Working life

I asked mum today what she wanted to do when she was my age, and what was the most memorable event of her working life.

Tax officer, she said. After she graduated, the first in her family, she was lucky to that the government was recruiting civil servants, and she managed to get through the difficult exam. And within a month or so, she began her career. She wanted to interact with taxpayers and educate people about the importance of paying taxes, because back then people were (and are even now) very resistant to the government taking money away from them. But little did people understand that raising taxes is necessary for a country to develop, to provide public goods and services that we take for granted.

Throughout her career, she said she advised many people, many low income people and families, how to reduce their taxable amounts and get reductions. It's all part of her job, she said, part of serving the public, and doing so within confines of the law.

The most memorable day was about thirty year ago. I wasn't even born yet, and my brother was only one or so. A middle aged man walked into her office, sat down and began to cry. He didn't make much money, and he complained  the government was taking a lot of it away. "I don't even have money to pay my son's tuition..." (at the time, education was not free).

Mum, seeing the poor man cry, and moved by his story, took out whatever she had in her purse at the time and gave it to the man. "Not really thinking much", mum said. Not really because she consciously wanted to do "good", but because it was and felt like the right thing to do. She was purely driven by a sense of compassion and charity.

"I don't know if that man just made up a story to get sympathy, but it doesn't matter..."

No, it didn't matter. But the story revealed to me a side of my mum that I am grateful for  having inherited.

Friends of Cancer

"The most painful thing about oral cancer is... I can't even clearly say "I love you"

I stepped into the meeting room, and already a dozen or so people were seated and listening to the enthusiastic talk of the social worker. Quietly I sat down, and was in the midst of a "Friends of Cancer" group meeting.

Yes, as frightening as cancer is, you can be a "friend" to it, as long as you accept that it is there, and try to coexist with it, instead of fear and dread what it will do to you and your body. And the meeting was for patients and their relatives, for them to get to know about their condition, understand about nutrition and post-treatment care, as well as get support, whether psychological or financial. 

When I inadvertently saw the flyer at the chemotherapy ward, I though it would be about head-and-neck cancer in general. But the one-hour lecture was focused more on oral cancer, which is but a subgroup.  Mum did not come with me, as much as I would have liked her to, as she returned home after a few hours of treatment at the hospital.

Around the room were mostly middle aged males sitting next to (what I presume are) their wives. The vast majority (a staggering 88%!) of cases of oral cancer in Taiwan is caused by the chewing of betel nuts (penang). Smoking and alcoholism are other causes. It is most common among the lower and working classes and in the countryside, where the chewing of betel nuts is more prevalent, and primarily it strikes the male segment of the population.

Most of the patients in the room had a cough mask on, thus hiding most of their faces. Other than chemotherapy and radiotherapy, the most effective treatment for oral cancer is the surgical removal of the infected area, which often involves the complete removal of parts of the mouth and the lower jaw area. And after the procedure, the patient often resembles someone who has been seriously defaced after a terrible blow to the face. Truth be told, and as judgmental as it may be, some of the faces look frightening, like a  deformation, and I avoided looking at the faces for too long...

But this is exactly the kind of stigma and ostracisation that patients of oral cancer face. People shun them, and employers are afraid to hire them, because they are not "presentable enough. It is bad enough to have cancer, and to deal with the debilitating effects of the treatment, but after the treatment, most have to live as social outcasts, and many dare only go out wearing a mask of some sort.

I was extremely moved by the talk of the social worker, who shared information on getting support. Two people came up on stage, and despite inhibited ability to speak after the surgical removal of much of their mouth, they had such enthusiasm anead optimism for life. Just because you have a life-threatening illness, one that in some cases will almost definitely kill you, does not mean you cannot live and live life to the max. They were depressed and isolated themselves from everyone, but it takes just a change of heart to finally go out and face the sunshine, to realise that the illness does not mean the end of everything, but a new beginning and a new perspective on life. They shared how their relationship with their families have changed, how they have learned to appreciate life and the world much more. "Living day by day,  moment to moment..." It is almost Buddhist in the approach to the world and everything in it. No use beating yourself up about a condition you cannot change, so just accept it, embrace it, and take everything as it comes and goes. And the foundation has done invaluable work to support patients and their families, with work programmes, holidays, counseling services and much more. One such working programme is training oral cancer patients, most of whom have never touched a needle or thread, to work as tailors in the comfort of their own home, making textile carrier bags for sale.

I was extremely touched by their spirit, and at various moments moved to tears by their ability to accept fate, and to continue living despite the physical and mental pain they have had to, and most likely continue to, endure on a daily basis. At the end of the meeting, we were all given a carrier bag, the very kind sewn by a survivor of oral cancer.

The fabric felt especially soft, especially precious, and so very humbling. As I left the room, I looked the people with whom I shared an informative and touching hour with. I walked slowly away, and the corridor of the oral cancer ward filled with the chatter and rare laughter of patients and their relatives.

Testing the limit

The day after chemo is always the hardest. Countless good and bad cells have been killed off, leaving mum weak and lethargic, more than normal. Seeing her like that pains me, and this time it seems to be worse than ever before.

She apologises... for sleeping so much, for being so 'lazy', for being at home all day, for making me feel anxious and worried. I tell her that it's not her fault, that she cannot control how she feels and all the pain that she has. I try to comfort her, to reassure her by stroking her hand once in a while... but nothing seems to placate her mood and her mind.

More and more, I myself feel like I am being tested to the limit. My patience, my compassion, my ability to care, my ability to be strong for someone else's sake... tested and eroded with each passing moment, each passing day, which seem to pass so slowly.

I know that we are only ever constrained and imprisoned by our own minds and perceptions. But being here with mum, the helplessness, is killing me deep inside, really exhausting my body and mind. I try to control my emotions, not let the frustrations and the boredom get to me or show. But at times, my short temper, my raised and anxious voice show how terribly impatient and uncaring I may have become.

How have I become like this? When did I become so concerned about my own wellbeing and happiness that I find it harder and harder to empathise what mum is going through? More and more I find myself wondering how much easier life would be if I did not have to deal with all this. Why can't I be out there having "fun", enjoying my youth, going out, doing what I want to do with my life, instead of being here taking care of mum and being faced with illness and death every day...? Have many opportunities have I had to pass up because I had (or actually, wanted) to come home?

I know, I know it myself it is such a terrible thought to have, and I feel guilty for thinking that way. Mum could never know I have these thoughts, for it would devastate her and make her feel more like  she has been a burden to my life throughout these years.

 Sometime ago a friend of mine commented that nobody but me has the ability to give up my youth and so much of my time over the years just to be with mum. I still do not regret ever coming back here to be with her, to encourage and support her at critical moments...  It was always a decision I made, and I stand by them, and I am in a way glad that I can place mum first above all else and rush back here whenever she needs me (even though she never asked me to).  But being back here, with every extended period of time I spend here, and with every passing day, I find myself more and more wanting to get away, wanting to go back to my own life.

Why is that? Perhaps being 'stuck' is my fate, and if I can't get out of it, I should try to 'enjoy' the feelings of confinement and frustration of having to live with mum and live with her condition day in and day out.

If I just tell myself, again and again, that so many others have it so much worse... if I just look at mum and see her frown from pain or groan from her uncontrollable discomfort, I ask myself: how can you even think of yourself or think that you have the worse situation to deal with in life?

Dream

Everyone has dreams.  Sometimes we never get to realise them or live them, because we keep on  telling ourselves there will be tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. And then we die, and the dreams die with us.

And there are times when you know your time on this world may be limited, so you are prompted to accomplish your dreams soon, or as soon as possible. Facing death can be terrifying, or it can be a refresher course on living, living to not just dream, but living to realise your dreams.

Mum has been sharing some of her dreams with me. A dream of my is to help mum realise her dreams. If I can in any way help her get closer to seeing her dream realised, I'll do it. Many have already been reaslised, especially in the past year or so... travel to Canada, see brother get married, have a grandchild... All of these have given her hope, given her a reason to continue living and go through all the excruciating pain and treatments.

One dream is simple and obvious, and it is to meet and hold her own grandchild. I have been encouraging her to visit Europe again at the end of December, so she can spend the very magical Christmas period with my brother and his family. Most important of all, so she can share that miraculous feeling of Christmas with loved ones and a newborn baby. My fingers are crossed on that one, and I'm working to make that happen...

And tonight, as we went for a stroll after dinner, she told me another dream of hers. "I'd like to see you settled down, get married and have children..." I was a bit lost for words.

"There is nothing more beautiful than building a family together with the one person who can support you and be your best friend and partner for the rest of your life..."  At one point mum joked I shouldn't rush into marriage so I can please her before she "goes"!

"It's hard to find a soul mate, but when you do keep that..." I smiled, and didn't say anything. I've told her on several occasions how I'd love to settle down, to be with someone who is compatible and whom I can give to and receive love in return from.

Truth be told, I'm very envious of my brother and his family, envious of the joys of holding his own child, and having someone to come home to every day (but of course, I know even family and marriage bring different kinds of worries...). But how beautiful it is to see him, his wife and son together... how happy, how very, very beautiful and touching...

"What about with [my friend]?" mum asked. She has met him on a few  occasions, and mum has a good impression of him. She was disappointed when I told her back in May that we broke up. I wasn't sure where to begin, how to explain where we were now. I just said he's a very good friend, but no more. We are... I don't know what we are, where we are headed. "He seems to be very caring, and you're both outstanding boys," mum said "You seem to be good together".

There are a number of dreams I can help mum fulfill... make sure she is fit enough to travel to see her grandson, make sure she is well enough and accompany her to a number of places she would like to. I look forward to that sense of 'achievement' when I help her realise that dream. I look forward to seeing her smile, to seeing the calm on her face when she has fulfilled one of her dreams.

But getting finding someone, getting married, settling down... As much as it is also a dream of mine, I'm not sure if I can fulfill it. And I'm not sure if I can fulfill it in time for mum to see me, with tears in her eyes, exchange vows with my one true love...

Laughing and crying

We laughed and joked in the morning as we had breakfast.  Some morbid joke about death, a play on words in Taiwanese which both mum and I found so amusing for some reason.

She was talking about whom I should call after she "returns". "To return" being a euphemism for dying, for passing. She was telling me about her colleagues at work and arrangements she's made with regards to her pension plan.

"Return? Where are you going to return to?" I asked cheekily.

"To become a deity! To become a finance officer up there!" At her last post, one she held for many years before retirement, she was in charge of finances and accounts at the branch of the revenue bureau she was working at.

Somehow that was very amusing, and it was beautiful to see mum laugh, to hear her laugh out loud. However brief that lightness felt, it was felt and distracted from all else.

In the face of death, you must be able to make fun of it, to poke and prod at it. How can you fully realise life without joking about death? Humour is a way to deal with and accept the unchangeable, the unacceptable. And I'm glad we still have the ability, though rare, to laugh out loud.

Fast forward an hour, and that laughter was long gone. I could see a tear in the corner of mum's. Was she tearing because of the pain, the excruciating pain that had come back as the painkillers wore off? Or was she crying because I insisted on accompanying her to the hospital? She kept on telling me to leave, leave the chemotherapy ward. "Go! Go, I don't want you hanging around here, the air is stale here and there are many sick people here..." but she is there, and has no choice but to be there.

I did as I was told, and left. I looked back though, looked back and saw mum sitting in the armchair in her personal "pod" as the nurse kept busy preparing the doses of drugs to be injected intravenously.

 The last image before I left was mum with her eyes closed tightly. Her forehead was crumpled in grief, her face contorted in pain... Immense, indescribable,  immeasurable pain.

Again, the sense of helplessness and deep deep compassion overwhelmed me and caused me to cry as I quickly stepped outside.

But like the laughter and lightness that disappeared so quickly, so will my pain... Everything will pass...

 Everything will fade away and pass.

Phone call

I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. It was my friend, whom I've been minimising contact with for a number  of days ever since I came back.

Why do I want to distance myself from him? Why am I no longer telling him what is happening in my life and how I'm feeling? Because I feel terribly ashamed and troubled that I've been burdening him with my life and problems almost ever since we met. And somehow, ever since we broke up, I have slowly come to realise (or believe) that we I cannot keep on depending on him for emotional support and comfort.

He began crying, almost unstoppably for a while. Was he hurt by my lack of news, by my silence? Was he hurt by my brief and curt responses when he asks me how I'm doing? I never mean to hurt him or to punish him, but I just felt I could no longer talk frankly to him about my life anymore without delaying or impeding his, and his pursuit of happiness and love.

He cried because he was so worried about me, and imagining the worst when for a day or so I didn't reply to his messages, and for a number of days didn't talk to him on the phone. He said he felt so helpless unable to do anything for me, to be fully there for me as I'm going through perhaps the most challenging period of my life so far... He would fly here to see me, to just comfort me, if I would only say the word. I was touched, and I softened somewhat.

For a while now, I wanted  there to be distance between us,  to keep him at bay. In a way, i want to cut myself out of his life so he can finally move on and not have to carry all this mess I seem to bring him with him as he goes on with his life and pursues his dreams of happiness and love with one person. I have for too long been the reason he felt so torn, I have broken up two of his relationships and made him feel so rejected and uncertain about himself.

And I want to free myself from his care and support so I don't feel so torn when I'm here with my mum. Because since a year or so, since we became romantically involved, and I feel even before that, he has been the one major reason I feel so comfortable and safe in Canada. He has been that solid rock and confidante I can pour out my deepest and darkest feelings to. But I feel I've lost that since we broke up...

Yet, he still cannot stop caring, cannot stop thinking about me  and having such compassion for what I'm going through. In whatever capacity, he said he feels responsible and that he will always care and be there if I want him to be.

On and off he cried and sobbed. We are no where closer to where we were a month or so ago. We are no more closer together, and no more distant from one another despite my efforts to change that. Where are we now? Who are we to each other? Why do I want to know...?

It is comforting to be so cared for, to be so loved in a way that transcends friendship, that softens me to the core because it is something I have never ever encountered or been given from anyone.

But it is also confusing, distracting and even fills me with guilt to always turn to one person, to the object of my deep, deep affection, to pour out my feelings, when  we are "just friends".

My mum's ailing condition has so dominated my mind, and yet on the side is this personal matter with my friend I must learn to handle and balance.

How I wish time and distance could give me some perspective and free me from these two things that are testing me and tearing me apart from the inside.

Out of control

I was numb when she told me. "it's more or less the same as in September."

I pressed her for a number, and it took a while till she said "Thirty something." it's the Cancer index, a measure of the number of cancerous cell in the body, and an indication of how advanced the cancer is.

Though she said thirty something, on a print out of her latest medical record I saw for 8 September, the index stood at 45. I tried to imagine what that meant, but my lack of knowledge of medicine meant I didn't really know what it implied. I only know it's bad, terribly, terribly bad. A look at her historic cancer index level, the highest it has been is somewhere in the mid twenties. Back in 2007, when mum was first diagnosed with cancer it was hovering around 15, and that I thought at the time was bad. The index always came down, and at one point was "normal" as low as that of a smoker. But now, it's at an unprecedented level. Ad it's scary...


I was surprised, but was I sad? Was I mad? I went quiet, I know I went quiet. But that is all. Can I cry now? Maybe if I'm pushed, I will burst put crying. But what will that bring me, what will that bring my mum?

Maybe soon I will break down and cry, maybe I'll quietly cry in bed later tonight...

But for now, I'm just floating and my feelings are just the way they are, a strange, and fragile calm bouyed by the devastating revelation.

Thirsty

"I get very thirsty," she said, "You have to give me water at the end..."

Why did her word hurt so much? Why did her words immediately cause me to cry ( even though I quickly blinked away the tears so she did not notice). Mum was talking about the "end" again, about the moment she dies.

My heart wrenched so painfully, I could have burst out crying in the middle of the pavement. I could have tore at my hair because it hurt so much to hear her speak like this. Can you imagine what it feels like to hear a loved one talk like that...?

She recounted how when dad entered the hospital, he had been so thirsty. Mum clandestinely got him some water, and he gulped down half a small plastic bottle, even though the nurse told her that it's dangerous to give dad water, as he might choke lying down. "But he was thirsty... You get very thirty toward the end..."

I listened in silence, swallowing my emotions, swallowing my tears , as mum continued. "Your auntie's mother had cancer of the lymph gland, and toward the end, the pain was so much she would cower in the corner of the room and sweat cold sweat..."

I imagined the scene, and tried to blink away the image of mum in the corner of the room, groaning in pain, shaking from the uncontrollable torture of physical pain and discomfort...

I swallowed more, and felt my stomach churn from the pent up emotions.

This will pass, I told myself, this feeling will all pass...

Suicidal note

It is already very difficult and painful when a loved one is dying... But what does it feel like when a loved one wants to die...? 

"I'm just waiting to die," mum said. Not the first time. She has said similar things in the past, but within less than a week of being here, she has said something alone those lines a couple of times. 
"I hate myself for being ill...".  
"I feel so extreme and feel life is so meaningless...". 
"I'm just waiting to die..."

It hurts. It really really hurts to hear that. And I 'retaliate'... I know it's not the proper reaction, but hearing mum talk like that makes me so very angry I hit back. "what if I said that?! Do you know what it feels like to hear your own mother say something like that??" I know it doesn't do anything to diffuse the situation, and I should be more compassionate and understanding, but more and more I feel I'm losing patience and getting frustrated again...

Do I  make mum feel depressed and suicidal, I wonder. Is it because I push her too hard when I tell her I'd like to see her do things, go learn something or so something constructive? I really mean well, and hope only that she can step out of the house more and meet new people, instead of wallowing in her own pain and misery at home. 

But instead, being told that she should go out more has had the opposite effect. It has made her realise how lethargic and depressed she has become, which fills her with regret and guilt, especially as she realises how difficult it is to get out of the vicious cycle of sleep, eating, watching tv and surfing the internet... 

She knows she should do more with her life and live it to the max, but she feels she cannot because of her sores and pains. and because she feels she cannot, mum feels double the guilt of being so down and lethargic all the time. 

I keep on telling her, I'd like her to be happy and live a fulfilling and happy life. " what does that mean?" she asked me. And it struck me.

 Maybe she is happy the way she is, maybe she is happy just staying home and surfing the net and looking at pictures of her grandson and looking at what other people are doing on Facebook. Am I being too harsh on her, wanting her to do things that I feel would make her happy, even though I don't know what she is really going through and what pain she has to endure everyday? Maybe she is happy being left alone to do her own things instead of having someone else (ie me...) watch over and scrutinise  her every move.

I feel my mind is going dizzy with the frustration and fear of hurting mum instead of helping her. My stomach is getting upset again, and I cannot do much for mum.

Really, all I can do and all I can give her is the assurance that I'll be happy and trouble free, In the hope she'll do and be the same. 

Helplessness

I feel the helplessness and frustrations creeping in, I feel the tears build up and threatening to fall...

But who can I turn to? Swallow, swallow all that helplessness, swallow all that hurt. Mum is hurting more, I cannot cry, I cannot vent my frustrations and anger on her... I need to give her love, give her affection and compassion.

But I feel the negative emotions again overwhelming my heart and drowning the sense of lightness and clarity of mind I was buoyed by in the immediate days after my retreat.

Swallow, swallow the tears...
Swallow the pain...
Swallow the terrible agony that is eating me inside...

These feelings will pass....
Hug yourself, comfort yourself and tell yourself it will be ok.

Even if it is not, it will be ok.

Grandson

I lay on the floor and listened to mum converse with my brother on my iPhone.

"Call grandma! Go on, say "gradma"", my brother joked as he held his baby in his arms and occasionally leaned in to kiss him, while his wife sat and smiled in the background. What an extremely touching sight, and I was moved to tears. It is so beautiful to hold your own child in your arms... Am I going to have that precious privilege one day too...? Am I going to have a partner by my side as well?

Mum laughed out loud many tines for the next hour or so as she chatted with my brother and sister-in-law. From a distance, i took in the scene. Mum lay in her armchair, resting her sore arm over her head, while with the other arm she held onto the phone. With deep concentration, she looked at what her grandson was doing. Every little move, every little kick or punch or noise he made made mum laugh and squint from smiling. Seeing that made me smile too, and smiling makes you forget everything else.

 I noticed one of the first things she does after breakfast is to switch on the computer and check her Facebook account to see if new pictures or videos of her grandson have been posted. If not, then she'd review the already uploaded pictures again and again. And again.

Doing so gives her hope, gives her a reason to live, a reason to take care of herself, even thought it is so hard on her own. All in the hope of one day holding her grandson in her arms...

A few days at home

When things are difficult, it is best to remind yourself of what you have already gone through. In comparing what you have already experienced, you realise you can face whatever life has to throw at you. In knowing what hurdles you have already overcome, you know if you put on a brave face, breathe, the tears will stop. And you can force a smile and struggle on, for another moment, for another minute.

I noticed more and more strands of hair on mum's clothes and on the floor of the apartment. And this is only within a few days of arriving here. One of the first things I noticed when I walked through the door was how much hair had grown since I last saw her in July. Much of her hair is young, healthy looking and dark in colour. But the treatment she is currently undergoing, and the chemo pills that she has to take on a daily basis, will cause her hair to fall again. And that is already starting to happen.

Two more days, and mum will be doing her second invitro treatment. I will be here, next to her, to see her through what always is a painful and grueling process of being weakened and attempting at recovering her strength and energy.

I have had many opportunities to speak to her since my return. Many times I told her how much I wish she could go out and 'do something', anything, to make full use of her life, to make herself feel alive again. Whether it's going to classes and learning a new craft or arts or going to lectures and talks about traveling and healthy living, anything is better than her staying at home and languishing on the couch in front of the tv or the computer.

She says she'd like to, but her recurring sores and pains are preventing her from doing things she would like to. "It's not like before," she said, meaning her sores have gotten worse over the past few weeks. It comes and goes, and the medication keeps it in check, but not necessarily all the time. There are days when the medication have no effect, and she could feel such pain and sores that makes her want to cut off her arm...  "There will come a point when the meds lose their effect completely". What then?

"Morphine," she said quietly. The doctor said she will probably need to start taking morphine. Invitro or pills, she is  unsure. But the thought of it scares her. It scares me. I closed my eyes, blink away the tears and breathed deeply...

We have gone through so much... Mum has gone through so much... from the first ever chemotherapy just after dad passed away to the severe diagnosis of the tumour on the spine back in January, so much has happened. Every treatment, every few months I thought I was close to losing her. Every time I feared she might enter the hospital and, like dad, never return. But mum has bravely gone through it all. Most of the time alone all by herself, with her own courage and determination. And she is still standing, still fighting.

But this time around I notice a difference. I sense a certain degree of fear and hesitation... I notice a sense of resignation, and sense of guilt surrounding her own failing health and mortality. "You can't imagine what it feels like," she said to me many times. She said she sometimes hates herself for being like this, for being ill, for being unable to do what she would like to. Whatever happened to her health, she lamented a few times. Whatever happened to being able to just get up and go wherever she would like, without needing to worrying about how she will be feeling or whether the pain will come and steal away all the pleasure and fun she is having?

I try to comfort her, try to find reassurance and that semblance of wisdom and clarity of the mind I managed to recover during my retreat last week. Think positively, I tell her, think of this moment. Nothing else matters, not fear of the uncertain future, not regrets about your own health and the conditions you find yourself in. Whatever it is anyone is facing, it is never our choosing. We can accept it and face it, or live with dread and fear and remorse why we are in the situation we don't want to be.

If we are prisoners of the circumstances, why not make the most of the circumstance and at least try to "enjoy" where we find ourselves? "Laugh," I told mum, "Laugh everyday, laugh at everything..." She joked people will probably look at her funny and wonder whether she's insane. That may be so, but difficulties can make you insane and confused, or you can try to see the humour and lightness in it all. It is there if you want to see and feel it.

Of course, I could never ever feel the same pain, feel the same fear that mum feels about her own body and close brush with mortality, but I tell her again and again as I hold her hand, as I pat her on the shoulder "Be strong... be happy, and let things be."

I don't know how much those words help her, because sometimes those words sound so empty and so meaningless in a situation of such despair and hopelessness.

But keep on saying it, keep on telling it to mum, I tell myself, and she will be a bit stronger, a bit calmer.

Or at least I want to believe that...

Poor sleep

Sleep was so disturbed. I lay there, the wind was howling outside the window. And images of my friend kept entering my mind... And he was not alone. He was intimate with someone, and it was not with me...

I kept walking around the house in the dream, fully knowing they are there together, wanting to interrupt them. But I held myself back, however difficult and painful it is, I held back. There was a deep deep void on the inside of me, and I broke down...

I stirred from my sleep and the nightmare. Let go, let go, I told myself. What I do not know never happened, what I cannot see does not exist. The mind is merely making up fantasies, frightening fantasies based on my fears, the mind is playing with me... And even if the dream were real, so what? What can I do? Why should I do anything?

Over the last few days, I have kept communication between my friend and I to a bare minimum. And it will stay that way. No more long talks on the phone, no more video chatting. Just a few exchanges of messages here and there. Friendly, cute messages, nothing deep or personal.

 He does not know what is happening here with me, and I do not know what is happening with him. He does not know about the pending hospital visits, about my feelings of longing, and my feelings of  becoming bored and frustrated with my self-imposed exile here. And I don't know what he is feeling, how he is doing, despite a few pictures of him I've seen, smiling, or forcing a smile.

However much I'd like to speak to him, I cannot. Last time I was here he said I called a lot. And that was just after our breakup, and I had a feeling all the calling and keeping in touch for a long time afterward was an impediment to his pursuit of happiness and to him finding out where his heart lies. So I'll stop all that. Our friendship has ground to a bare minimum of contact, and I'm scared all that magic between us might just fizzle out and die... What a shame that would be... And what is if all for? Something worth it I hope, something, some uncertain day when there will be more clarity and a healthier (or no) interaction between us.
I tell myself it is all for the best, perhaps, if it will help us free ourselves from this entangled web of mess we have caught ourselves in for almost a year now. I want to be free, an I am sure he wants to be too. And if the solution is free me from this picture, then I am already away and out of the picture.

With those images still lingering on my mind, I heard the rattling of pills in a bottle.

Mum had woken up, been woken up by her sores.

This is far more important... Far more important than any fantasy or fear or anything I cannot change, cannot control...