I feel the same way... this emptiness like there is something missing from my life, and I long for that so badly. I told him, however much I would like to contact him, message him and video-call him, I would feel terribly guilty for doing that, especially as I feel like I'm impinging on his time to reflect, and on his time to study. Despite all this, he told me, again and again, I am free to call him anytime to talk about things, anything, because he still cares about (and loves?) me deeply.

It will be difficult the next few weeks. It will be very difficult, and I just hope I have the strength in me to continue without being so torn by my feelings towards him, and my willingness to be here fully for  my mum as she undergoes her grueling treatments.

Touch down at TPE

The plane touched down with a thump, the flaps lifted and the engines roared as the wheels screeched to decelerate.

I don't understand what triggered the flow of emotions, and I was suddenly close to tears. Landed in Taiwan, and it feels so bizarre yet familiar to be back here just two months or so after I left.

Perhaps the emotions are triggered by the fact that soon I will be able to see and hug mum again, and that I'll see for myself how the last two months has aged and changed her. And in a way I am afraid of seeing what adverse effects her treatment may have had on her... Afraid to see her in pain, afraid to see her suffering.

Or perhaps, quite simply, the overwhelming emotions are triggered by the combination of lack of quality sleep, queasiness from my reoccurring stomach upset, and that strange, strange sense of feeling out of place after having crossed so many time zones and been to different locations all within twenty-four hours. The exhaustion is enough to make drain the strongest of souls...


Whatever the reason for that emotional encounter upon landing, the 'long' departed son has returned once again.

At YUL

Last night, he came over and we had a predeparture dinner and get-together. However strange it may be, even after splitting, we are still great friends, and the circumstances surrounding our abrupt end are such that really it is no one particular person's fault.

I am glad that we are both very reasonable and rational people, who can talk things through calmly. Even though there are moments when we break down in tears, we know that we are important in each others lives, and that we care and love one another deeply. I realise this again, as I was doing the dishes and somehow the tears just got ahold of me...

I have been so emotional in the last two days, partly because of mum's state of health, partly because of the breakup, partly because of having to leave my home and zone of comfort, and partly because this friend whose mum is seriously ill wrote to me a few hours earlier telling me how so distraught and hurt and in pain she feels because her mum does not have much longer to live. As the tap water ran over the dishes, washing away the stains and bits of food, I felt I needed cleansing too, and I just sobbed.

I felt so afraid, again, of losing people, losing the creature comforts that I have so grown accustomed to as I have built up in life, that when I realise that I am so vunerable when they start slipping through my fingers.

Mum's vicarious condition, a relationship I had thought and so hoped would last, and the hopes of staying put in Canada for a while to finally get something done so I don't feel utterly useless and like a failure... The tears fell and fell, triggered by fears of the unknown, of the uncertainties. I whimpered and told him how much I treasure our relationship, our love, not really because I wanted to influence his opinion of me, of us, but because he needs to know how I feel, and how much I have attached myself to him and all he has brought to my life. He hugged me, and perhaps hearing my words, he too began to cry, and I felt his warm, warm tears on the back of my shirt...

We both agree and everything happened so quickly, within a span of a couple of days, that it seems so surreal. At one point he told me something that really really touched me, something he had said to me before. I deserve the best, he said, and at this moment he feels he cannot fully give me a hundred percent. Even if it's ninety percent, ninety-nine percent, it's still not giving ne fully... And he feels that is not enough.

I'm not sure whether he will ever feel sure about me, whether he ever feel he can give himself to me without doubts or reaervations. At this point I just have to make do and make peace with the fact that he cares deeply for me, and has cared perhaps ever since we met. Perhaps I am a fool to still hang around him, to be attached to him and the warmth and comfort he brings me, and has brought me for the last two years. But there is such a strong, solid bond between us that cannot easily be severed.

As the evening progressee, he gave me a card, and his favourite teddy bear to take away... A symbol of his burning love and care, he called it. I was so touched when I saw just the grey coat of the little bear Billy. And immediately my tears fell and fell as I sobbed... Out of gratitude, out of being so moved that he would willingly part with his best (animal) friend and trust me with him, and out of also confusion what it all means to take the little bear away when we are no longer a couple... He was adamant I take Billy away, so Billy can take care of me, look after me when he is not physically next to me. As always, our evening together ended with long talks in bed, and long passionate embraces, and intimacy.

He insisted in going to the airport with me, even though we had both slept only three, four hours. We held one another's hand in the taxi there, and just before seeing me off, we sat on a bench away from the crowd, and listened to music. I played and sang along to an all time favorite of mine...

"...so what happens now?
-Another suitcase in another hall...
... So what happens now?
- Take your picture off another wall...
Where am I going to?
- you'll get by you always have before...
Where am I going to?
- don't ask any more..."



I used to listen to this song over and over again as a teenager, for it describes well my loneliness soul, my wandering heart and my insecurities at being somewhat abandoned and left to fend for myself since a young age. At this moment in my life, flying back and forth, and having just emerged from a relationship which brought me so much happiness and warmth, the words to that song resonate deeply in my heart.

My flight was delayed for an hour, and he kept on calling me to make sure I was alright and concerned about making my flight connections in Calgary and in Narita. This is how he is, how he cares, whether in his role as friend or lover, he does care about my well-being. And that is beautiful.

As I was about to board, I spoke to mum and said I'm be home in a day. She sounded weak the moment she picked up the phone, and it was because she had just returned from another chemotherapy session, while at the same time did a radiotherapy treatment. She sounded weak, and at that point I told myself I must be strong. At that point I realise what my main purpose was, why I was at the airport and about to board the plane. To give mum the strength and hope she needs, to care and give her the love she deserves, and to let her know that despite all the strenuous treatments, her sores and pains, I am there by her side, and I hope to take her with me back to Canada when she feels well enough.

I boarded the plane, with Billy smiling and sitting there in my bag. I silently wished goodbye and happiness to Montreal, to all the trees, to all the people, to my cat, to my friend, and hoped that I would return soon.

As uncertain as I felt and have been feeling over the last couple of days, there was a moment of clarity, and I was not sad or happiness. I just was, and that is a tranquil state of mind and being...

Difficult to resist

I told myself when the upheaval between him and I began, I would try to distance myself from him, from us. I am so afraid of being too drawn, too stuck I cannot pull myself free, and thereby continue to hurt myself, and also hurt him. Perhaps I have already reached that point.

With less than a day till I leave, I woke up this morning feeling suddenly very vulnerable, very emotional. I will really be gone tomorrow, just like that, and like always before a long trip, I get so apprehensive and scared by the uncertainty of when I will return again. On my mind is how I will deal with him... I am tempted, for our sake, for his sake, and for my own sake, not to have too much contact with him while I am away. We tried that back in December, when we went through a similar phase of soul-searching and "distance and time apart". But it didn't work out well, as we called one another everyday, texted regularly, and I wrote messages-- even though I was always so cautious that everything was counter to the original idea of needing time to reflect on his (and my) real feelings. And even in the last two days, we have been calling, texting (though with less frequency compared to before) one another, as if we were still together as a couple.

Look at me, thinking and torturing myself about something which shouldn't be so convoluted and complicated (but nonetheless seems so important...), when mum on the phone earlier just said that her radiotherapy treatment will be extended from the original 12 to 16 sessions. I feel a conflict in my mind, like I need to juggle my priorities and concerns again. As a friend wrote to me to wish me well, she said I shouldn't think too much about the relationship issue, and I should focus all my energy and positivity to be there for mum's treatment and recovery.

I hope I can find the strength to do exactly that...

Tears of no reason

I popped by a neighbour/friend's house to drop the keys to my apartment. The friend was not home, but her mum, someone who has been like a 'big' mother to a bunch of us friends in the neighbourhood, was.

I told the auntie my decision to suddenly go home, citing my worries about mum's latest chemo. She looked at me with concern and care. "You are so filial and caring to your mother..."

At that point I could hardly contain my tears. I had to turn away and swallow so hard to sound normal when I spoke again. But the waver in my voice betrayed my feelings, betrayed the worries of a child who is again thrust into confusion and fear by the unstable conditions surrounding his mother's health...

The auntie went into the kitchen, and took out some food and soup which she had made and wanted to give me. I was touched, so touched to the heart by this yet another act of giving and generosity, that I was almost bursting with tears. Almost. I thanked her deeply, my gratitude knowing no boundaries, not only toward her, but also toward my friend (who was not there), and toward my other friends who are so willing to lend a helping hand whenever I am away. She told me to call whenever I need anything, even if it is just to talk, she can be there to listen.

I took the food, though it was cold having been in the fridge a little while, it felt heartwarming to the touch. I thanked her, thanked her again, and gave her a hug. I could no longer speak, and I turned to walk away. Just before closing the door, I thanked her again, and briefly looked at her. Somehow, my own emotions, the tears on the rim of my eyes made her eyes moist and red.

"Goodbye", I said, "And thank you..."

I walked home, the whole world a watery blur, my heart aching, my breathing laboured, and my mind wondering when I will see her again, and how I could possibly return her continuous acts of kindness and care...

Decision, decision

I woke up this morning, having not slept much, but feeling somewhat rejuvenated and ready. I spoke to mum, and despite hesitation, despite not wanting to make her worry, I told her about troubles my boyfriend and I have been having. She was extremely understanding, and concerned, but she was not judgmental and did not reject me. She is my mother, and she cares for me, as I do for her and her well-being.

In the end, I told her I would like to go home. It has been on my mind for sometime already, especially since she recently began 12 sessions of radiotherapy and is scheduled to have another chemo in the coming week. I am afraid of how she will react to all this , especially as she complained recently of how week she has been feeling... This, coupled with the upheaval in my relationship, is enough reason to get away for a while.

I started writing to him, and an hour or so later, was a long email. Not of blame, not of animosity or pain... I was surprisingly collected, calm, and I said it is for the best that I go away for some time, so that he can have the time and space to think, reflect. I myself need that space and time apart and away from all those memories, all the little notes and items that remind me of us.

I was not angry in my tone, and the words simply flowed out of my fingers so smoothly and quickly. I said I wished him well, and hoped he would find some clarity of thought and that he can focus on goals he has set himself. I wrote not in any way to influence his decision or whatever outcome may result from this time away and apart from one another. He is confused, lost, as am I. And it does not help that we are close to one another, and have the temptation to be and sleep with one another. I apologised for my own failing, for hurting him in the past, for being complicated and difficult to decipher as a person, for having held back my feelings for him, and for contributing to the complications we find ourselves in today.

Most of all, I wished him well, told him I really appreciate all he has offered me, given me, as friend or lover, friend and lover. Because really, he has made my life so much fuller and happier since he entered into it. He filled me with care, with love, and he showed me that I can love, and that I can give myself to someone completely. I feel he can, and would like him to, play a role in my life, but at this stage, am just uncertain what role that would be.

So in two days, I will be gone, away from here, away from all this... It is a sudden, abrupt decision, and the consequences have not really fully sunk in yet. I do worry about my cat, and how troubling it will all be to my friends to leave her behind again... We have been bonding so well, she has been so patient and caring and loving with me, but I must leave her again... I feel so guilty, so ashamed of bringing her into my life, and not being able to be there for her fully.

But this trip, sudden and last-minute (even though it was booked randomly three months ago) I feel is necessary  for my mum's sake, and for my own sake and peace of mind.