忍

Forbearance (忍 )...

It's a beautiful and graphic character composed of a knife (刀) cutting the heart (心)... conjure that image in your mind, and imagine how painful that must be.

忍...

One single character that describes and encompasses tolerance, endurance, resistance, bearing with pain and suffering, restraining yourself and your emotions.

忍...

However much it hurts, however unbearable the pain is, bear with it. Grit your teeth, close your eyes, watch the pain, let the pain seep through your senses, let the pain take over, grow and fade away...

It will soon be over.

Soon everything will be over.

Painted pebbles

21 Oct

I saw the man as I was about to step into the Japanese shinto temple. He sat quietly in the shade of a tree and with a brush painted what I later realised were little rocks and pebbles.

 The rocks and pebbles were whitewashed first, and then with simple blue and red lines,  he breathed into life a collection of cute little rabbits and cats. I was already very tempted to buy them, to give them as gifts, if not to friends. I looked more closely, and noticed then that all that was left of his left hand was a stump. 

The man continued painting quietly, and when I picked up a little pebble, he said: "One for thirty [New Taiwan Dollars], three for a hundred". 

Only thirty dollars (around one US dollar) I thought to myself. All the amount of time and effort the man spends on shifting through the river bank to find a decently sized and smooth pebbles to draw on, all the time and effort he spends on meticulously drawing the pebbles, and he sells them for the same amount of money as a can of coke...

I picked out a few cats, and then picked out a few rabbits. On the small table he displayed his painted pebbles, was a stack of photocopies with writing on them. Perhaps he saw me glance at the writing, he told me to take one. "I wrote this myself, and I want to share it with people."

It was a little essay, short and poetic, simple but meaningful. It was titled     , and the basic message was that when you give, give wholeheartedly, give without wanting or expecting anything in return. Giving is in itself a reward, a joy and a free gift. Those who give will also receive, somehow, somewhere down the line. "It's the way of the universe, the way of the Dhamma," he said, with a kind smile and soft complexion. 

I looked into his eyes and saw the reflection of a kind, gentle soul, a nobody not wanting to be anybody, yet through his quiet giving and acts of charity he was a noble and humble giver, an example to many. 

As I was choosing painted cats and rabbits, he took out a little photo album from under his table. "I make living from these pebbles, but part of my money I donate." There were pictures of the man holding up bags of rice with families, with children. "I use some of the money I make here to help three families in need." 

I browsed through the picture. One of the men was in a wheelchair, another looked very thin and sickly. Other than bags of rice, there were also pictures of the painter with noodles, bags of salt and vegetables. 

And there was a picture of the man next to a river holding a bucket. In the next picture were fish. "I sometimes go to the market and buy animals to release." It's common to do that in Taiwan, and some temples encourage that as a means of generating merit and compassion. 

I was touched by his message, and by his ability to work hard to make a living despite missing a hand. And not only that, he has this infectious and encouraging spirit of giving and charity above all else.

I bid him farewell, put my hands together and bowed gently out of respect. In the end, I walked away with a heavy bag containing ten painted pebbles and a light heart knowing I've helped a man, and many more people.

Breakfast place

21 Oct

At the breakfast place

I enjoy talking strangers, especially in the countryside. It's  something rarely done in big cities, where I've grown up and live. And if I had the opportunity, I wouldn't hesitate too much about moving to the countryside.

As I was buying food at a breakfast place, the owner began to engage in conversation, asking me where I'm from, what I do. 

"Oh, Taipei! It's so busy there..." she commented, "I can't keep up with the pace of walking there. Why is everyone always in a hurry?" 

I wonder that myself sometimes, and being in the city, I find myself also quickening my pace and losing patience easier.

It is never a conversation if the topic of whether I'm married or have a girlfriend is not mentioned. I smiled and said I'm single. 

"How's that possible? You're so handsome!" she wasn't trying to hit on me. She was probably in her late forties. "You know, girls here are probably not as sophisticated as in the city, but they're simple and pure at heart."

I smiled at the description. I too look for a simple things in life,  and kindness and genuineness  in a person. I don't need to be impressed by the latest fashion or trends, gadgets or luxury. Just as long as there is love and kindness, mutual respect and trust, that is enough. People may look at me, look at my life till now and how I seem to be living the glamourously "high" life flying around so much, but really I'd be more settled when I'm settled and in one place, doing what I enjoy and being with someone I could open up to and be intimate with. Someone simple and pure at heart.

 And who's a guy. 

  

Delivering a dream

The elderly man limped with his cane with great effort to the opening of the narrow alleyway. He smiled, revealing the few crooked teeth he had, and waved us goodbye. I waved back and smiled. He said something in Taiwanese (or so it seemed), but his speech was slurred so I couldn't quite catch what he said. Even so, his gratitude needed no words. One bento box safely delivered, and many more to go...

Together with mum and a social worker, we shadowed a food delivery van for a good hour and a half around the eastern city of Hualien. Down narrow, windy lanes we navigated, into little communities of war veterans and aboriginals we ventured. Dogs sunbathing in the middle of the road and wandering stray cats lazily got out of the as we drove through isolated villages and run-down boroughs with slum-like and tiny housing units made of crumbling cement and brick.

The van in front of us would suddenly stop on the side, and the delivery lady would reach for the back of the van. There, stacks of bento boxes and bowls of soup are kept warm at a temperature of around 70C.  The warmth of the food satisfies many hungry stomachs, and also warms the hearts of many elderly people who live by themselves and rarely have contact with the outside.

Every day, for lunch and dinner, over five hundred meals are delivered into the homes of elderly people in the region. Each bento box is special prepared to cater to specific needs. Some are vegetarian, others are made with special dietary requirements suitable for those with a variety of chronic illnesses, ranging from diabetes to cancer. Some simply have difficulty chewing or swallowing, so the food is blended or in liquid form. But each is meticulously prepared at a central kitchen and supervised by nutritionists.

Began over a decade ago, the "meal delivery service" of the Mennonite Christian Foundation targets hundreds of elderly people who live by themselves. For most, the children have moved away to other places for employment and their other half have already passed away. Many have financial difficulties, while others have physical impairments that prevent them from having a balanced and healthy diet. The programme not only aims to improve the diet of this often neglected segment of society, it also functions as a sort of "buddy" programme so that everyday (except Sundays, as the workers are Christians and don't work on Sabbath...) the elderly will have some kind of human contact and also have someone to regularly keep an eye on their well being.

The "meal delivery service" is partly subsidised by the government, but much of the funding comes from the generosity of the public, from people like my mum who would like to give what they can to help. "My husband is already gone, my children are away. I'm like a solitary elderly person," mum joked and explained to the social worker why their work appeals to her so.

Charity begins at home, as they say, and this kind really goes into the homes of the elderly and those in need to ensure that, whatever hardships they are facing, at the very least they do not have to worry about filling their stomachs. And for my mum, finally seeing and experiencing first hand what it is that the charity does, and how her little donations help contribute to making this world a better and warmer place, I can only imagine, brings her much joy and comfort. And it brings me much joy and satisfaction to know I have helped her achieve the wish of seeing one of her charities at work before she goes...

I peered into the doors of the homes of those we delivered food to.  I only managed to see the faces of one or two beneficiaries of the programme, but behind every closed door, behind every cracked window of a run-down home, is a person, though old and aging, who needs as much support and care as everyone else, and who needs to be reminded that they have not been forgotten. As we ended our tour, my mum reminded me: "When you have the means, don't  forget those less fortunate than you and those in need..."

 I will always remember that, and try to live up to mum's example. Always, for as long as I live, even long after she is gone...

Following a dream

I was supposed to fly yesterday, but I postponed my flight  by a few days.

Over the two years or so, mum often spoke of visiting the east coast of the island. In the city of Hualien is a Christian Mennonite charity which, among other things, delivers food daily to less elderly people in need who live in remote areas. Mum has regularly donated to this charity, and I remember one day she said to me she'd very much like to see what it is that they do. "I want to leave  something behind when I leave..." she said.

So the other day I called te charity and made arrangements to go on a "food round" with them in the afternoon. "It's a wish from my mum's heart," I said to the gentleman on the other side of the phone. He understood what I meant, and said he'd do everything to accommodate us.

There are somethings I know mum will not do when I'm not around. Partly because she doesn't want to travel alone, partly because of her condition now and the reoccurring pains. And somethings, if not done, will probably never ever be done. How sad and unfortunate is that?

Now it seems, mum and I are going to do something together she's been wanting to do, but didnt have the opportunity to do yet.

How beautiful this is...

Uncle

"Take care," I said, "Take good care of yourself. Be happy, and live every single day to the fullest. That's what I tell my mum..." I gave him a pat on the shoulder. I would a hug, but it is simply too strange in the culture I grew up in, and in the situation I found myself in at that moment.

He was quiet, my uncle, quiet but visibly touched. "Every day lived is a day earned," he finally said. Since he was diagnosed with cancer, since he began treatment some eight months ago, I have written him twice. Little cards of encouragement and care, little boosts of confidence and life. As I've always believed, a few scribbles of ink on a piece of paper can say, can portray so much...

Last time I saw him in a picture my cousin sent to me, he was completely bald. But now, two months later, the hair, though still on the thin side, has more or less grown back. He looks "normal", but my aunt said he has lost considerable weight, and often has diarrhea. The doctor says he needs more treatment, as he is not completely "clean" of the cancer. But my uncle doesn't want to go through it again. "He feels it's too painful," my cousin told me.

I went to see him, and unlike before, this time I didn't bring much in terms of gifts. Having just come out of the monastery, I did take two books to give him. Both about the Dhamma (Buddha's teachings), and both contain some wisdom about dealing with illness, and death. They are a good read, and really help someone who is nearing the end of his life better prepare for the unknown and to better handle the inevitable fear and possible lingering regrets.

Most of my time while in the south of the country this time I spent with my uncle and my aunt. They have always been the ones with whom I stay whenever I visit that part of the country, and their home is like a second home for me. I remember playing with little plastic toy trains on their living room floor. I remember flipping through same old comic books in my older cousin's bedroom. And the room on the top floor is where I have memories of sleeping next to mum and dad every year around new year's time when the whole family gets together.

My uncle and aunt have seen me grow up and grow older, seen me me transform from that scrawny little kid to the evenly scrawnier and confused boy searching for his way in the world I am today. And I have watched them age, grow old and retire, grow white hair and shrink in size over the years. We have had hours and hours of talk about family and it was from my aunt, who is my dad's older sister and the oldest in the family, that I got to know more about my dad's childhood and the struggles of my parents to raise six children.
 It is difficult to see them now, older, more fragile, and slowly becoming weakened and weakened by illness. Extremely difficult, and a few times, as I sat in their home, I had to hold back the tears.

"Take good care," I said again, as I turned around to wave goodbye again at my uncle. He stood by the front door of their home, slouching a little. In his eyes was a lost, forlorn look. I wish I could have said more, but was lost as to what more I could have said. Deep down inside, I wished that his health would remain stable,and that he can live happily, and be free from fear, free from remorse or agony about falling ill and dying. Perhaps this is the greatest gift I can offer him, and I gave that to him quietly, sincerely.

"I'll come see you whenever I come back..." I said as the car slowly pulled away.

I will, as I always do.

From here

"What?! You live abroad?"

I get that reaction a lot. If I don't say anything, nobody knows. And I never say it, unless people ask. And in many ways, I don't like being asked. Worst is when I'm being introduced by my relatives to strangers, because they like to add "...oh, and he lives abroad." As if I'm a trophy to be shown off, as if I add to the impression of being superior and more well off.

If unsaid, nobody can ever tell from the way I speak, the way I dress, and the way I behave, that I've lived most of my life outside of Taiwan.

 I seem to be no different than the rest. Some may even say I'm more Taiwanese than most people, because I seem to know so much about local customs and traditions. Some probably think I'm a country-boy from the deep south, from farm country or from so remote mountain village, because of the way I speak. And in a way I am proud of that. So many years, the vast majority of my life, spent outside the country of my birth, and yet my cultural roots and identification with this little island are still so strong, and I hope will never be severed.

It's not that I dress or talk just to fit in. I just am the way I am, and I see no reason to change that when I'm in a different country (of course, social ettiquettes and how people interact with one another changes across borders, and I do adapt myself to those subtle differences.

But I've seen enough Taiwanese kids my age who (have) live(d) abroad, and who come here and simply stand out just by the way they are. And people who have lived abroad or who study abroad are treated differently, are often perceived as 'superior' beings somehow. They are looked at with envy, and are supposed to have it so much better than everyone else who has not studied or lived abroad. And I don't like that.

Perhaps it comes down to the mentally that the "grass is greener on the other side", and I live on the other side. But honestly, how different am I really from anyone else here, except that I live elsewhere?

Cute little second cousin

I played with her, tickled her, made her laugh and jump around me.  My cousin's daughter is three, and such a cute little girl. Happy, jumpy, smiley and free. As soon as she saw me, she stayed around me. Shy at first, she observed me a little, and as if she recognised who I was, she warmed up quickly, and soon we seem to have become best of friends.

Everytime I see her, she grows more active and cuter. Big beady eyes, short soft hair, dimples and laughter that can easily make you smile after a long day. I remember when she was still a little baby, I slept with her one night, and that night she woke up many times crying, wanting milk or her nappies changed.

Now, she bounced around my feet, pushed and played with the pram she used to sit in (which now belongs to her two month old baby brother!), and jumps up and down screaming she wants to be hugged. And at dinner, she wanted me to feed her, even though her parents were both right there.

 When I lift her up, she burst out in laughter, swings her arms around freely when I throw her lightly into the air. She likes to play head-butting, how I  love it when she uses her little fingers and little hand to touch my face, touch my cheeks and play with the rim of my glasses.

At one point I closed my eyes, held her close, gave her a sniff and dreamed that she was mine. My little girl, my little angel.... How I would protect her, cherish her and love her. How I would give her everything in te world, how I would care for her and nurture her so dearly... Maybe one day that day will come when I could hold my own child close, feel its warmth, listen to its cries and laughter, and give it unconditional, boundless love and affection... Maybe one day I would have someone next to me, with whom I could grow old together and raise a family. This wish, perhaps with age, perhaps with each day closer to the day I lose my mother, is growing stronger and more intense...

"You have to be nice to your brother," I told her at one point, "Play with him, and take care of him..." I spoke from experience, from being a younger brother who, growing up, so yearned for an older sibling who would take care of me, protect me and not hurt me. She looked at me and smiled and she nodded. I rubbed her head gently, and I hoped she understood.

At the door, I said "See you again soon," I said quietly as I waved goodbye.

She unexpectedly kissed me on the cheeks. I was surprised, but the kiss made me smile warmly.

Child weeping

For the first time since I arrived in Taiwan, I wept.

 Warm, warm tears flowed and flowed and I could not stop them. Uncontrollably, the sadness, frustrations, hopes and prayers culminated in streams of tears that flooded my eyes and trickled down my cheeks.

It was embarrassing, and i tried so hard to restrain myself. How saddened, how heart-ached dad must feel to see me weep like that! But there being no one I can cry in front of now, and having nobody I can really turn to, I wept before my ancestors, against my attempts  to put on a brave, brave face.

What caused this outburst of emotions? Pent up pain and hurt having to witness mum in pain and suffering. The helplessness, the feelings of being so torn and so unsure what more I could do. But there was also a feeling of completion to be the first to personally deliver pictures of my nephew, the first child of my generation, to the memorial plaque of my ancestors and my dad for them to see.

I was alright the whole day, even meeting my uncle who is undergoing chemotherapy, and seeing my aunt who has liver disease and who has a lot of problems walking due to an ever weakening knee. But the moment I knelt before my ancestors, the moment I "spoke" to them and told them my wishes and prayers, I broke down.

I began by presenting them with pictures of my nephew. Sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, I   asked the ancestors to watch over the child, to protect him as he grows and develops, to guide him in his life and give him happiness and good health. It was a moving prayer, for I can imagine they must be so proud that for the first time in two decades, an immediate offspring of the family was born and that the family line will continue. I can just imagine ny grandparents, my dad, smiling an filled with such joy! I also asked the ancestors to safeguard the happiness and good health of my brother and his wife, and to give them the wisdom and patience in bringing up and educating the first child of this generation.

Already then, my eyes were moist from the sentiments of it all. As soon I moved onto prayers for my mum, the tears burst out.

Images of her in pain, echoes of her groans from great discomfort, the heartwrenching feeling seeing  her suffer and suffer crossed my mind as I asked the ancestors and dad to watch over her. They would not let a member of the family suffer unnecessarily, right?

"Please protect mum," I prayed, "Please take away her pains, please may she be free from mental anguish and physical pain..." The tears streamed like a river, and I could barely see.  In my mind, more images of mum lying there, writhing in pain, her face contorted in a posture that betrayed her great, great despair and fear of having fallen victim to this terrible and debilitating illness with no cure. "Please, may she be free from suffering and be happy..."

Desperate I must have looked, desperate I must have "sounded" in my prayers. But i was (and forever am) sincere and pure when I asked for the guardianship and blessings of the  ancestors and my dad. What else can I do? Who else can I turn to for help,  compassion and understanding but the very people- even though they are long gone- who are the reason why I exist today?

"Grandma, grandpa, dad... Please lift up mum's spirits, please give her courage and protection as she undergoes many more gruelling weeks of treatment..." In my mind, I saw mum sitting alone there, in the chemotherapy ward, with closed eyes and many tubes connected to her arm...

I stopped crying, for I had cried enough, and my ancestors had seen enough of me cry. I collected myself, wiped the tears dry with the short sleeve of my Tshirt, and rubbed my eyes. The sun was quickly setting, and the world was awash with a hint of majestic and melancholic orange. No one, no one but my ancestors, would know how I wept this afternoon.

Bowing humbly and respectfully, I slowly stood up and placed the incense before the memorial. For a few moments, I watched the lit end of the stick burn as a thin thread of white smoke escaped and delivered my messages to heavens above.

"Dad, hear my prayers... Hear my wishes..." I stood up and prepared to leave. A waft of incense filled my nostrils and I breathed in deep.

"Let go, let go... Whatever will be, will be..."

Three ladies

I could not understand what they were saying, and that fascinated me. It wasn't Mandarin, wasn't Taiwanese, even though there were Taiwanese words here and there that I could pick out. And it wasn't Hakka, the other major language that is spoken in Taiwan.

Three elderly ladies, dressed in "modern" day clothes, and radiating with such spirit and laughter. I wouldn't be surprise if they were over seventy, or more. They were joking around, laughing and smiling freely. Their skin complexion was more toned, and they seem to have aged naturally without the cover of cosmetics.

Then I noticed one of them had a marking on her lower lip. A dark, grayish blue marking etched into the skin. It wasn't a skin discolouration. Looking again made me realise it was the remnants of a tattoo of some sort.

They continued to chat, in a foreign language with strong sounds and pitches, melodic and flowing like a river. A language I could not understand, yet was fascinated by.

There are officially fourteen separate aboriginal tribes on this tiny little island, each with their own distinct culture and language. Most tribes live in the highlands or mountainous areas, often a result of forced relocation as the settlers long ago began to  claim more fertile lands in the valleys and plains.

Where I was waiting for a bus is known to have a high concentration of Formosan aboriginals. And the distinct bluish gray markings have become more known by the movie hit Seediq Bale, about the fate of an entire aboriginal tribe during the Japanese colonisation period.

I looked at the elderly ladies with such fascination, and wondered about their lives, their names, where they lived and where they have come from. A part of me wondered whether their children, and their children's children still speak the language, and how much of the ancient ways have been passed down or erased by successive colonial experiences and the strong wave of sinicisation since the arrival of the Chinese nationalist regime.

I admire the lines on their faces, their naturalness, and how they have managed to survive and preserve their language and identities despite in the face of marginalization, suppression, and modernity. Nowadays, aboriginals  have been integrated into mainstream society, many of them becoming talented and famous singers. Schools in aboriginal areas teach the children the culture and language of their ancestors.  Protected areas have been established by the government to preserve the tribes' autonomy and cultural heritage, and a movement begun in the nineties saw many people reclaim their rights and aboriginal names. But still, much is unknown about their origins, about their history, even though many Taiwanese, me included, have aboriginal blood in them. And on the anniversary of the regime's centennial anniversary recently, a group of protesters voiced concern that aboriginals are becoming photo ops for tourist brochures, but meaningful protection of their rights and culture are sadly still lacking.

I looked at the elderly women. What will become of them and their tribe in the future?

Be patient

Be patient with yourself, with the circumstances you cannot change, with the conditions of the world as they are now, right now.

Things are just the way they are, people are just the way they are. Your feelings and reactions are just the way they are.

Why get frustrated that things seem not to move forward? Why get angry at a situation you cannot improve on, however much you would like to? Why become so caught up wanting to free yourself from this 'mess' or 'trouble' you feel you are caught up in but cannot escape from?

You are only a prisoner of your own mind, only trapped in the world of your mind's creation. If you imagine a way out, if you just step out, if you want to be free, you will be free.

Being patient means not having expectations or disappointments, not willing things to always go as your heart desires. Being patient means being at ease with yourself and being at ease with where you find yourself, whomever you are with.

Be patient and realise that all negative feelings will pass if you do not let the feelings feed and surface. Anger, frustration, fear, desire... They do not help anyone. Worse than that, this mental imbalance, this negativity harms you and those around you.

And like all things, like all phenomenon, the feelings, good or bad, will all disappear, or at least wane, if only you are patient and give it time. Watch them come, watch them go, and watch and enjoy the moment of relative calm and ease the mind experiences once negative feelings have gone.

You cannot rush time, and you cannot change circumstances or people. You can only accept them and deal with them with wisdom, patience and compassion.

Just let it go...

"I sometimes wonder: is it worth it?"

Almost immediately, and resolutely "No."

"It's not?" I was still insure, but deep down, it was the answer I expected, because deep down, I think I knew the answer already. In a way, I was simply looking for a confirmation, especially from someone whose opinion I respect, whose life experiences and wisdom I hold in high esteem.

"Nothing is worth it if it causes you much suffering." Life is complicated enough as it is, with so much suffering. Why add on to that? Why not simplify life and your emotional state of mind? The monk told me about the parable of a man who went to see the Buddha. He had hot, burning coal in his hand, and was obviously hurting, and he went to seek advice.

"You know you are already suffering, but you still cling on, you still let the coal burn and hurt you. Just let it go! Be wise and determined, don't cling on and attach. Just let it go!"

And once more, I am even more determined to let go and to move on.



I love him
But every day I'm learning
 All my life I've only been pretending
Without me  
His world would go on turning  
A world that's full of happiness
That I have never known
 
I love him  
I love him  
I love him
But only on my own

Shaken

I shuddered and stirred from that state of half sleep. The shaking made me think it was an earthquake, and I was filled almost immediately with dread and fear. But fresh in my mind was the dream, so intense and so seemingly real...

Moments before regaining consciousness, I saw myself in bed, lying there sleeping, or falling asleep. Next to me was my friend,  who had his hands around me.

"Stop!" I called out, "stop shaking me!" I was in a foetal position, legs curled, and body folded together as tightly as possible, with both my arms folded before my chest. It was a defensive posture.

My  friend had one hand down my chest, and it looked like he was grabbing at something. But I protested, quietly at first, then louder and more insistently.

"Stop, stop shaking me," I called out, but he would not stop. I can't recall what kind of mood I was in, maybe playful, maybe serious, but my body was being shaken uncontrollably, and I confined to protest. Was it just playing, or was I really afraid and had no control over how my friend was shaking me? I don't know. I only k know he continued to shake me, and seemed deaf to my calls to stop.

And I was shaken awake...

Helping yourself, helping another

Just as a doctor must study and train before he can go out and help others, a practitioner, however well intentioned he may be to want to help those around him, must train and deepen his understanding and practice of the ways of the world before he can truly help others.

Sitting there and meditating may seem selfish, as you're focusing on training your own mind and learning to see the world as it really is. But before you train your mind, before you train and learn to master your own emotions, how do you expect to be a support to others and to help others who need comfort and compassion?

There was a story of a man trapped in a well crying out for help. A passerby hears the cries and well intentioned though without thinking  he jumped into the well. Now two people are stuck in a well...

If you does not attempt to liberate yourself from suffering, how can you liberate another from his or her pain and suffering? If you are not able to step back and stop yourself becoming caught up in confusion and chaos, how do you expect to free another from the same?

Pain

"It's unbearable," mum said, as her body writhed in the chair from the discomfort and pain. I looked at her, the same helpless but compassionate and frustrated look I give her every time I notice that she is hurting, suffering.

How do I notice? From the muffled groans, from the way she raises her arm above her head, from the way she begins to sweat and close her eyes tightly (and I imagine tightly gritting her teeth). And at times, if I'm in the next room, i notice she's in pain from the sound of pills rattling against the canister.

I took her arm in my hand, and held it, stroked it softly. With every stroke, deep down I send her love, send her compassion. And I imagine, that the pain or whatever monster is causing my dear mum pain is tamed or soothed. Of course, i dream that the monster living inside mum's body can eventually be exorcised so it will soon go away, and hopefully never return...

"Your hand is so warm," mum said. With that, I held onto mum's hand, and our fingers locked. It felt awkward, because the last person I held hands with was my ex, and holding hands has that associated feeling of warmth and intimacy. But honestly, awkwardness disappears in the face of pain and illness.

All that remains, all that matters, is being able to hold mum's hand and knowing that for those few and rare moments, she does not feel so much pain, she does not suffer so much.

All that matters is that the monster is temporarily tamed... and, hopefully, will one day go away.

Sharing

After over a week at home, I took some time out today to meet a friend. She used to be in my class back in Montreal, and perhaps it's the fact we are both Taiwanese, we have always had this ease and natural connection with one another.

We spoke about various things, compared notes and pages of our lives since we last met (which was only four months ago...). Of course, we spoke about my mum's condition, and of all the people I know, she could really understand what I am going through (not to say that I do not appreciate all the support and comfort my friends, especially one person, have given me, and continually give me).

My friend also lost her father when she was around my age, and similarly, within a short time after the father's passing, her mother was diagnosed with cancer. In the final two years, she and her sister took turns to take care of their mother.

As I spoke of my frustrations and, at times, anger being with mum, to my great surprise, she nodded and nodded. "It is very normal," she said, especially when your parent begins to talk about and repeatedly talks about "arrangements" after passing away... where this or that is, what is left behind. Worse of all is listening to talk of wanting to die, listening to talk of your parent feeling so helpless, useless and being a "waste of life".

As much as it is not good to react that way, especially toward someone who is already in a fragile state of mind and health, my friend too said she got angry and frustrated. What really helped her was taking turns with her sister to take care of her mother. That "break" in between was what saved her from going insane, because when you are constantly surrounded by that kind of negative talk, when you are constantly seeing a loved one suffer pain and are not able to do anything about it, a person's patience and compassion is tested and eroded day by day, moment by moment. It is simply too much for anyone to take, and simply unhealthy for the way taking care, and for the one who is taken care of.

 I was relieved when I heard my friend echo that she had similar feelings. Of course, it does not excuse myself for getting angry or frustrated, because those emotions can be placed in check if I just try not to give in to them. But at least I know now that it is only "human" to react in certain ways and under certain conditions, because the mind (or at least the unenlightened mind) simply does not know else to respond other than with anger and frustration...

"Hang on there," she said, and told me that I have already done a lot, more than what most people would do. Keeping her company, visiting her, taking care of daily things, like cooking and cleaning... they may all see so trivial, so insignificant compared to the scale of the seriousness of the condition mum is facing, but they help. They help soothe her pain, just as much as I sometimes hold her hand and hope that the sores and pain in her hand will quickly go away. They help to make her feel loved and cared for, just as much as I call her almost every day when I am not around to ask how she is feeling and what she is doing.

I hugged my friend goodbye, very moved, moved almost to tears, by her sharing what I can only imagine is a very intimate and very sensitive topic to talk about. I thanked her, and thanked her again for sharing, for being there, for listening, and for making me feel lighter, and better about myself, and what I am facing...