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...

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...

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...

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...