First morning back

I’ve forgotten how jetlag can suddenly wake you up at the strangest hours and leave you wide awake, staring at the seconds and minutes ticking by till everyone else wakes up.

First night in Vancouver, staying at my relative’s place. The rest of the flight went by relatively quickly. I fell asleep an hour or so after getting onboard, and for the first time, I did not take the meal that was offered to me by the flight attendant, because I was still full, and didn’t want to feel even fuller sitting down for so many hours. I slept, woke up only a few times, and the next time I was wide awake, we were only two and a half hours from the Western coast of Canada, and I could already smell the next meal being prepared in the galley a few steps away. Perhaps it was travelling together, or the plentiful sleep I got, but I really cannot recall a ten hour flight that seemed to last so “short”.

Mum slept too, and she said relatively alright, even though the dryness of the cabin air irritated her throat. Ironically, the long flight somehow made her noticeably regaining her voice, but that of course does not mean she should talk and talk and talk. “We should be observing noble silence,” I joked, a reference to the self-imposed prohibition on speech (with the exception essential communications) when people enter monasteries to practice meditation.

It’s good to be back in Canada, to the much cooler climate (though I was told it can vary from day to day and also reach extreme highs…), to the cleanliness and orderliness that I have grown accustomed to. I was a bit apprehensive at the customs, fearing they would question me on my bags and what I brought into the country (a ‘bit’ too much, especially with a new laptop and tennis raquet…). But the guy at the passport check (“primary”) was extremely friendly and welcoming. I’m not sure if it is related to the fact that I said I’m taking my mum to visit me (when I said she’d only stay two, three weeks, he actually asked, to my surprised, “Why so short?”) or that at one point I actually asked him questions about renewing my study permit, which is due to expire in two months (that’s another complicated story worth another blog entry…)

So far, mum’s been well, and I think she is beginning to get used to and compliment the cleaner air, tidiness and all that green here. She was smiling a lot, and last night, she ate more than usual, which is a good sign that, except for the continuing inflammation in her throat, she is recovering well.

It is wonderful to see her happy, and I look forward to more of that.

Departing for Canada

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.

Night before departure

This time tomorrow, I will be ascending above the Pacific Ocean, on my way. Mum will be next to me, and probably the lights in the cabin will have just come on. We will be on our way together, to Canada.

Last night in Taipei, mum is already in bed, snoring a little. I put her to sleep, and gave her a pat on her arm "We're really going away!" I said. She smiled, and she looked confident, even though the pain in her throat still bothers her whenever she swallows. I told her that she didn't have to say much, and to save her voice.

One last day in Taipei, and there are still a number of things left to be done. A last minute trip to downtown to pick up some items, a last minute trip to the hospital for mum to clean her artificial blood vein (which needs to be done at least once every two months...), and then final packing and arranging of the suitcase. Most of the things have been packed, and there are a lot. For myself, my suitcase is filled mostly with souvenirs and gifts for others. For friends who have helped me greatly while I have been away... for friends who I treasure and so appreciate for their presence and support in my life in Canada. Colleagues who make working at the office enjoyable, entertaining, and fun. Mum's suitcase is filled with mostly medicine and supplements to give her strength and to control the growth of the tumour. I remember seeing dad's suitcase, filled with all sorts of pills, a year or so before he passed away, and seeing mum's suitcase brought back that memory.. .I have already made it very clear that I will do most of the hauling and carrying. All mum has to do, I told her, is carry her purse and a small trolley and light carry on.

Last night in Taipei, and I spent the night writing cards. To friends, but most importantly, to my uncle.Though none of my relatives know that I have been here in the past month or so, three days ago I received a picture of my uncle from my cousin. I could barely recognise my uncle (husband of my dad's older sister). He was frail looking, thin, and the grey hair that once covered his head had all disappeared in the three months since I last saw him. I understood immediately why, and learned from my cousin that that he has been undergoing chemotherapy for a tumour growing on the lymph glands in the neck area. I wanted to rush down south to visit my uncle, but some family complications (so ridiculous and trivial that it's not even worth going into...) prevented me from making the trip. Though I did have a heart-to-heart talk with my cousin, and we connected over the fact that a parent of ours has been so weakened and changed by the terrible, terrible illness of cancer. Even so, we were not sad, but hopeful, our spirits buoyed by mutual encouragement and sympathies.

So I wrote to my uncle,to show him I care and how I would like to lend him a word of encouragement the best way I can without being able to be there with him physically. I wrote him a card, "Smile," I wrote, "It's the best self-treatment" (in Mandarin, a play on the sounds of the words that works very cleverly). I told him to take good care, to live in the moment, live in every moment. Everything else... illness, death, fear, anxiety are but distractions from living, really living.

Tomorrow this time, I will not be here anymore. But as I tell myself every time I leave a place, I leave so that I will come back again one day...

Testing

Weiwei

Peace within?

Last night at the monastery, a humid and still night where there's not even a waft of wind.

Been a good few days of get away, and my mind has been somewhat settled, yet not completely. Peace, real peace comes from within, and it can be found and realized wherever you may be. But at thus moment in my life, there is little peace, however much I try to meditate to calm my own mind, however much I try to dispel thoughts and confusing inner chatter, my mind is wondering around and lost.

It is too easy to blame other people, blame the outside world and all the things that are unsatisfactory about it for my troubled state of mind. But really, it is my mind that is disturbed and troubled. Things and people are just the way hey are. Conditions are simply the way they are, and cannot be changed. What can be changed is my own mind and way of thinking.

Do I want to continually worry about things that I have no control over? Do I want to fret over possible events and encounters that are only playing out onside my head? Do I really want to second guess other people's emotions and feelings? Do I want to make sure everything is perfect, and dread and get upset that things do not turn out the way I plan them to be? it's all in my mind... All that worry, all that anxiety, all that fear.

Let it all go... Enjoy the surrounding here and now. I've been told so many times, read about it so many times, and I know that it is so, that I can live a much lighter and happier life if I only let go. So why don't I?

Why do I cling onto things? Cling onto what I want, what I would like to happen, when everything in life is so uncertain and unclear?

Going back to Canada soon, and taking mum with me. It's a moment I've been waiting for, longing for, and I should just let things be, let things run their natural course.

There can be peace within. If only I will allow it.

Feud

Is there not enough suffering already in the world to discourage us from causing more suffering? Aren't there enough troubles and worries in our lives to not want to pile more on, on yourself and on others?

Yet, we as human beings all seem to have an attraction to complicated matters, an attraction to people and hints that we attach to but cannot let go of, even though we know in the end it'll only add to our suffering, create more misery.

I see it in my own life, and in the lives of others around me. This is what we do, this is the level of intelligence we have, and often we cannot jump out of it, we cannot let go. But like mud, the more you grasp onto it, the more you will lose it through your fingers... The same with life, and it's worries... The more you want to be in control, the less you are in control of.

Even being away at the monastery, trying go calm myself, trying to find some peace and quiet away from my usual life, I find my mind disturbed by thoughts and imaginations, fears and inner chatter. Worse still, even being in a tranquil setting, surrounding by the company and wisdom of a monk, the outside world can so easily reach within and disturb my mind so quickly and violently.

A family feud erupted this evening, and I was caught in the middle, even though I am so far from it all, and fins myself trying to call people to explain and placate their feelings. All this happened as I just got up from a quite sitting session, and it is amazing how quickly the mind can shift gears and perceptions from one moment to the next.

Really, just let go of things... Just let things be and run their natural course until it wanes and dies, as everything will do, because that is he nature of this world and everything that exist in it.

Try not to be so hard in yourself, and push yourself, frustrate yourself. Instead take the Middle Path, of moderation, of neither guilt or rejoicing, blame or praise. Things are the way they are, and they will change. People are the way they are, and they will change. all feelings are the way they are, and they too will change...

No need to worry and torture yourself, have an agitated and frustrated mind, when in the end there is so little you can do to change the world the way and people are...

Uncle

My cousin sent me two pictures, as he normally would on traditional holidays. Most of the pictures show him and his family happily together for the festival, and many are of his cute son, and more recently, cute son and daughter.

I opened the latest email with picture attachments today. It was entitled "Dragon Boat Festival celebrations". I saw a small version of the picture but did not recognize the people in it. I could only make out that they are praying with incense sticks before the family shrine.

I clicked on the pictures and zoomed in... And then I saw it. My aunt, my dad's older sister, standing next to her husband, my uncle. But I could not recognize him.

His head was completely shaven, completely bald. And he looked thinner, thin and tall, with a clean shaven head. I could no believe my eyes, until I realized what must have happened since I last saw him back in February.

Just before my brother's wedding he had been in the hospital for "treatment". It was never clear what for, but I suspected it was to remove a malignant tumour, as I overheard the conversation over lunch one time.

I wrote to my uncle, sent him some little booklets containing Buddhist teachings about letting gland not fearing death, just before I left Taiwan. He was eternally grateful, and said it was verge thoughtful, especially the card that accompanied the booklets. Growing up, it was him who often wrote to us, it was him who often would send us little newspaper clippings and words of advice and wisdom.

In the last three months since I last saw him, he must have undergone chemotherapy of some sort. Who knows for how many times.... As I zoomed in on the pictures, it was as if I could see he sadness on my relatives' faces. I recognized that sadness, it is the sadness of being confronted with illness, confronted with the increased chance of death, that saps away all motivation and the last semblance of happiness from within. It is a sadness that is heavy, oh so very very heavy...

My heart cringed when I saw my uncle's image, and I had an urge to go see him. Soon, even though my entire trip to taiwan this time around has so far been kept a secret from everyone except my mum, my brother, my sister-in-law and her family.

But I feel the urge to go see my uncle, talk to him, and talk to his family, because I know how painful and difficult it is to live with cancer. I know how painful and difficult it is to watch a loved one suffer and be sick...

Leaving

I'm taking a trip, the first trip away from home ever since I arrived back home three weeks ago. It's been a physically tiring and mentally very challenging three weeks, filled with intense moments, hospital visits, and watching, watching mum in pain but being unable to do anything about it. Do you know what it does to the soul? It kills it slowly...

There have been moments where I feel like I'm going to burst open from frustration and pent up emotions. There have been moments where I feel the life and energy being sapped out of me. Seeing mum like this, in pain, unable to eat much, fearing that she will lose more weight, really drains me. Drains me to an extent which makes me wonder how much there is inside of me to give, how much more can I give in terms of care and compassion and love before I am left with nothing? A part of me fears that with time, I will lose my humanity, lose my ability to care and to love, because the frustrations and the impatience will have gotten ahold of me, and overshadowed my  intentions to want to help, my willingness to care.

It has been unimaginably tiring and challenging. and I need some time away and alone to settle down and collect myself. I need to get away for a few days, even though I'm worried mum will stop eating and stop taking care of her diet when I am away. Today, even though she said her throat feels a bit better, she only ate half a bowl of rice for lunch and dinner. That's simply not enough, but she said she simply cannot eat anymore...

I need to get away for a few days, to a place where I can find peace of mind and calmly meditate (even though I know, peace of mind and a place to meditate can be everwhere and anywhere...). It will do me good, and do mum good too, because I think being in a confined space so long is really getting to both of us. And we still have a long trip and long time together if we are to go abroad coming Friday.

Back in a few days...