31 December 2012

Happy new year


New Year's Eve. Alone at this very moment in some foreign room in the middle of nowhere. Hiding. Hiding from what? Hurt? The past? Confrontation? Hiding so I don't have to hurt anymore than I have been over the course of this year? I can't hide forever. Why do I have to hide while someone else seems to be oblivious to the pain I feel inside?

It's been a tough year. Tough doesn't quite describe it. After seemingly endless days and nights of watching mum suffer, she left this world, left this void in me. I struggle to cope, and am slowly recovering, but it'll take time and support. Brother has his family and his life. I called them at a time I knew my nephew would still be awake. It was so touching to see them, to see my nephew sitting on the sofa and waiting for his nightly ice cream... I almost cried seeing how happy they are. Almost cried because I could not tell them how I suddenly ran out of my own home and am now in hiding...

 I should count my blessings for I have my health, I have means, an education, a job, a future. But I have tears too.

Loss. Pain. Sorrow. Images. Memories. Angry exchanges with my ex. Mum's last words to me as she gasped for breath. Moments of intimacy and longings that feel so surreal and distant now. Holding mum's hand and smiling at her to soothe her pain, but crying deep down inside. My mind is tortured, restless and so emotional. On top of it all, I feel this Terrible fatigue from having slept so poorly and so little ever since I ran away from home two days earlier. My heart aches with loneliness and longing. Where is the calm and peace I found during my travels barely a month ago?

I should not wallow in self pity. This is the lot of my life. Perhaps this is the karma I must experience and reap from what evil deeds I have done. But I really have given myself to those I love dearly, those I love dearer than myself... In the end, nothing is mine, nothing I really own. Everything falls apart, everyone leaves and fades away.

New Year's Eve. A year is ending, another about to begin.

May I have a happy new year? Dare I even wish that? All I want is calm, some peace, a dear one who is truthful to me, who can give me the affection and love I have so longed for.
Maybe this is all too much to ask for.

Mum, I'm sorry that you must see me in such sorry state. I promised you I'd be strong and make you proud. But I seem to have failed my promises to you, seem to have been propelled to the depths of despair and to some foreign place...

Happy new year.
May I be happy, may I have some semblance of peace. For once, I wish for something for myself, for once I need to be selfish and ask for some semblance of happiness and peace too...

Happy new year.
May the world be at peace, may all beings be at ease.
May my family, my friends, and most of all my ex, be  truly happy and free... 

Last year


I closed my eyes and tried to rest my tired body and mind. And out of nowhere appeared the memory... One year ago, mum lying next to me, days after her spinal surgery.
http://alternativeformosa.blogspot.com/2012_01_01_archive.html?m=1
The rush home. The anxiety and agony and fear of losing her. Hearing her groan at night from the wound around her neck. Helping her with a bedpan. Holding her hand and telling her to be strong, pretending myself I was strong for her. Sleeping rough at the hospital all those nights... That was a year ago, but the memory made it so real again, made me cry uncontrollably.

Mum, I miss you so...
I hope I have taken care of you and eased your pain then at the hospital last year....
I hope you are watching me and still proud of me, still loving me from afar...

Please protect  me me from sorrows of the past, and from the emptiness of being alone.

29 December 2012

At the hostel

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Who would have thought four years and almost four months since I last checked into this hostel in downtown, I would be here again?

I wandered around in the snow, wondering where to go. I didn't want to go home. My ex could still be there, and if not, his things are still there. What happened in the last few hours? Crying, sitting alone at the office, trying to keep busy and my mind off of things... What began as a beautiful morning in bed watching a comedy series together ended up ending our friendship. I'm not sure where I should go now, or what I should do in the coming few days...

It's just very sad that on a cold snowy night, I am spending the night at a hostel even though I have a home I could go back to... A home I've been longing to go back to for the past few weeks now...
“When a letting go occurred, everything was light, the self-importance of despair was humorous, and you wondered how you could have forgotten that [...] “The whole trap was set around “I am”: the need to get life under control by figuring it out or attaining something.  This is deathlessness: the freedom of the heart through nonclinging,” said the Buddha.”
 Ajahn Sucitto &Nick Scott. “Rude Awakenings.”


How much can the heart ache?
How much can you lose over the span of a few months?
I should count my blessings that I'm still alive and still breathing. But in being alive and breathing, I am aching too.

Let go. Let go...

Farewell...

I threw up. Felt so sickened that food poured out of my mouth. And for a while after that, my stomach felt so uneasy and in pain.

I cried. Throwing up beings up traumatic memories, of mum those months ago, of me gagging as I watched up crouch next to the toilet bowl but still needed to pull myself together and suppress the emotions. I've been gagging a lot these few months, often from stress and uneasiness, and more recently from the food during my travels. But this time, it was the realisation that things are not as they seem, that I've been living a self-made fantasy and lie that made me gag and throw up.

My ex cried, and cried. This is really the end. Irreparable. There's a reason behind his lack of response to my letters and emails about how much I care about him and love him. There's a reason why lying next to him, he seems to unresponsive to my touches and soft little words...

He still cannot let go of the relationship he said ended few months ago. Still cannot let go of someone he told me and others with whom he sees no future. Perhaps because what he has found is so much better than me, even if I've really given him all I ever give to anyone. My affection, my love, my darkest secrets, my fears and dreams... But it's not enough. Or at least our time has passed. He's found something, someone, better, and I am just...  I don't know what or who I am anymore.

Doesn't matter, does it? but it does hurt...

On my travels, more often than to my own mother who gave me life and raised me, my thoughts turned to him. Imagined him by my side, imagined him holding my hand and making a new beginning together. I wished him peace and happiness, love and joy, and imagined I could give him all that. But he's getting it from another. I did think, before the Buddha where I sat and meditated some mornings, perhaps it's not meant to be...

He cried and cried. Cried about how I dont understand how he really feels, how he loves me still. But how can you continuously tell someone you love him, hold him and hug him affectionately yet still be involved with another? I do not understand. Is it not dishonest? Is it not foolish yourself and others?

He Cried about how so many nights he still lies awake with guilt and with images of illness and my mum haunting him. I know he cares deeply, that he has tried to comfort me and be there for me, but at some point he became distant, perhaps absorbed by his own worries and problems, and I felt I could no longer bother him or turn to him with talk of death and illness. Some time down the line, people are bound to tire from seeing me cry and be down and depressed...

I cried, but was more in shock and disbelief than anything else. All that he told me, all those words he wrote me...? Do they mean so little? Are they just to placate me and keep things at bay? Just to keep me around and not to hurt me with the truth and reality that he's already moved on?

I know, I hurt him too. I tried to break his relationship. I tried to make him love me the way I want to be loved. And perhaps that is my failing: loving him the wrong way, expecting too much from someone who's already tried to tell me he just wants to be friends... I feel guilty still for all the ways I've wronged him and hurt him, and those around him, and I asked him to forgive me, and not to hate me as we part ways... I do not hate him, but am just deeply disappointed and hurt by him, perhaps because I expected too much...

This is the end, is it not? After four years, countless nights lying next to one another, so many gifts and soft little words exchanged and trips taken together, is this the end? Did I kill our relationship and last ditch at friendship? Did my concerns about cancer and not being able to be there for mum fully if I involved myself in a relationship make the bond that was so strong and so deep expire?  Did I smother the love with my uncertainties and insecurities and push him away far too long, as he says I did? He says I've been so ungrateful for all the sacrifices he's made for me. Are they sacrifices if he says he truly loves me and truly wishes to be there for me? Is the

What does it matter now? He has someone, he has it all, and now he's free from me. Was it all calculated and planned? Someone was bound to get hurt and lose it all. It's me. And what do I have but shame and more loss to mourn over? Loss that feels so painful and that makes me cry more than when I lost my own mother.

It's perhaps about time, for we have stood in each other's way for far too long. I have lived far too long in a fantasy and dream that one day, after the death and losses, tears and arguments, we would come together stronger than ever before. He made me believe it, he gave me hints and hope and told me to be patient while he deals with his unresolved issues. He was there days after my mum's funeral hugging me, reassuring me how he loves me so and how much he wants to end his relationship, which he himself said had no future, to be with me. To be with me, to finally be together without baggage, to build on something we both know we need and have longed for so much.

Were they lies, sweet little lies? In the end, he has it all, a boyfriend and me on the side he can turn to for support and comforting hugs, so why does he have to change anything? Why did I let the situation prolong? Why do our mutual friends indulge in his behaviour when they know and see how he's playing with people's hearts and lives? Why do I have to fear about being trapped in the butt of people's gossip and jokes? Oh, I hear their laughter, and it adds salt to the wound.

With time, things will fade, and I will be forgotten. And I will perhaps forget, one day. One day forget... It is just so painful, so horrible and painful to have to deal with the mum's death, and now the loss of the one true best friend and soul mate I thought I've ever had. That is what hurts most of all...

But is this not the way things are? Is that not what the reality is and how the world changes and turns?

I need to be strong, need to hold myself and love myself and tell myself I will love again. I need to do it for my mum, for the sake of that promise on the little note on the kitchen cupboard: "Mama [...] i will take more of myself".

I need to do it for my own sake, for my own life. I need to do it so I can live, fully live again after all these years of uncertainties and pains.

I need to be strong and take care of myself... I must.

I must... I must.

And I must let go. Only in letting go can I ever hope to have anything at all.
pain...

27 December 2012

Operation Eternal...?



Operation Eternal...?
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My friend and I were on the metro. One thing led to another, he mentioned "Operation Eternal Happiness", and unexpectedly those words struck a painful chord deep down inside. I looked away and tried hard to compose myself and prevent my tears from falling. I failed...

I wish I could be stronger, wish there were not "mines" that would trigger me to drop suddenly into sadness. Because I hate to see my feelings affect those of my friend. He cried with me, and though I wiped away the tears from his face, he shed some more. We hugged, and for a few moments bonded over my late mother. Memories of mum in the hospital, of us watching DVDs together, of mum's chest heaving as she gasped for breath came flooding back. Operation Eternal Happiness was, despite the name, difficult and long. But at least it seemed to have succeeded, and the end was indeed memorable and joyful.

I don't know what made my friend cry. But for so many years, he was there to support me. And he was there at the end, at the funeral when we bid our final farewell to mum.

"Mama, thank you. I will take care of myself more..." I wrote that note, a promise to her and to myself, and now it's taped to the door of a drawer in my kitchen and surrounded by pictures of mum in various places and poses. It's supposed to give me strength when I see the note everyday. But today, seeing it made me weak and cry...

Yes, I will try to take care of myself more, try to go on even though mum has left this world.

Night out

The music and colourful display of human dexterity and ingenuity touched me. The Cirque du Soleil never disappoints and always inspires and moves you. I watched the performances of such hardworking acrobats, and was awed. And saddened. The last time I watched something similar was with mum, albeit on a DVD, at the hospice...

At one point I was moved to tears. Mum and I have been to two live shows together, and the last one, we watched over the course of two days, at lunch time if I remember correctly. She was already close to the end, but I tried hard to inspire her, amaze her, instill her worn mind and body with whatever sense of amazement and wonder I imagined the Cirque could bring her. It worked, if only for a few brief moments. I remember mum watched in awe and at times did not blink, for in blinking you risk missing amazing moments of each well choreographed act...

"Did you like it?" I asked her. She nodded excitedly. We watched "Alegria", the classic show the name of which means "jubilation" in Spanish. The theme song is one of my favorite of all times:

"Alegria
I see a spark of life shining
Alegria
I hear a young minstrel sing
Alegria
Beautiful roaring scream
Of joy and sorrow,
So extreme
There is a love in me raging
Alegria
A joyous,
Magical feeling"

And tonight, I asked my ex the same words: "Did you like it?" He nodded, and on his face was a clear sense of delight and enjoyment.




A year ago



A year ago today, I was on the plane back to Taiwan. A sudden call in the middle of the night. Call from my cousin. Mum was hospitalised. Due for imminent surgery. My heart was racing, my mind was a mess and so disturbed. But outwardly, I maintained a calm that surprised my friends who gathered at my house and accompanied me through several hours of searching for a last minute ticket home and frantic packing.

That was the beginning of the end. The 27th of December. Beginning of several months of staying by my dear mum's side and hoping for her recovery. Surgery, rehab, physio, discharged, cyber knife, vomiting, hospitalisation, growing ever thinner, bypass Surgery, declining appetite... Hospice, and the end, the very end of Operation Eternal Happiness...

That all began a year ago. How much has happened... I am crying at the thoughts, at the painful memories, at the pain and the hopelessness and loneliness I felt those days and nights I spent at the hospital...My god, what have I gone through... Who really knows and understands how I feel, and why I seem to have slowed down and become so numb since last year. It was a difficult year, it has been so tough on my body and my mind.

But I'm still alive. Crying at times, as I'm crying now as I'm typing these words, but it's all over.

Now I can close my eyes and tell myself, it's all over.

It's all over...

26 December 2012

Snowstorm


I've almost forgotten what it's like to deal with snow. It's been over a year since I've had to deal with real Canadian winter. And I've not really had to live throughout winter since I came to Canada four years ago. Last year, just as winter was approaching, I was suddenly called home...

The snow is beautiful, at least from a far. But when you are knee deep in it, it fills your socks, wets the ends of your trousers and gets in your face and ears, chilling every uncovered bit of your body. I left the house, thinking I'd already shoveled snow an hour or two earlier. But within that time, all trace of my earlier effort was subsumed by almost a metre of snow... Winter can be harsh, and the snow storm knows at times no end.

But when you're at home, looking out the window, and lying in bed with another person, winter does not seem so harsh anymore...

AMS-EWR-YUL

AMS-EWR-YUL

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Second day of Christmas, and what a long day and long trip it has been.

Already from checking in at AMS this morning, I had to buy a new suitcase because one of mine was overweight. It's ridiculous, because all I did was spread the things I wanted to carry into a new bag. I don't know if it's due to labour regulations that each item must not exceed 32kg... But a guy in front of me had 36kg and be passed through without a problem. Well, I did exceed the allowance by almost 10kg, so I can't really complain...

And then arriving at Newark, I had to wait over three and a half hours because my original flight was delayed. I was rebooked on AirCanada (originally United) and because I was flying a different airline, different luggage policies apply. My suitcase exceeded the allowance by two pounds. Yes, two whole pounds.

"You have to remove some items, sir. It's our luggage policy..." Two pounds. I grumbled, but the lady was adamant policy is policy. In the end, right there at the checkin counter, I opened my suitcase, took out a pair of jeans and a jacket. The second time I had to do that and work up a sweat before boarding the plane.

"There..." That finally satisfied the checkin counter lady.

I am exhausted... I am just so looking forward to going home, going back to my own home, for it's been a month, but feels so much longer than that. But then there's the immigration hurdle I need to overcome, tell them I'm "visiting" when I've got three suitcases, one of which has a vacuum cleaner. Who visits a country with a vacuum cleaner, I wonder...

I look forward to going home, but I won't be alone. My ex will be there. He's been staying at my place for the past month or so in my absence. How will it be, I wonder? My idealist and dreamy mind imagines intimacy and intense bonding, for it has been so long, and I think of him a lot. but then again, who knows what he has been up to, whether he thinks of me still in the same way, and whether he's consciously or not playing with my heart again...?

Back home again

First day alone at home. Outside, a fierce snow storm is brewing. I've never seen snow like this in the four years in Canada (granted, I've rarely been here for the Winter months...) Even my friends say it's bizarre this amount of snow...

A few moments I am alone at home, my own home. It's been pleasant, as my ex moved into the spare bedroom while I was away. And despite things unsaid and unclarified, it feels good to hug someone, to touch someone softly, and fall asleep next to his warm, warm body...

It feels like a dream...

24 December 2012

Teenage years...


The railway tracks, I saw, turned into the distance. I know where they are headed to... Hoek van Holland.

A flood of memories washed over me... The ferry to the UK... First time going overseas to study. Seventeen years old. Two large suitcases. Train, ferry, another train to downtown London. How excited I was, but also a little scared. Young, innocent, daring. Perhaps foolish too. The world opened before me, as did the challenges of university, and relationships.

The railway tracks disappeared... Conveyor belt, dad visiting once and taking with him a large vacuum cleaner (coincidentally, I'm carrying with me a vacuum cleaner back to Canada in two days' time), traveling with mum once on board the ferry... Rough seas, seagulls accompanying the ferry, nostalgia, McDonalds on board, fries, doing homework on board. Stena Line. The ferry service has been suspended, probably because of lack of passengers. Who can compete with low budget airlines or the high speed rail? But for those few years, the ferry was a ferry between the country where I grew up, and the country I was studying in. Those days, journeying on the ferry seemed like such an adventure...

Who would have known, a decade later, flying great distances around the world would become a norm of some sorts for me... Memories of mum and dad however are etched in the depths and waves of the rough North Sea...

I managed to get in touch with my former Chinese teacher a few days ago. Every Saturday for over a decade, I would attend a few hours of Mandarin lessons. I hated it, to be honest. I never got good grades, never really studied, rejoiced when it was a weekend without class. And I was an outcast in the class. But the teacher was patient, and cared about me. She not only kept encouraging me, she pushed me and sometimes she would even bring me food, seeing as I was all by myself for two years or so (after brother left to go study...)

I last saw her about five, six years ago, when I was still in the UK studying. Part of the reason was because she was always so zealous about Christianity, which can be off-putting (in this respects, she hasn't really changed...)

She cried when she saw me, cried a few times in the two hours I visited. So much has happened in the last couple of years. Mum, dad, both gone... But I am alright. Relatively alright. Still single, still doing alright in life overall. She is so proud of me, proud of my achievements and remembers clearly I was always so quiet and kept to myself... Those were the reclusive years, and years when I was dealing with the trauma from the past, and also separation from my parents. I was a teenager, a very lonely teen who longed so much for love and affection, but never a troubled one, I don't think. But I pulled through. Pulled through and am still, somehow, amazingly perhaps, smiling. That takes a lot of courage and strength. And despite the pain and loneliness, I am not bitter, at Least I don't think so. Despite all else, i do still appreciate and am grateful for all those who have aided me on the way...

I smiled at the sight of the train tracks disappearing into the distance, toward the port of Hoek van Holland. But the smile hides also a tinge of sadness, at the innocence I have lost over the years, and at the sadness and pain I've had to overcome in recent times.

Lost

All my writings... All those hours I put into writing down my thoughts and impressions of the past two weeks...

Lost... Lost!

Lost!!!

Feel terrible... And made worse by really unstable Internet connection, which has been the case for almost a month now... Didn't realise I would have the same problem even at my brother's place in Europe!

All that work and effort and time for nothing.

Lost...

Christmas Eve

I rushed home to cook dinner, braised duck breast, asparagus and leek and mushroom ragout. To finish it off, apple crumble pie.

My brother kept on complaining the duck was overcooked. My nephew was somehow wild and unruly tonight, especially after opening his gifts.

It was pleasant while it lasted, and most of  the attention was on the baby. He got so many gifts, from his dad and his mum, and also from his uncle... Lots of books, and even a colourful wooden carving I bought with mum in Halifax last July. The boy was so excited that it took him till well past his bed time to fall asleep, after a long and severe crying session that really tested the patience of both his parents...

After the baby fell asleep, that's Christmas Eve over. My brother's downstairs using his computer, my sister-in-law is probably already sleeping. Like any other day really... I think they even had an argument about the baby and his crying. I feel the tension...

Maybe I've fantasised too much about Christmas, about how I'd like it to be... A loving atmosphere with the people you care about most... Warm, with family, laughing, sharing lives and talking about what we've been through all these years, what we've been through this year especially. Shouldn't time together as a family be about sharing and being together, instead each person doing his/her own thing?

But no, it feels really cold and lonely. I'm up in my room, packing my bags for the day after when I have to leave...

I think I've probably overstayed my welcome as well... It's been almost ten days, time to go home...

21 December 2012

End of the world...

Today was supposed to be the "end of the world". At least according to some who interpreted the end of the Mayan calendar cycle as the end of everything we know.

But the world is still standing, still turning, still alive.

Did I really believe the world would end? No, not really. But if it did end, I don't think I'll go with regret... My duties as son have been fulfilled. I think I've been a "good" person, and tried to do my best in everything I do. For sure, I have been ugly, had pride and jealousies, I have been ignorant and stubborn, and I have hurt people. And my karma for my wrong acts will one day come back to me... But on the whole, if I were to die today, I think I would be able to pass away in peace...

In preparation for what might have been the "last day", I wrote to my ex. It was a genuine mail, from my heart, thanking him for all he has given me, for loving me and making me love myself a little more. It was an expression of how much he means to me, and how despite all that we have gone through, despite tensions and arguments, I still see hope between us. Beautiful hope of a future together. He must think me insane, especially from his lack of response. But truly, of all the people I feel I should write to, he is the one. He can think what he wants, but I've been honest how I feel, and expressed what I needed to get out. So if the world should end, and if I should die, nothing has been unsaid, nothing not done...

The potential end of the world should make us all pause and reflect... What have we done with our lives? What is it that we leave behind? Is there anything I've done worth remembering? Who matters really in life? Who crosses my mind and do I think more than anything else...?

We should really think of these things, and appreciate what we have, hold on to what we have. We should not be afraid to tell people we love them and care about them so deeply. We should not be afraid to hold another person's hand and look them deeply in the eyes and say: "You matter. Thank you for being (t)here..."

But unfortunate the world doesn't always work that way.





Train ride

Almost twenty years ago, a dad took his son on a train journey. The dad bought a day-ticket, for unlimited travel throughout the country. How excited the boy was, for he loved trains. And even more exciting, they boarded one of the first double decker trains in the Netherlands at the time...

Close to Zwolle or thereabouts, there came smoke out of the locomotive. There was a a strench in the air... The train broke down. But that didn't ruin a beautiful day shared between father and son...

Riding the same type of train now, towards the city of one of my alma maters, Leiden. The train may look old and may have lost its novelty and luster over the years. But the memories of that day still remains...

Just passed station Mariahoeve... In 1994, on the platform, the boy bid farewell to his dad. The 10 year old boy was in tears, for the parents and the family were going to be split up... That was the beginning of my family's separation...

I cried and cried. Dad looked at me sadly and didn't know how to comfort me. A train passed by. A speeding train that did not stop.

"What kind of train is that? Where is it going?"

Between sniffles, I answered, and temporarily my attention was diverted from my sadness and pain... "It's an EC train..." Eurocity. This was before the era of the high speed Thalys. "Going to Paris, from Amsterdam..." Even then I could tell where the train would stop. Dad complimented me.

Soon, he boarded his train bound for the airport. Soon, dad slowly disappeared from my life...

Funny how objects and places conjure such memories and temporarily plunge your mind into sadness...

Banned


I dread with much fear just thinking about it. The possibility of going back to Taiwan and not being able to leave because of military service. A year of my life gone, serving a cause (military...) and country I feel so distinct toward.

But mum and dad are there, and I did promise to visit them... I really want to, but the risk of not being able to leave the country if I don't do military service is too great a sacrifice...

When I overstayed to be with mum back in May, I was "punished". My automatic right to enter the country as a EU national was revoked for a year. If I want to go back, I need a good reason. Back in June, the reason was mum, the reason was humanitarian. But there is no reason to go back in February... Bluntly the visa office told me both my parents are gone, so now I can't even say I'm visiting family (extended family doesn't count...) Needing to pack and deal with mum's belongings isn't reason enough. She died over half a year ago... Unless I want to reinstate my Taiwanese passport, I can only go back with a legitimate reason. Otherwise, I just have to wait till the visa restriction expires in May next year...

Part of me is glad that I don't have to go back now, at least in February... Fears have been allayed, at least for the time being. But part of me feels bad. I have a lot of stuff waiting at home that still need to be packed and organised... I can hear brother grumbling already that I'm just leaving things for him to do. And I have a feeling a lot of valuable things will just be thrown away when I'm not there to salvage them... What in his eyes may be rubbish, junk, in my eyes may hold such memories of mum and dad...

And will dad and mum not be disappointed that I'm not there for New Years...? It's the fifth year since dad passed away, and the first year without mum... I could just cry thinking of this. It's depressing and very sad... Am I being selfish thinking about my life and not willing to risk being detained for military service?

I am deeply upset by what I was told this morning. And I feel so miserable from my persisting illness, which isn't showing signs of going away...

Life of...



At one point in the movie, out of sheer desperation, having been robbed of everything in his life, Pi shouts at God....

Everything and everyone who is dear and memorable has been taken away from him... "I succumb to you..." He tells god. There is nothing else to lose, nothing else to fear but life.

But even when life is almost without hope, what else is there left worth living for?

Hope.

Hope of rescue.

Hope of meeting another human being.

Hope of being cared for and loved by another, a longing that is so strong after both parents have suddenly gone...

Hope is worth living for.

For without hope, there is nothing meaningful or valuable in the world.

Mumories and shadows


She stopped talking. I could see her eyes were watering. The words could not come out...

She and mum have known each other over a decade. The auntie watched me grow up. I was in primary school when our family got to know her.

Every time mum visited the Netherlands she would visit the auntie, and often take me with her. Last time mum and I visited together was two years ago. Last mum visited her was last year (2011), just after she went to spend a couple of weeks in Canada.

This time I visited the auntie alone. I went by bike, the bike mum bought last year when she was in the country. It's a ladies bike, and now there's a baby seat on the back. How things have changed within a year or so.

We sat down in the living room, and caught up on lives. But we all (her husband was there too...) knew and felt there is an absence. We talked about mum, about her life, how wonderful she was, how well lived her life was, how exciting her life was having been so many places...

It was just after lunch, just before I was about to leave. "Thank you," I said, "You've always been so kind and caring toward mum and me..." Even till the end, the auntie wrote to mum and tried to encourage her. Following tradition, the auntie even sent some money after mum passed away.

"She was so..." the auntie began, but my words and the emotions made her speechless. She just sat there, looking down, looking sad by memories of mum.

I gave her a hug before I left, and told her to take good care of herself.

"It takes time..." she reminded me before I left. "Even now, I still cannot deal with the things..." She lost her daughter around ten years ago. She said she left her daughter's things as they are.

I biked home, in the drizzling rain. The streets look so familiar, so laden with memories, cast with shadows of my dear mother... The familiar restaurants, museums, cafes where mum and I once have been to together. Mum was here, but she is no longer...

Coming back here for the first time since mum passed away is proving more difficult than I imagined...


17 December 2012

Dream: treatment

The tiredness after returning from my long trip is exhausting. Terribly exhausting. together with the pills I must continue to take, perhaps causing me to have dreams...

In my dream tonight, I was at the hospital, seeing a doctor. It was not for me, it was for mum. But mum wasn't around, in fact she never appeared in the dream...

The doctor spoke about her condition, and shook his head. He said we need to proceed with treatment. Electrotherapy, or something like that, to kill the cancer.

I remember getting very frustrated and puzzled. Isn't she already dead...?
Why more treatment? How much longer can I take of hospitals and treatment?

I woke up, shaken and disturbed...


Home again...


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Finally, after two and a half weeks or so on the road, a warm shower that doesn't suddenly turn cold, a comfortable bed to sleep in. And no more honking, no more noise as hollering. I quickly went to bed after giving my brother and his wife an overview on my trip, and almost as soon as I lay down, I fell asleep...

I dreamt, first of me trying to catch a crowded train in India, trying to get to Sarnath for some reason and failing terribly. There were so many dangerous looking people around, and I felt threatened and scared...

Then my ex appeared. He was crying, longing for me, missing me terribly. We've not spoken for over two weeks. I just don't know what to say to him, and at times I feel this frustration and anger toward him. I've written to him so many times telling him my feelings, but none of my mails were answered. I can only assume he's perfectly fine without me around, and so there's even less desire to contact him. Those things he said about how much he will always love me, about wanting to be together... Distant words with very little meaning now, it feels like.

In the dream, he seemed to be so sad, so full of regret. He was trying to reach out to me, but I was unresponsive. Is this what happens after a time of no contact and lots of misunderstandings? Is this what becomes of two people who care about each too much if turns into frustration and even anger when the other is no longer responsive and becomes distant?

I don't know... But in the dream I did feel (or am perhaps fooled...?) that there is still so much love, so much care. And I just turned away and was stone cold, whereas he cried and cried...

Seeing mum

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I saw mum. It was so real, so very real. She was sitting next to me, she was laughing, smiling, looking like she had a wonderful time. We were flying somewhere, in a plane. Outside the window were so many majestic moubtains capped with white snow and ice. Mum's face was so peaceful, so full of bliss.

Seeing her made me smile. I have been so lonely on this solo journey across the Middle Land, I have been searching for someone to talk to and share my stories. And for a few moments, it was as if mum was there to talk to me, to listen to me and give me attention and affection. But she didn't say anything. Se just sat next to me and smiled, the same smile as the one that is permanent captured on the picture of her I have been taking with me on this long, long journey...

It was too real. I woke up, crying, and crying out "Mama... Mama..."

Dream of ex

Finally, after two and a half weeks or so on the road, a warm shower that doesn't suddenly turn cold, a comfortable bed to sleep in. And no more honking, no more noise as hollering. I quickly went to bed after giving my brother and his wife an overview on my trip, and almost as soon as I lay down, I fell asleep...

I dreamt, first of me trying to catch a crowded train in India, trying to get to Sarnath for some reason and failing terribly. There were so many dangerous looking people around, and I felt threatened and scared...

Then my ex appeared. He was crying, longing for me, missing me terribly. We've not spoken for over two weeks. I just don't know what to say to him, and at times I feel this frustration and anger toward him. I've written to him so many times telling him my feelings, but none of my mails were answered. I can only assume he's perfectly fine without me around, and so there's even less desire to contact him. Those things he said about how much he will always love me, about wanting to be together... Distant words with very little meaning now, it feels like. Sad. Very very sad that it hurts and pains me greatly. It's kept me awake and feeling agitated so often during my trip. I feel like I've lost someone very dear, and this right after mum's death... Who do I really have left to rely on or turn to now? Does he understand or realise how things, how this lingering ambiguity in our friendship (or whatever it is we have...) and growing distance between us are affecting me? From his silence, I can only assume he's found his happiness, and I'm no longer part of that life.

In the dream, he seemed to be so sad, so full of regret. He was crying so much, like the only way I can make him cry, in a way I've not seen any one else cry... He was trying to reach out to me, but I was unresponsive. Is this what happens after a time of no contact and lots of misunderstandings? Is this what becomes of two people who care about each too much if turns into frustration and even anger when the other is no longer responsive and becomes distant?

I don't know... But in the dream I did feel (or am perhaps fooled...?) that there is still so much love, so much care. I wanted to reach out and hold him, to hug and miss him... but it was so hard. I just turned away and was stone cold, whereas he cried and cried...

Horrible dream...

16 December 2012

returning to life...

I hesitated as to what to write. Who is my contact person in my birth country? What is my address there? It used to be either dad or mum. It used to be mum's address. But she is gone. Who am I visiting in Taiwan? Why am I even going there...?

 In order to return to home next month, to commemorate the anniversary of my dad's passing (fifth year already...) I need to apply for a  visa to return home. This is due to me overstaying back in May, when I was with mum (when she was still around...), so the 'punishment' is that I need to   get a visa to go to Taiwan for a year. And it's always a hassle, because of the fear of being drafted...

I was filling in the online application, and they asked me details about my dad, about my mum... names, birthdays. It was the first time to recall these information since mum died. I quickly entered the details, and only when I looked at the form again did that loss and pain hit me again...

Barely a day back from my trip, and already dealing with such difficult and annoying issues that stress me terribly...

11 December 2012

Brush with dacoits

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I first came across the word "dacoit" in the guidebook. The Indian penal code has a special provision dealing with these modern day "bandits", who often rule, with intimidation, fear, extortion and blackmail, where the reaches of law enforcement is weakest and more sporadic. And this is the case in the very regions of India (and also Nepal) I've been traveling in...

A friend of mine warned me to be very careful on my travels and not to venture on roads at night. He told me to avoid a particular train station, Mughal Sarai Junction, which is supposed to be rife with these kinds of people. I tried to imagine what they look like, and keep picturing rough looking men with tattoos and bandanas chewing paan (betel nut). Somehow, fate led me to stand on the platform and wait there for three hours... But I never encountered any criminal elements, at least not that I was aware of.

Until today.

I took a tour of the surrounding area around Lumbini, and hired a driver in search of the ruins which allegedly is the kingdom where Prince Siddharta grew up before he left in search of deathless and liberation from this world. I arrived at Kapilvatsu, some twenty kilometers away, and spent a pleasant afternoon wandering around ruins.

Close to four thirty, the driver said we should head back. I was disappointed, for there were two other sites we did not see. But he was in a great hurry to leave, an it was another forty-five minute drive back to the village I was staying at.

He drove at great speeds as the skies began to dim gradually. We sped through the countryside, vast fields with wandering cows and goats all around us that looked so tranquil and so tame. The driver kept on honking to warn slow bikers and cow-drawn carts laden with hay of our mad and speedy approach.

Then we had to slow down, for there was a large lorry and tractor parked in the middle of the road. In front of us was a fancy SUV, whereas I was in a beatup little Tata compact. A group of men, in their late twenties or so, some sporting fancy looking jackets, stood on the side of the road and were shouting. A crowd gathered. There was confusion and commotion. I sat in the back seat and watched this all from a safe distance, unsure what was happening, but intrigued. Two weeks on the road in India (and now Nepal...) and I wondered what other unexpected there is to expect.

The driver honked, but we sat there for a good ten minutes. He eventually got out of the car and went to see what was happening. He returned and closed the door behind him. He looked nervous, and I heard the doors lock. Things were happening so quickly and so randomly, I was lost.

The SUV in front of us nudged around the tractor that till now was parked in the middle of the road but was beginning to move a little out of the way. The driver took this cue and did the same, trying to nudge in between a small space that was opening up between the slow moving tractor and the still stationary lorry. As we advanced, the men who had been standing on the side of the road closed in on our car. They shouted something in Nepali I could not understand. I did understand that their tone were not very friendly, and they seemed to be demanding something.

"No money! No money!" the driver shouted back, "No money!" With those words, he quickly sped away, leaving the rabble, parked lorry and tractor that took up more than half the road, behind.

We sped for a few minutes before the driver turned back to me, and said on broken English: "Fighting!" He gestured with his fists. "Ask money! Money!"

Then it occurred to me. These men were not in uniform, so they couldn't be the police, who at times are just as bad and good at extorting money as good-for-nothing dacoits. These men were perhaps.... So I asked. "Dacoits?"

"Yes! Yes!" We sped along the road, swerving left and right to avoid hitting the ocassional wandering cow or school children biking home from school. Several times I thought we were going to flying off into the ditch or flip over.

"How much? One hundred? Two hundred?" I asked.

The driver wanted to say something but he did not know how, it seemed, in English. Then, with one hand on the wheel, the other reached for his mobile phone. He typed a figure. Two hundred, and three more zeros behind that. Two hundred thousand Nepali rupees, that's close to $2500, or ten times the average monthly wage...

As we sped further toward Lumbini, I looked out the window at the fields that before looked so tranquil and tame. It now looked so barren, desolate, dead. Fog was beginning to set in, and soon wolves can be heard howling in the dark as they do every night. There was still some light of day left, but soon, the road would be pitch dark. The kind of dark that is unimaginable because there simply are no lights, and even if there were lights, they would often just suddenly switch off because of the common plague of blackouts. Not even the stars and crescent moon can be seen, for they are normally eclipsed by the nightly onset of thick fog prone to these lower regions of the Himalayas.

It began to dawn on me what just happened, and how close I was to being in danger without even realising it. Thank goodness we quickly got away, otherwise how would we live up to the demand for that much money? Who has that much money in this region of one of the ten poorest countries in the world anyways?
What would they do to me, a foreign traveler in the middle of a backward region of Nepal? How would they react if they opened my bulky looking bag and found only three stuffed animals, some Buddhist prayer beads and a picture of my mum?

I felt nauseated, even more than before when it was just due to the side effects of the malaria pills I needed to take to stay safe in this region. The accumulated traveler's fatigue mingled with a creeping realisation of what could have happened ( but luckily did not...), and since I began this journey two weeks ago, I longed to go home...



I

Wandering thoughts

This was supposed to be a trip to remember my mother, and in some ways my father... to remember the way they were, how kind and compassionate they were, how they gave me so much and asked for so little in return... It was supposed to a trip and time alone to figure out how to go on now that they are gone, and now that I am all alone. (Yes, I have a brother... But I get so little from him, and will only hear from him if I call... And my messages, telling him what I'm doing and how I'm feeling are almost always answered with: "Ok".)

I've thought of mum, and on occasion of dad too... I've been carrying with me two pictures of them, taking them from site to site, and finally parted with them at the Bodhi tree in Bodh Gaya where the Buddha became enlightened... In my little shoulder bag, I have a picture of mum, taken on brother's engagement day, and every time I come across a sacred site, I would take that picture out and sit it on the beautiful white teddy bear mum bought me last year. She said to me then: "This bear will be with you when I'm no longer around..." And that's true... The bear is a reminder of her, and I often fall sleep hugging it, sometimes with tears in my eyes...

This trip is supposed to be about remembering my parents, and finding myself... Yet, I find myself thinking of my ex... thinking of what we had, what could have been, and what broken relationship we seem to have now within such a short period of time... Is it really just me, as he seems to have suggested so many times over the past few months? Have I really changed so much that I'm so unbearable and unlovable? How can I not change having lost my mother and remaining parent? Have I really become such a terrible person after emerging from perhaps the greatest trauma of my life to date, so terrible that I get the impression from him that i only bring him grief and misery?

This time, this trip, alone is partly to get away, and to give my ex some distance from me, because increasingly I feel he's so tired of me. Yet At times, even while visiting so of the sacred sites, I find my mind remembering the wonderful moments, precious little intimate moments we once shared, and also remembering some of the mean and hurtful words that were exchanged. i find myself thinking about how he's doing, what he's doing. And I wonder, does he even think of me at all?

I do think of him fondly, miss him, sometimes even imagining how it would if he were here with me. I've written so many emails and notes over the last month or so telling him how I feel about us, our impasse, I made little surprise gifts and appearances for his birthday, and there's been very little reaction.

Is he doing this to spite me, to get his own back because I was gone and ignored his messages and calls for much of the start of of this year? I find myself, despite being in such peaceful surroundings, thinking and wondering: what is wrong with me...? Perhaps he's feeling free and uninhibited to do whatever, be with whomever while I'm not around, and yet I think of him so much, and carry with me his beloved teddy bear everywhere I go... Why am I using so much energy on my ex, when it is my parents I should be thinking of and remembering on this special journey?

here and there I am reminded of Buddha's words:

"They do not brood over the past,
They do not hanker after the future,
They live upon whatever they receive
Therefore they are radiant.”

What am I doing, but brooding over the past and longing for a distant, dream-like future? Why am I thinking about someone who is so far away, and who seems to grow more and more distant from me?

At this moment, I feel deeply the pain of loss and loneliness, especially when my body feels so wretched from illness and the nauseating effects of malaria pills I have to take for at least two weeks...



10 December 2012

Pilgrimage of the lonely

Almost two weeks on the road now, and I have seen and experienced some amazing things that will remain with me for a long, long time...

But sitting at the restaurant today, having the n-th meal by myself, my mind crept to that terribly empty feeling of loneliness again. On this trip, I seem to have been surrounded by people. Though poor (and I would never want to suggest that it's good to be poor, especially as many seem to have trouble knowing where the next meal will come from ...), people are together, surrounded by family, relatives, friends. And many backpackers and travelers I encountered are with someone, close friend, lover, whatnot. It does make eating and journeying all the more meaningful...

There have been so many moments I wish I could just share with someone my thoughts, my realisations, and how this trip has transformed my mind (or not...) But who...? Who can I share with, who will care to listen and reflect with me how meaningful and important this trip is for me after all that happened in my life in the past couple of years? Who will understand and not judge me or make fun of me for coming on a pilgrimage and venturing to a foreign and impoverished place?

Of course, the lonely tends to glamorous and idolise others who seem surrounded by people. The lonely longs for intimacy and care and yet shies away from people who try to reach out. But I could not help think: is the path of a lone pilgrim a reflection of what life is like? You travel, move from place to place, encounter people from all walks of life, but ultimately you are alone, or at least on your own. And most likely, you will die alone... That is a thought that scares me the most, especially after my death of both my parents. They were surrounded by loved ones, by family... But will I be?

A number of times, when close to having accidents on the treacherous (and lawless...) roads here, the thought does cross my mind: if I were to die here, would I be missed? Would anyone care? Would I not be forgotten, as if I never existed? These words would then be, like the many monuments and writings inscribed in stone, the only evidence of someone having thought these thoughts, written these words...

If I were to die or disappear here, at least I have fulfilled my dream of taking mum to the sacred land of buddhism's origins...





09 December 2012

Illness


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Though generally things have gone smoothly, this trip has not been without mishaps. I twisted my leg a week ago, and despite applying a technique my friend taught me, I had to almost limp for a few days...

The worst is the coughing, which I've been having for almost two weeks now. It began in Delhi, and didn't get better the more I traveled. The mixture of dryness, dust, smog and chocking exhausts has irritated my throat and lungs terribly, and there's almost a constant flow of phlegm that I have to resist the urge of spitting out like the locals do...

A fellow traveler said I seem to have a lung infection, which is not uncommon for foreigners in India, and recommended I take antibiotics to stop it before it gets worse. I've taken the meds for five days now, and taken some cough syrup and candy, but it seems to have little effect.

To add to that, I think I've fallen ill, perhaps due to the fluctuation of temperatures, which can reach the mid-twenties around noon and falling to five or so Celsius at night. My nose feels running but strangely feels blocked at times. Generally, just very agitated and uncomfortable, with an itching throat and difficulty breathing.

If that were not enough, because Lumbini and this region of Nepal is a malaria zone, I've had to take malarone, an antimalarial pill everyday after breakfast. The pill look small and pink and harmless, but within an hour or so I feel my stomach churn, my head feel light and so sleepy. I find my concentration has really deteriorated over the past few days, and that I'm just lethargic and want to do very little-- a far cry from when I first began this journey two weeks ago (then again, this may all also be attributed to traveler's fatigue...) Feeling this way, I cannot but admire how brave mum was, for I can only imagine her chemotherapy pills and shots made her feel a thousand times worse...

Oh, perhaps this is part of the experience of the pilgrimage... Experiencing first hand Buddha's teachings about suffering, physical and mental discontentment and illness, which tortures the body and disrupts the mind...

08 December 2012

Kushinagar

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"Gone, gone, gone beyond, gone utterly beyond enlightenment, hail!" Heart Sutta

The Buddha in the Nirvana Stupa is in an unusual reclining position. On his face is a smile, a serene smile with eyes softly, softy closed. Buddha's head is resting on his right hand, while the left is placed on his thigh. There is no trace of fear or regret from things unsaid or undone. At the ripe old age of eighty, the Buddha knew his time had come, and he faced it with wisdom and equanimity. In contrast, the front of the 6 metre long statue of the Buddha carved out of sandstone, are carvings of three figures. Two are kneeling and weeping, and the one in the middle is sitting in a calm, collected meditation pose.

The story goes the Buddha ate his last meal on the outskirts of a village known as Pawa. In a field, a smith who heard of the Buddha's presence brought him some "pork's delight". The meat was already rancid, and despite knowing this, the Buddha still ate the offering by the devout follower so as not to disappoint him.

“However, [the Buddha's] own stamina was now considerably reduced by age and a recent severe illness, and soon the bad food brought on a violent attack of dysentery".

There were piles of dried cow dung all around, and as I approached flies buzzed and fled. The place where the Buddha had his last meal is marked with a white rectangular block. There were a number of burnt-out incense sticks, and scattering grains of rice, around which giant black ants busily scurried. Except for a small sign that marked the site as a protected monument, where the Buddha had his last meal today lies on the side of a dirt path almost hidden in obscurity by overgrown weed and the passage of two and a half millennia.

The Buddha and Ananda, his most loyal attendant, managed to walk for another twenty kilometer or so to the banks of the Hiranyawati River by Kushinagar. There, lying on his side in between two sal trees, The Enlightened One peacefully passed into Final Nirvana. Just before passing peacefully, the Buddha consoled Ananda:

“Enough [...] do not weep and wail. Have I not already told you that all things that are pleasant and delightful are changeable, subject to separation and becoming other? So how could it be [...]—since whatever is born, become, compounded is subject to decay — how could it be that it should not pass away?” (Excerpt From: Ajahn Sucitto & Nick Scott. “Rude Awakenings.” )

The Buddha's final words reminded the monks and laity who had gathered: "...all conditioned things are subject to decay; strive on with diligence!" For true freedom, true happiness and true peace can only be discovered within when one strives to lower the self, lower one's desires, and strives to cultivate kindness and compassion.

I sat in the Nirvana Stupa next to the reclining Buddha for some time. Groups of pilgrims led by monks came in and out, chanting, praying, some even weeping. It was an emotional scenery, and the culminating aura of sadness, combined with the fatigue of traveling and side effects, manifested in nausea hallucinations, of malaria medicine I took in preparation to enter the lower regions of the Himalayas, made me cry. I got out the picture of my mum, which after hundreds of kilometers of traveling looks a little worn and crumbled, and placed it on the glass railing an arm's length from the Buddha's feet. The feet and parts of Buddha's head is shiny and smooth from the touch of millions of pilgrims who have come in search of peace, in the hope of blessings.

The picture of mum was taken by me on the day of my brother's engagement. From her rosy complexion and beautiful smile, it is impossible to tell that just the day before, she had been in hospital for chemotherapy. That was my mother, ever so brave, ever so dear to me. This is my mother, who will always be with me, be a part of me, for as long as I live and breathe... With closed eyes, I wished:

"Mama, may you be free, truly free from suffering..."

Almost six months after mum passed away peacefully in my arms, I can't say for sure whether she reached "nirvana". But I remember on her face was a serenity almost as gentle and beautiful as the one of the face of the Lord Buddha lying before me. And I did not weep, did not feel sadness or much pain, at least not at that very moment when mum left this world. She knew, and I understood well, that her life, her life well lived, was coming to an end. The body had decayed, grown frail and wrinkled, grown weak and tired from age and illness. She knew, and I understood well, that death would be a liberation from this world, from this body of pain and suffering. With the knowledge and understanding came a strange calm and peace, a calm and collected composure that carried me for days and weeks after mum was gone...

Since then, the pain of loss and images of events over the past few years have appeared to haunt my waking and sleeping mind. Tears would just come unexpectedly, even at the office, in front of friends, or most often alone in bed at night. Tears triggered by the memory of mum's hand holding onto mine when I was young, or set off by the memory of the sound of her voice whenever she used to tell me off for not dressing warm enough. But the strength of the pain and sadness is growing ever weaker with time, and this trip to the Middle Land has helped to bring closure and helped me to learn to let go.

Let go, for mum is already gone, so what or who am I clinging onto? Let go, for only be letting go and freeing the mind from grief and pain can there an unexpected freedom to pursue the dreams and goals I've wanted to follow. Let go of sadness, and let the love and kindness of the world guide me to further places...

This long, long journey following the footsteps of the Enlightened One marks a new beginning. Hopefully, it will give mum's soul even greater peace and sense of bliss in the hereafter. It is the one last thing I can offer her: the blessings of the sacred places where the wisdom and serenity of the Buddha can still be felt... This trip also marks a new beginning in the sense that personally it has been spiritually and emotionally cleansing.

Sadhu, sadhu, sadhu...






07 December 2012

I've been feeling unwell for almost an entire day. The feeling was not made better sitting in a car that shook and swirled badly due to attempts to avoid massive craters on the roads (at places calling them such would be an overstatement...). The stuffy heat during the day and dry, dusty air has also made me cough and generally very uncomfortable.

I was lucky to be out of the car, having traveled over five hours in one to cover a total distance of a little over two hundred kilometers.  Dinner, though at a restaurant that came highly recommended, was good, but it was yet another heavy masala-type dish. Walking back to the hotel did not really ease the discomforts.

While showering, I coughed, and then it started. Vomit poured out of my mouth and I kept on regurgitating my dinner for around a minute. Cows are blessed four stomachs for digestion so they can regurgitate food and chew it again later on, but we human beings only one.

I felt a little better. After seven days in India, after not having fallen sick, I believe I now know I am not, but have just been lucky.

06 December 2012

Black buddha
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The Black Buddha is located outside the walls of the collection of ruins which was incesite of Nalanda University. Perhaps the greatest place of learning by the 7th Century CE, it is hard to imagine that the crumbling brick walls overgrown with wild weed and fallen pillars seen today once formed part of an institution that housed over ten thousands resident students and teachers hailing from all over India, Sri Lanka, Tibet, China and even as far away as Java and Korea.

I followed a path that led me past fields of lush green grass and yellow flowers, grazing cows and children  playing (and one or two running after me, begging...). Three uniformed soldiers each wielding long guns stood by the gates of the little shrine I intended to visit.

"Black Buddha? Come!" one soldier shouted and gestured me to follow him. Two others shouted something at a crowd of a dozen or so men who loitered around the little shrine, and the crowd soon dispersed. Dozens of pairs of eyes  watched my every move before they seemed to just disappear.

"One visitor?" The soldier who till now accompanied me to the shrine asked. I replied with a nod. He did not (have to) see the two bears and a sapcemokey hiding in my backpack.

I paid respects to the Buddha, who sat in a meditation pose. His body was black as charcoal, which contrasted greatly with the garlands of brightly coloured flowers. As it was the Thai people who sponsored this shrine, parts of the Buddha's body were covered with gold. Thais believe it is auspicious to stick pieces of gold leaf onto statues of the Lord Buddha or of highly revered monks. I bowed three times, three times signifying showing reverence to the Buddha, the Dhamma (Buddha's teachings), and the Sangha (the community of monks and nuns who strive to live the life and example of The Enlightened One). The gesture of bowing is in and of itself humbling, for you are (literally) lowering yourself, kneeling and bowing with your head and hands completely
on the ground. It is not merely a sign of respect, but also, I was once told, a means to rid yourself of ego and lower the "self". On this trip so far, I have lowered myself countless times before statues of the Buddha, stupas, which (once) contain(ed) parts of his remains or belongings, and before crumbling monuments, where once great monasteries or temples stood.

A few candles flickered in the breeze. With closed eyes, I kneeled before the Black Buddha, I mentally thought of loved ones, friends and all beings in the world. "May they be happy, may they be free from suffering..."

There was the sweet smell of incense in the air, and the light of dusk cast a calming glow on all around me. But I felt uneasy, for the solider stood just metres away from me, and I felt my every move observed and scrutinised. So I stood up to leave.

The soldier followed me and escorted me to the gate. Two of his companions joined the escort.
The first soldier said something in Hindi, which I of course did not understand. But I did catch the word "rupee", and I immediately understood what he wanted.

Money. Isn't that what most people circling around a foreigner wants? Being a member of the armed forces, wearing an uniform that looks dignified and commands respect did not change the fact he wanted money. Shameless, for he was no better than the truly impoverish and desperate I've encountered over the past few days.

I played dumb, as a friend suggested me to do. And having tried it a couple of times, especially by pretending not to understand English, the annoying touts and swindlers automatically do go away. "No understand..." I said, and cocked my head to one side, trying to look confused.

"Das rupee [...] Das rupee" he said between long unintelligible sentences, meaning ten rupees.

I screwed up my face, shook my head and looked him right in the eye. "Heh? Heh? No understand..."

It was then that I was reminded he had a big gun under his arm. I don't recall being scared, at least not at that moment, but felt more insulted than anything else. This shrine is a public place, open to people to come and worship. The Dhamma cannot be sold or bought at any price. Was I being foolhardy, not fully aware what danger I was getting myself into in order not to part with a meagre ten rupees ($0.20)?

It really came down to principles. The idea of giving in to corruption sickens me and makes my furious. But I am aware that corruption is endemic and widespread in India (and much of the developing world...) Corruption, as a matter of fact, sad fact, often is what makes the bureaucratic machinery function. Even a supposedly developed place like Quebec is rampant with corruption, especially when dealing with the construction of public works. In India, however, it is the everyday individual who has to encounter corrupt officials who have little regard for dignity of the public office they hold, and more regard for filling their own pockets. Mentally, I replayed a conversation I had with a local who said corruption is "killing" India. It also gets him infuriated, and just the other day, he made a whole scene at the train station because he had been queuing almost an hour at the train station to refund his ticket. When it was his turn, the counter agent said he couldn't cancel and refund the ticket, even though moments earlier he did just that for another customer. When asked why he couldn't refund the ticket, the counter agent said he didn't "know" my friend. The scene seemed to have set which implied the agent wanted to "know" Mahatma Ghandi, whose face is on all Indian bills.

Was I being too full of myself and thinking I could change something by resisting to be part of an endemic problem that for decades has been systematic and engrained in society and politics? At that moment, I was literally looking at barrel of the gun, but I did not flinch. Was it worth it to make a stand here, in the middle of an isolated village, being completely alone and surrounded by strange men (there were, as is case I imagine in the rest of the country, only men around...), when my life could potentially be at stake?

"No understand..." I said, screwing up my face again. One of the soldier's companions smiled, said something and shook his head. Then he gestured for me to leave. I took that as a sign the attempt at squeezing money out of a lone traveller failed.

I walked out the gates, past the crowd of people who suddenly appeared and swarmed around me. Vendors hawking their tacky souvenirs, postcards and Buddha statues, beggars with dirty and outstretched hands or clanking metal bowls, children who like to say: "Hello! Hello, sir!" I walked through the crowd, looked down at the ground, and pretended not to hear the random words throw at me in Japanese or English some have managed to learn, which I suppose are meant to attract more attention, if not sympathy. Do not look back, do not respond, I realised after several days and countless encounters, or otherwise there will be no end, and the swarm will only grow ever bigger.

My footsteps quickened. Suddenly out of nowhere, an image, as if from a badly scripted Bollyhood movie, flashed across my mind and sent shivers down my spine. The visor of the gun aimed at a tall boy carrying a black rucksack hurrying on a path across the field... Gunshots... News headlines of a foreigner killed because he refused to give in to demands for a few rupees...

I did not look back to see where the soldiers were or what they were doing. A cow stood by the side of the road and kept its head down until it heard my approaching footsteps. Gracefully the cow eyed me with a bemused look. Perhaps the cow, in India a highly revered creature, has seen it all far too often. In its dark eyes I found traces of wisdom both amusing and profound. Why is it that human beings resort to extortion and intentionally want to harm others? Why are we so driven by our feelings and desires, and yet believe we are superior over all other creatures? Why are we always besieged by thoughts and imaginations, fears and memories?

I smiled at the and bowed slightly as I walked past.

04 December 2012

The traveler

We met the first time a few days ago. I was at a restaurant, and he came in a bit later and sat across the room from me. We glanced at one another a few times, I think we both wanted to approach one another, but neither knew how. There were a few exchanges o smiles, and then we went our separate ways after our meals...

As I was leaving for my afternoon stroll, I saw him sitting at the cafe of our hotel. Yes, it was him, and he recognised me too. We smiled and got chatting. The sunset and beautiful scenery of the temple were postponed, and the more we got chatting eventually the afternoon plans were cancelled.

A Czech guy, tall, sweet and soft spoken with soft eyes, and a very relaxed vibe about him. He's been traveling around for almost a month now, and Bodh Gaya happens to be his last stop. Happens to be my stop too, and our dates overlapped and our paths crossed, if only by a few hours.

On the road, you meet the kindest and most interesting people. He's my age, works at a nice restaurant in Prague. He just wanted to get away for a while, find himself and discover more of the world. More or less my story too, in a way. And so here he is, here I am. Here we are...

We exchanged travel stories, quaint little things about India and Indians, about travelers' belly, about the crowded state of the train and annoying people who like to pester foreigners by asking tonnes of questions or asking for money. We talked about our lives, ambitions, perspectives on life, about Buddhism and meditation... It was refreshing to meet someone new and with so many similar interests. I now understand that movie Lost in Translation better: when two foreigners (at least in the eyes of the local population...) are thrown together in foreign country (at least in the eyes of the supposed foreigners...), there develops a common sense of shared anxiety, a way to compare and contrast notes, and a feeling that finally you've found someone who can understand you, and literally, speak your language.

We walked home together, we shook hands. He held it so tightly, as if he were savouring the touch. I did the same. The gates to my  hotel (or "guest house" as it is called here...) were already locked, though it was barely past ten.

"If you can't get in, I'm just next door, you can come by..." He said, smiling. Earlier he asked what I had planned for the evening. And this seemed to be another invitation (or maybe I'm reading too much into it...)

He let go of my hand, and stood there under the street light. He watched me as I walked into the courtyard of my "guest house", or so I felt.

I smiled. It's been so long I've been on a "date" with another guy, for over a year since the ex abruptly dumped me. And this evening felt like a refreshing beginning. I, if I may say so, am attentive, smart, and perhaps sweet, and I deserve to be loved and cared for in the simplest and most passionate way, with baggage, without complications, without holding back or hesitations. I deserve that. I need that. I can and am willing to give that to someone who can make me feel young and appreciated, feel like I mean something, like I am someone who matters, and not like I'm someone on the side.

  And tonight I was a step closer to knowing that I can have all that, if I were to let go of the past and an unhealthy relationship with my ex that is not just  friendship and not quiet a relationship. 

03 December 2012

At Mahabodhi

Here I am, right here, right now, at the very place where the Buddha himself achieved enlightenment some 2500 years ago.

I cannot hold back the tears or emotions. I have mum and dad's pictures in my hand, and two teddies bears in my backpack. So many pilgrims and monks surround me. It is crowded yet still serene. I'm sitting on floor at the base if the main temple of Mahabodhi...

Mum, dad... I am here... I am alive, I am well. I am pursuing a dream, I am fulfilling a promise I made to mum. Here I am, alone, but not feeling lonely, tearing yet there is a sense of calm and closure.

Mum, dad... I hope you are both well...
People call me an orphan now, but I will be strong, I will be strong and love myself, even if I am by myself now. I will try to be kind and compassionate, I will try to harbour less impure thoughts and hatred and anger... I will try to do more good and see goodness in everyone, in everything.

I will leave a picture of you two here, let you listen to the chanting and prayers, let you experience the spirituality and strong positive energy flowing in this beautiful temple complex and garden...

And I will walk away. Let go and walk away.

24 November 2012

It's all coming back to me now

I browsed a few photo albums containing pictures I dared not look at for a while. Did I not dare or did it just not occur to me to do so? Pictures I took at those precious moments, moments that were etched in my mind forever, but which I know will trigger a flood of emotions when I am reminded of them again...

Mum... Mum at the hospital, mum at home, me holding mum's hand, mum looking at me, mum smiling, mum dying, mum covered under the blanket which I took and have kept since that day she passed away... Tears started to form. Last time I cried was perhaps a month or so ago...

Again I am reminded of her kindness, reminded of the warmth only she could give me. Again, I am reminded, my goodness, how much I/ we have gone through these few months... How painful, how difficult, how testing and unsettling... And also how beautiful it all was....


Again I am reminded of the reason why I am going on this trip to a foreign land, to a foreign place in search of peace and closure.



09 November 2012

Cleansing

I have moments when I saw myself from afar: eyes tired from lack of sleep, my face heavy with thoughts and worries, my body weak and slouching from fatigue and longing... Yes, I am exhausted, smiling still because I always manage to, but mentally and physically drained and frustrated.

Who could I turn to and talk about this without feeling like I'm burdening the person? My ex, my former confidante and rock who has been around for so long, seems to be caught in his own fatigue and emotional issues that these days feel i have much difficulty in talking to him. Other than the nagging and unanswered questions of whether he still care and whether he really wants to listen to me lament about how I'm feeling after long hard days at work, I know myself to be truly strong, and to truly get to the bottom of my problems, I must turn to myself for help.

I am trying. Trying I really am to take time out to travel. Or at least that is the plan. I've been wanting to go to India for a while now, and I remember so many moments when mum slowly declined, I said to myself, and on occasion to her, I'll go to India one day when all is over.

And now all is over, and I should live up to my promise-- to myself to and to mum.

But plans change, and nothing ever goes according to plan. Despite having booked a ticket almost a month ago, increasingly I've encountered obstacles on my way to leave... Visa problems, time issues, work still to be done, preparations I should do for a trip into an unknown land that does not have a reputation for being safe or hygienic...I've had to cancel my tickets today because first of all, the notices the price I paid is exorbitant compared to how much I only have to pay now, barely two weeks before my intended departure. And it may have been worth it if I were flying on the latest Dreamliner for part of my journey... But even that is not happening because of delays in delivery the new plane...
So after weeks of wrangling, searching and finally sitting down to buy a ticket, I'll need to start all over again...

I am frustrated, feeling pressed for time, feeling pressure from work, and generally feeling like a failure because things are not as simple and as easy as I thought or planned. Why is it that other people can just book a flight and just depart so easily, whereas I'm wondering about the ifs and whens or hows?

Well, all I can say is life is always changing, and I am experiencing it fully, whether I like it or not...

N

04 November 2012

Operation Secret Adoption

I went into the animal shelter for my weekly volunteering period. It was quite empty compared to when I first started over a month ago. My heart sank when I could not find "my cat"... The very cat which was till today the object of "Operation Secret Adoption".

I fell in love with this Russian Blue cat, beautiful soft eyes and gray hair. On her chest is a white tuft, and after I sent a picture of the cat to my ex, he came up with a name for her: Tufty (her name at the shelter was Geisha...)

The cat would affectionately butt me with her head whenever I approached. I must admit, she melted my heart and made me feel so loved. And how she purred and purred when i stroked her soft fur, rubbed her chin and cheeks...
So affectionate is she...

For some reason my ex fell in love with her, even though he'd never seen her or played with her. He kept on saying he wants to adopt her, and I secretly planned to make it happen, to give him Tufty as a birthday gift. I asked about it, but problem is she needs to be adopted alone, and I already have a cat, and with my planned trips away I could not possibly adopt a cat and leave two cats at home... They'd have a... Cat fight!

When I opened the door to the room where Tufty stayed in for so many weeks, she was not there. My heart sank. There was an adoption drive this weekend, and she left along with 15 other cats.

In a way I'm happy for the elegant little gray missus, and I hope she has an owner who will give her all the love and affection she deserves till her ripe old age... I am sad and disappointed because I have been planning clandestinely to surprise my ex with the cat, and came up with these little ideas on how to keep it a secret until his birthday. I even got cards with cats on it and also printed out a picture of Tufty to include in a birthday package I'm planning to give/leave him (as I won't be there on the day itself)...I even dreamed that this would be another way to cement our relationship. Yes, I do daydream and imagine beautiful things.

But things are not meant to be. And I'm saddened by it. Though I guess, and I'd like to imagine, the cat is loved now and well taken care of by someone out there..:

I'll miss that little cat we called Tufty who for those few hours managed to touch my heart and touch the heart of my ex.



Dream: mum and dad

The clock went back an hour early this morning, and it's officially winter time. And the sudden drop in temperature really revealed winter's approach.
I took the opportunity to sleep in, sleep properly till I wake up naturally.

I was woken up around 8or so by the need to go to the washroom. I went back to bed, and I dreamed...

Mum and dad appeared before me. They looked lovely, caring and warm. I reached out to touch them, at least I tried... I reached out to feel their warmth and feel love, for its been so long since I felt the warmth of another, felt true love from another...

But they disappeared. I ended up crying...

01 November 2012

Nap

I was exhausted and had to lie down on the office floor to take a nap. Last night was rough, as I lay in bed and struggled to fall asleep.

I saw myself in the dream, I felt emotions overwhelm me. I saw tears burst from my tears.
I woke up and felt the corners of my eyes. Though they were dry, I could have cried, really cried from the deep sense of longing and loneliness inside. What does it take to be loved? What does it feel like to be loved and cared about? To be wanted and desired? To have a special someone I could turn to at times of need?

Perhaps I once had it, perhaps I never really treasured it. But now I am truly lost without it.

Dreams: seeing mum again

Woke up several times during the early hours of the morning. A new bed, my friend's bed, for he had offered it to me and taken the couch.

But I saw mum appear before me, the first time in weeks now. Just as I thought the pain and sadness had subsided, just as I thought I was over things and could carefully laugh and drink and have fun, they returned like a surge of the sea in the midst of a violent storm...

21 October 2012

Sudden tears

Just had a nice evening with friends, and wanted to head home early. It's nice to go out and meet up with people, to chat about nonsense and to drink and forget. But really, how much can you forget...?

Sitting in the metro, and browsing though pictures. Happy pictures and memories of times with the ex... Then suddenly a picture of mum, so skinny, deep eye sockets, forlorn and ill-looking, nearing death... She looked straight at the camera (an image I captured on Skype...), straight at me. This was taken at the end of May, when I came back here for a month. I missed her dearly then, worried about her day and night.

She stared the camera, deep into my soul. I remember she kept telling me to stay on till my graduation, to stay on and not worry about her. I cried many nights then, hurting because I was not by her side. Seeing that picture again brought tears to my eyes. How she suffered... How much she went through all these years...

And now she's free... No more pain, no more depending on other people when she needs to go to the washroom or get out of bed... No more steady deterioration of the body and decline of the mind... No more inability to let go, no more feelings, no more hurting. Mum is free now...

So by am I crying? Crying because of the image she once was? Crying because she went through so much, when it is all over and done with now? Crying because I had fun tonight and feel somewhat guilty for having a bit of fun and indulging in a few drinks?

Mum is free now.

But I am not...

18 October 2012

Mourning walk


Two weeks after I started to seek help, I was suddenly called by the organisation for cancer patients and their families/friends. Join the "mourning walk" in the morning, I was told.

So I did. I wasn't sure what to expect, but the group was lovely, even though it was made up of men and women perhaps twice my age, or more. But this is grief: personal, ageless, and common to us all. Though rituals and ways of remembering our loved ones may differ, the pain, attachment and sense of loss is what makes us feel, and makes us, human.

We walked around Mont Royal, and various members of the group came to me, put their arms around me. A lady, who lost her husband a year ago, looked at me intensely, and spoke to me in the softest and most compassionate tone. "It must be so difficult for you at this age..." Her look melted my heart, melted the smile I put on so bravely everyday because people expect you to smile and to be "normal" again after just a few months. She gave me a motherly look, a look which says: "I know what you're going through... Don't be afraid..."

A man lost his father and mother within two weeks of one another. Two, three years later, he still says: "It takes time... It takes time..."

A newcomer to the group like me, a lady perhaps the same age as my mum, broke down almost as soon as she began to recount the memories of her dear, brave and inspiring mother. A tall man, perhaps nearing his sixties and who had the build of a big, sturdy football player (in fact he revealed he did play football at university...) said he lost his mother a year ago. He gave up a relationship and the better part of the last three decades to move in with his mother, to he with her, to take care of her... to be there with her at that final moment to offer her his arms that night when she left this world. "People don't understand. They don't know why I still cry. They don't know what it's like to lose a parent..."

Sure, everyone will lose their parents one day, if they have not lost them already. And some don't have the "privilege" of ever having parents. But with the privilege of having had them comes the pain of loss, pain of hearing their voice, smelling their scent, and reliving sweet memories long ago even though their bodies have already turned to ash.

Where does the pain come from? For where else are you going to find unconditional love? Who else can scold you and be so angry at you one moment and then just forget it all? "You can have one partner, ten partners", he joked "but you only have one mother..." The mother who nurtured us, the same mother who nursed us when we were ill or emotionally hurting, the mother who changed our diapers and bathed us, who massaged us and tucked us in at night.

Isn't it bizarre how at the end of it all, the mother becomes child, and child assumes the role of a parent? It was a common theme we realised




A leave fell slowly and drifted aimlessly in the slight breeze. Falling leaves return to their roots, and fallen souls return to the Earth to