At LAX

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At LAX

I had planned this long stopover in Los Angeles expecting to have time to get out and explore the city a bit. I booked a cheap motel and wanted to set my things down for a little bit before I went exploring. It was seven in the evening, over five hours after I landed, before I left the motel again... My flight is in three hours.

I simply could not pry myself out of bed. Just could not, despite having checked the bus schedule to go to nearby Santa Monica, the famed sea side town. I finally got up, and felt somewhat bad I wasted so many hours just sleeping... I stood there and wondered to myself what I Gould do. There was little I could do. I looked out at the pool and at the kids and families playing. Here I was in a motel in the middle of  sprawling rundown suburbia next to the airport. How depressing!

I could have been home in my own bed by now instead of spending over 80$ on a motel bed that made me itch! Well, the least I could do is say I have been to Inglewood, CA, where I slept for a few hours and ate bad Chinese food for dinner on a 10.5hr stopover!

Town of Narita

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Town of Narita

With four and something hours to spare, I left the airport and made my way to the town of Narita. A quaint little place with a massive temple and forest in the north that attracts millions of pilgrims every year.

The mascot for the town is a plane-like eel, a combination of the international airport and unagi Narita is famed for. I strolled along the pilgrim's way and came to a restaurant that lured me in. Perhaps it was the smell of soy-sauced eel grilling over charcoal that attracted me. Perhaps it was the half a dozen men who sat on little benches preparing raw eel by the entrance. But how glad I was I stopped for a meal (despite the exorbitant price of over $30 for just a box of rice with two slices I eel and a clear soup...) as what they feed you in Economy class really is like a kid's meal.

After filling up on unagi, I had energy to explore the town's main attraction. It is said eel makes you feel energised and lessons fatigue. Perhaps that were so, but the serenity of the temple grounds made me feel at ease. The beautifully carved wooden structures were surrounded by stone plaques erected between trees and shrubs commemorating some saint or marking well wishes for travelers who have journeyed far for blessings. With a wooden scoop made of bamboo, I washed my hands before entering the temple. The clear and cold mountain springs is supposedly able to cleanse your body.

Similar to Taiwanese culture and beliefs, temples are a place of sanctuary where you can get blessings. According to the year and time you were born, there are, as with all things in life and the world, cycles when your energies and fortunes wane or rise. Special wooden amulets and pieces of paper with prayers can be obtained to ward off bad spirits and omens and attract good fortunes and luck. I bought one for myself that is supposed to help me overcome difficulties. I anything, I sure need this now more than ever.

There was a beautiful Chinese-style pagoda that rose five storeys high. Between red and gilded wooden beams were elaborate carvings of dragon heads that evoked awe. I frowned at the loud laughter and crunching footsteps of some mannerless tourist (most likely from China...) which disturbed the tranquility of this sacred place. She was walking on a field of stones that were strewn between paths, something I doubt one is supposed to do. Smoke ascended from a cauldron, and I followed the actions of several visitors who stood by the cauldron and waved wafts of incense to purify and bless their souls and bodies.

There was a sudden drum beat that echoed in the otherwise very serene surroundings emanating from the main temple complex. I hurried into the structure  and was immediately struck by the simplicity of Shintoism's architecture to evoke  tranquility and inspiration. In a darkened hall, a priest led a solemn drumming ceremony to commemorate the victims and tragedy of the earthquake in the Japan's North-East over a year ago. I tread carefully and came to a dark pit with metal girdles across. Like someone next to me, I made a prayer and threw in a coin. It was a while before I could hear the metallic clink of the coin as it hit the bottom.

I wandered some more and explored the forest a little bit. I was pressured for time, and the rumble of the sky and dampness in the air forecasted a heavy downpour. I came to a souvenir store, and in pigeon Japanese (ie added "-o" or "-u" behind every English word) I asked for some "post-card-". The lady tried to sell me half a dozen, and when I said I only needed one, she referred me to an elderly lady next door. She was so kind and attentive, and every though I bought only one postcard, she meticulously placed it in a little paper bag and even threw in a origami figure of a Japanese kimono made using folded paper and toothpicks. I repeatedly  expressed my gratitude. I felt somewhat compelled by the act of kindness and  was drawn by the plush blue plane-like eel that is the town's mascot that I made another purchase to support this aged lady still making a living.

The wind picked up, and rains drops began to fall, causing the souvenir stands to shake and their owners come out to tend to their goods. As I prepared to leave, the old lady came out to bow gracefully and said a string of words in Japanese which I can only imagine are blessings and well wishes. I too bowed and quietly ended my brief visit to this quaint little town with a massive and extremely bush international airport to its name.

Passport check

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Passport check

"Where were you born?" The border agent asked as he flipped through my passport. maybe it was a question to test my identity, for he would know the answer if he looked carefully.

"Taiwan," I said.

"Why Canada?" He asked. On my customs declaration form I put I was transiting, and Montreal as my final destination. 

"I live there," I said, which he said "You live there, eh?" Was he trying to pull a joke? 

He flipped through the pages a bit more. Was he intrigued by the number of times I've been to the US over the past year? Or the randomness of all these stamps for entry into  (and departure from) Taiwan? I was too tired to say more than necessary. From my experience, I am not a suspect traveler. 

"When was the last time you were in the Netherlands?"

"Umm, December? Last year for Christmas." 

He placed a few stamps here and there, closed my passport and gave it back to me. "Have a good one..."

"Thank you..." 

Taiwan, Canada, the Netherlands. Three random places on three continents spread across the world. Place of my birth, place of my adolescent years, and place of my current domicile. Does it get more international than this? 

Leaving TPE

Leaving TPE

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I felt numb. Waking up after less than four hours of sleep, packing (or squeezing) the last few things into my suitcases, taking the taxi to the airport. It felt like it was a dream, and I was an observer watching it all happen. 

The airport was packed, brimming with groups of tourists with their large boxes of goodies and souvenirs. A few calls to relatives and friends to bid them farewell. I had a last meal of sweet potato fries with my cousin who accompanied me to see me off. Big hug, quick visit to another cousin who works at the airport, another big hug before quickening my pace to the boarding gate. The waiting area was empty, as I was the (second?) last person to board. Minutes after I sat down, the cabin door closed. The plane pulled back. I admired the Eva Air planes with their new Star Alliance logos stickered close to the noses. Watching planes, mentally noting the shape of the wingtips and labeling the model  and make of the aircrafts, temporarily quelled my emotions. The start of a 36hour journey (including layover time...).

Another airport, another boarding gate, another airplane waiting to soar into the heavens, waiting to disappear. 

Another packed suitcase, another boarding pass to add to the scrapbook I keep, another journey to another far away city waiting to consume me and make me one of the anonymous many. 

Another forced smile to greet another unfamiliar face, another tear shed.

A wave of sadness swelled up as I watched two ground crew stand next to one another and bow and wave. Goodbye. Farewell. Bon voyage. Thank you for visiting. The land of my birth, the city I know so well, the places that once made me feel so much at home, are now places I feel I am only visiting. 

This trip is coming to an end. An emotional trip it has been, but I cannot explain why. I want to cry, really break out and cry instead of just shed tears. But the time has not come yet. 

Leaving TPE

Leaving TPE

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I felt numb. Waking up after less than four hours of sleep, packing (or squeezing) the last few things into my suitcases, taking the taxi to the airport. It felt like it was a dream, and I was an observer watching it all happen. 

The airport was packed, brimming with groups of tourists with their large boxes of goodies and souvenirs. A few calls to relatives and friends to bid them farewell. I had a last meal of sweet potato fries with my cousin who accompanied me to see me off. Big hug, quick visit to another cousin who works at the airport, another big hug before quickening my pace to the boarding gate. The waiting area was empty, as I was the (second?) last person to board. Minutes after I sat down, the cabin door closed. The plane pulled back. I admired the Eva Air planes with their new Star Alliance logos stickered close to the noses. Watching planes, mentally noting the shape of the wingtips and labeling the model  and make of the aircrafts, temporarily quelled my emotions. The start of a 36hour journey (including layover time...).

Another airport, another boarding gate, another airplane waiting to soar into the heavens, waiting to disappear. 

Another packed suitcase, another boarding pass to add to the scrapbook I keep, another journey to another far away city waiting to consume me and make me one of the anonymous many. 

Another forced smile to greet another unfamiliar face, another tear shed.

A wave of sadness swelled up as I watched two ground crew stand next to one another and bow and wave. Goodbye. Farewell. Bon voyage. Thank you for visiting. The land of my birth, the city I know so well, the places that once made me feel so much at home, are now places I feel I am only visiting. 

This trip is coming to an end. An emotional trip it has been, but I cannot explain why. I want to cry, really break out and cry instead of just shed tears. But the time has not come yet. 

Eve of departure

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The city looks so quiet and serene from the cool of the metro carriage. Bright lights, glittering kanbans, streams of red tail lights, anonymous crowds walking quickly on the streets below. Taipei, my birth town, my hometown, a city that used to touch my heart so much, now feels like any other city I visit and leave as a traveler.

The eve of my departure. How do I feel, I was asked. I do not feel. I feel perhaps too little or too much that I cannot put into words how I really feel. Emptiness is the closest feeling. A gaping hole. Lacking meaning, lacking purpose. A frustrating lack of ability to describe my emotions and feelings. I had a way with words before. That gift (if it were really so...) is now lost, just like the so many dear things and people I have lost. What do I have? I have these words I cannot express. I have these feelings I cannot eject. I have this gut wrenching loneliness and void I cannot part with. 

This trip was supposed to bring me closure. Maybe I expected too much, maybe the resolution and healing is yet to really follow. How can you really piece together all that has happened and try to put into words how significant this trip has been when you are moving from bed to bed every other day? How can you really let the dust settle and coherent thoughts come together when every other moment, every other person you encounter, confronts you with memories of the loved ones who have gone? 

Mum and dad's shadows and memories are all over the place. This city is filled with reminders of those sweet days of my childhood, those talks and walks I shared with my late parents, those caring moments at the hospital and tender and intimate memories I shared with someone who has become so terribly estranged. 

I am tired, really really tired... I wish I could just lie down and close my eyes and never wake up. 

Sponsorship

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Sponsorship

I walked in the searing heat ad my shirt was drenched from sweat. Tired but I had a mission I needed and wanted to fulfil.

When mum was still alive, she sponsored two children through World Vision Taiwan, one in the south of the country, and another in Mozambique. She had paid installments till January 2013, and after she passed, I had the idea of continuing to sponsor the two "adopted" children to continue of legacy of charitable giving. 

Last August, before I left Taiwan, I arranged to have the financial sponsorship continued. And at the end of last year, I made a large lump sum donation to the girl in Mozambique to help them improve their family home. That was the last contact I had with the organisation.

 But no monthly deductions have since been made, so my visit was to figure out what happened. 

I arrived at the head office, and was greeted by a kind receptionist. I should have called in advance, for I would have discovered the trip was more or less in vain as the agent who has been in touch with me (with all other customer service agents...)  happened to be away on a training. The reception lady did take a look into the sponsorship files, and revealed to my surprise the sponsorship has ended without my knowledge...

The girl in Mozambique was apparently removed from the programme as her family was deemed no longer suitable after she turned 14 years old. Perhaps the large sum of money I donated back in December, in accordance with mum's wish, had something to do with it. The other child, a boy who has the same surname as me, was assigned to another sponsor after mum's sponsorship money terminated. 

There were several awkward moments, as I stood there stunned that I could no longer  continue mum's legacy. The lady was very apologetic. I wasn't sure what to do, and it did cross my mind to start sponsoring children of my own. But I stopped short and said I needed to think about it. It was all so sudden, unexpected and left me lost. You expect something to go a certain way, but nothing really ever does.

Disparaged, I left the office and stepped into the searing heat again...

Trip south

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Leaving Taichung station, the train is accelerating. Heading back to Taipei, less than more days remaining of this whirlwind trip home.

Almost everyone I've visited has complained this trip is too short. It's like "soy sauce dipping"-- brief and a light stay before moving onto the next place, next person. 

The last three nights is the longest I've stayed in any one since this trip began. The monastery in the mountains feels more like home than anywhere else. The monk is perhaps the closest person I have now, with whom I can empty my thoughts and feelings without holding back. 

There were three dogs last time I was there. Two have since passed away, including my favorite, a beautiful brown indigenous breed called Karma. The remaining dog, Monday, looks old and tired. She doesn't bark as much, and I feel she's lonely. There are two lumps growing on her chest area. I fear they may not be good. Just before I left, I patted her softly and stayed with her. She lay on her back and lifted her front paws in a very submissive and loving pose. We connected.

I said goodbye to the monk. He said he would miss me. For the past few days, we spoke a lot, about loss, about mourning and depression, about life and the dhamma. It is rare to find such a bond with someone, to have nothing I cannot say. After losing both my parents, he is the closest thing I have to a mentor, guide and parent. "Believe in yourself," he told me. When everyone tells you you are good looking and kind, when people think you are like an angel, and yet you don't think so, you don't believe them, where in is the problem? Is it not me and the fabrications of my own mind? 

A friend took me all the way to the high speed railway station. She's been a constant source of encouragement since I first met her at the monastery seven years ago. It was also seven years ago that I went to France to help her daughter while she was pregnant and struggling with single-motherhood. Now, that friend is married and has another child. 

Even today in the car, this friend kept in reminding me to love myself, and that I deserve so much more. she told me not to be so selfless, and to take care of myself, because I need to heal. I need to heal after all the traumas and heartbreaks, after the loses and pains...

Goodbye, dear friends... Thank you for making me feel at home. Thank you for reminding me I am loved and cared for. 

Mum's friend

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I called mum's friend, because I got word that she wanted to go pay mum a visit. At first, she did not know who I was, and was a bit taken aback by my call. The conversation was very brief.

Minutes later, she called back again. She'd gathered her thoughts and the conversation lasted longer this time. She and mum were university friends, and friends for life. Together with two others, they were a close group of friends. One passed away a few years ago, from cancer. 

She said she remembered events of the last year very clearly. The week before mum passed, she planned to go traveling in Spain. A friend, one of the closely knit group of friends who throughout university shared everything and did so much together, had already seen mum days before. He told this auntie to go to Spain first, for I she had seen mum before she embarked on the trip, she would not be able to leave. She returned from her trip on 23 June. She visited mum on 26 June. Mum passed away the evening of 29 June.

She revealed how when June came around this year, she felt this deep, deep sense of loss. Something so powerful she has never experienced before. This is true friendship, she said. she really realised how deep the bond between mum and her was. I have several pictures of she and mum sitting together chatting and laughing. They always had so much to say, so much to share. I cannot count the times I watched from a distance and silently thanked her for making mum laugh and giving her good company. I was, and still am, grateful that her friendship with mum made mum's life all the more beautiful and memorable.

Recall...

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"Come morning light you'll now be safe and sound..."

I spoke about what happened then. The words came out and then broke as the images and memories flowed in my mind. The way it ended... The way mum was that last day or so. The last thing mum said to me... It broke me almost trying to remember. 

How did I put that all away? Did I consciously try not to remember? Did I try to forget? The monk asked me how it was, that final day... I remembered her last words to me were to go eat something after I'd just gotten up. It was such a rough night, and I couldn't really rest till after three in the morning. I wanted to be up when the nurses and doctor came, but I was too tired. Had I done that, maybe I would have had more moments with mum when he was conscious. 

The caregiver we hired told me that mum was struggling that morning  around five. She asked mum whether she should wake me. Mum said no, mum wanted me to sleep. I didn't hear anything. I didn't see anything. I missed moments with mum when she was in great discomfort just a dozen or so hours before she left this world...

I stayed around mum the whole day. I hesitated going home to rest. Did I even go home to rest? I don't remember now... 

All I remember is what came after that. I was having dinner, was watching Doraemon, I believe, like every evening around dinner time next to mum's bedside. Her breathing slowed down. I could tell because the whole day her breathing was laboured and loud. I called brother to ask him to come. 

Slowly mum's breathing slowed. I sat by her side the whole time. I held her hand, I stroked her face. I spoke to her. I told her to let go, to let go of this sick and weak body, to let go of this world that has grown so tiring. 

Mum was in my arms when she passed away. Her mouth was half open when that gargling sound, the sound of death escaped her throat. I did not cry. I gave her a wry smile, as I promised I would in a letter I wrote earlier that afternoon. I said I would smile because the cancer is no more, because the suffering is no more. 

Her body still felt warm. It would slowly, slowly turn cold. I did not cry. I kissed her cheeks goodbye. I did not cry. I helped to bathe her one last time. I did not cry. I dressed her in an outfit I had chosen for her. I did not cry. At least not until much, much later...

I did not cry as  I recounted the events. I could so easily cry, but I felt again, like so often in the past year, that I was an observer, like I was only watching everything take place. Again, like an observer observing from afar, I felt oppressed and this pinch of sympathy and compassion for myself , for how difficult it all was, how trying, how overwhelming to experience it all. I shuddered as I spoke. My words and voice broke as I spoke, as if it were difficult to empty these memories, as if it were difficult to recount those final moments with mum.  

But Little by little I am getting better. Little by little, with encouragements and care, reminders of all that I've done for mum, of all we have experienced together, of all the travels that make so many envious of the bond between mother and son, I am getting better.

Severe tiredness...

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Besieged by dreams of such randomness. Mum, family, details of which I cannot remember any more. Woke up twice during the night, at 3AM and a bit later as well. 

Again this tiredness has taken over me, this heavy fatigue that is so difficult to shake. I feel like my head is spinning, my body is so old and inflexible. 

The way mum was

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"Think of the way your mum was, how strong she was, how she enjoyed life. Then you will find a reason to go on."

There is care, there is. I just never really felt it, at least not from the people you thought would be most compassionate and close at the most difficult times. Care and love can come from the most unlikely places. 

After this morning commemoration ceremony, I decided to head down to the centre of the island. I didn't have a plan. I made them more or less only after I boarded the high speed train. I knew there would be a place for me to stay the night, just unsure where. I called my brother's mother-in-law, something I've hesitated doing. She was delighted to hear from me and immediately said she'd arrange to pick me up as soon as I arrived. I slept almost the entire hour of the journey. 

My brother's family-in-law took me in as if I were one of their own. It is a hospitality I have missed, a feeling of belonging I have long longed for. She listened to me, consoled me, encouraged me. They spoke of what a wonderful person mum was, and how she was (is?) so proud of me. They spoke of how mum would hate to see me waste my life away doing nothing and being so preoccupied by her passing.

And they spoke of brother too. Said how affected he also is, especially that week of Mother's Day and mum's birthday. My sister-in-law said he went very quiet and became moody. I never knew that. I was too concerned and occupied with my own grief and anger to realise my brother also hurts, despite having a family and stable life. How could he not? He too is mum's child, he too is a son who lost his  mother. 

I felt stronger, touched and so comforted. At my brother's  mother-in-law's place, I saw reminders of my old home. Cups, tea sets, blankets, duvets, odd pieces of furniture. Most of the little things were shipped here, thankfully. I have wondered often what happened to the little crystal swans, the creams and potions in the washroom, the clock that used to be at mum's pillow side. It's all here... It's so bizarre it's all here, in the house of my brother's mother-in-law. 

I was told I could take it all. After all, they belonged to my mother. I could pack and take it all, but would I so that? Could I so that? 

I am extremely tired after today's ceremony, and I believe it went mostly smoothly.... Falling asleep as I'm typing.