Leaving Canada

 

26 Sept 02.51hrs YYZ time

BR35 has been in the air for just over an hour, another 14hrs or so to go till Taipei. This is the moment that in the past few weeks of being and feeling so overwhelmed, I have been looking forward to. Yet I am far too tired, far too numb to even feel, really feel how I am feeling.

What a rush the past 24hrs have been. Watching the latest Downton movie with my friend, something we have long said we would do together, to frantically packing and cleaning everything until the very last minute (really, I had probably 15 minutes to spare and to actually breathe, as friends have been telling me to repeatedly over the past few weeks).

Now I am on my wei. Now I am finally embarking on my journey to an unknown future, to a foreign land where I do not know many people, where the animals and creatures all seem to want to keep you…

What have I just left behind? Again, I am too tired to really realise what it is that I have said goodbye to. Though that is exactly it, as it does not feel like a goodbye, at least not a final goodbye, for I am scheduled to return in around 2 months from now. This flight feels just like all those flights I have taken for work or leisure, with the exception that I have brought 2 large suitcases, as well as my new bike case, together with two carry ons with cash and essential paper that will grant me entry into a new continent and a new country.

These past few weeks have been so excruciatingly painful. Were it not for the kindness and support of dear friends and my ex, I would not have made it. There were so many moments I felt like breaking down, like giving up and crying, for it was just too much.

Sorting, throwing things away, packing, and closing lids to plastic tote bins I have bought to store the many, many mementoes and pieces of paper that mean so much to me now, but perhaps a couple of years down the line are just  yellowing pages or faded words that look lika any other that have endured through time.

It has been especially painful, as all the resistance I had to organising things springs from my fear (very real fear) of again being triggered by memories of past I cannot longer change, a past that is so bitter sweat with the memories of those dear loved ones who have passed on. That, plus the pain of breaking up, of trying to juggle the demands of work and uncertainties of what awaits me in the days, months and years ahead.

All through the past few weeks, I have slept poorly and restlessly, for I am easily stirred by the worry of what is to come, of the many, many things that have been undone or unsaid. True, I have accomplished a lot, yet, like my usual self, I do not recognise what I have managed to do in such a brief time, and mostly on my own, even though there are so many people who are willing to lend a hand. Finally, as things were getting too much, I let people in, and am filled with such pangs of guilt and “being a burden” that I keep apologising for being such an imposition that I am sure I sound so insincere…

My neighbour and ex came by just hours before I was headed to the airport. They kept their cool, they were standing by to help, while I frantically ran around trying to make sense or put some order between packing my bags, throwing all the little objects and items into tote boxes destined for the basement storage locker, and making the place semblance of normality that is ready to be rented out. I spent pretty much the whole of the last day in a van going from one person to another to deliver the leftover furnishing of my first ever apartment. What an ordeal, really what an ordeal it has been, not just the grueling roughness and pain of moving, but also due to the incessant rain that kept pounding everything around us as we tried to criss-cross town.

But I made it. There is no turning back. What has been done, has been done. What has been left undone cannot be done for I have already left Canada.

What am I leaving behind? Dear friends and lovers who have texted to say how much they wish me luck, and how they wish me every bit of happiness and discovery in the new country.

I think it has not yet dawned on me what is really happening, what I have packed up and am leaving behind...

 

Letting go

 5 Sep 2022

 "I know I must let go..." But letting go is the hardest of everything. It's the cause of tears, misery, pain, and such suffering.

The past few weeks I have been sorting out things throughout my apartment. Cupboards that I did not want to or dare to open, I needed to clear out. Drawers that were so full that papers crumpled whenever they are opened, I needed to empty and purge. And tote boxes, I have probably twenty of them now, in various corners of the house, all filling up and ready to be stored. For how long, I do not know.

What I do know that it's been such a long, grueling and painful process. Of sorting things, or tearing things and turning a blind eye to the significance of a past that at the time seemed so important, seemed more important than anything else, so that I can make that difficult decision of throwing it in the bin. Destined for the rubbish tip of history.

My friend came by and helped all this long weekend. I've been reluctant, but he kept on offering. I just feel "bad" bothering others, but I must learn to accept and reach out for help. For it has been so overwhelming that this evening, I broke down and sobbed.

Was it out of self-pity or just the fact that all these feelings have been bottled deep down inside and are welling up? I just could not hold it back. Memories of our times together, memories of our first moments together, the little gifts we have given each other, the kindness and love he has shown me, and continues to show me.

But sometimes, we need to realise, we are there for each other for a period of time in life, and those are the moments we will always have together. Those memories will always live on no matter what, even though at some point fantasies of a life together and of building something beautiful and magical together filled our senses and thoughts. 

We must realise that nothing is permanent, and all will grow, mature, fade, and eventually fade away.

It's more than just letting go. It's also learning to recognise and again facing the reality that some things are just temporary, and that everything will change. Pages have yellowed. Photographs have faded. Not all my clothes will fit me with age. And people will come and go. And I need to let go.

I must learn to let go. 

However painful, however difficult it all is, I must let go.

 

Woken up by anxiety

 

 I could hardly breathe.

There was this oppressive feeling on my chest, and it was not related to my recent battle with corona. I took a nap, as I am still feeling the sideeffects of fatigue and feeling feverish (without actually having a fever).

Then I felt it... This  heaviness on my chest that left me heaving and gasping for air. I felt this unrivaled sense of anxiety, this desperation and heaviness triggered by the pain of letting go, and the anxiety of not knowing what will happen next. I saw myself in a strange unfamiliar environment, feeling lost and isolate. I felt regret, and that nagging feeling of why I chose to embark on this journey, and sense of guilt of putting myself through all this.

This was a premonition, or at least it felt like it. Premonition of how it would be next month when I arrive all alone in Australia. I felt regret, and this immense sense of longing.

Perhaps it's all being triggered by the felt that I have begun packing away my things, and throwing away objects that I do not need. Earlier today, I asked the super to come and figure out whether the building or other neighbours could take some of the furniture so that I would not have to deal with them.

Packing is really one of the most stressful things. And I have so many things I need to shift and sort through, pack away, or throw away, before next month. Exact a month from now. And it is a very daunting task. 

My cousin was here, ostensibly to help me, as she told me prior to her arrival in April. But she left without really doing much, even though she said she would help with painting the walls and packing things away. It was very disappointing, as I thought finally I could have a family member help and be there to face the difficult task of sorting through so many personal effects and items. And I even supported her plan to improve English by enrolling her on an English course. But she has her own plans.

Perhaps this all is the trigger for those feelings that woke up up from my nap just now.
A wake up call that there is a lot more to do, and I must get moving.

Ten years

 It's miraculous how ten years go by. It dawned on me a few weeks ago that it's ten years since mum passed. Those moments in hospital with her, those grueling moments of despair and helplessness seeing her get sick. Those moments are like a long distant dream, but they also appear to be so real, so vivid.

No, I no longer wake up in the middle of the night from nightmares or haunted by harrowing images of hospital wards or deeply pained by the image of mum's (sometimes dad's) kind face. Ten years has passed just like that, and to be honest, as is clear from the fewer entries in this blog, most of those tens years have become routine and repetitive. Ten years is also the same length of time I have worked at the same job--a fact that I was reminded of when my colleagues sprung a surprise on me at our first in-person reception a month back. 

Routine and repetitiveness can be a good thing, as it means that life is going well, and there is little worry or concern in life. That is a far cry from ten, twelve, or even twenty years ago, when there was so much uncertainty, anxiety and unknowns about the future (well, I still have anxieties, and am still faced with unknowns about the future). 

 But routine and repetitiveness can also  feel sad as it makes you wonder what you haive really done, what you have really been doing all this time. Is life just too stable and stagnant that you cannot remember all those wonderful and little things you have done? Has life just become a grind and a blur that just passes by so quickly that certain moments hit you hard how "old" you have grown over the years?

I knelt before the offerings I prepared for mum, and closed my eyes momentarily. In the background Guru Dev Namo, a song that I used to play often to relax mum and (hopefully, as naively as it may be) soothe her physical pain and mental anguish in hospital. I silently asked her to watch over and bless my relatives, my brother, my sister-in-law, my nephew, my niece... (I imagine she has already been doing that). 

Then I felt a void.
Has it been too long that I do not know what I should say to her?
I felt this void...
There appear to be words and thoughts, but I did not have the words to capture them.

Has it been too long that I have "prayed" that I forgot how to communicate with my dearest mum? 

I lay on the sofa quietly, next to my cat, and closed my eyes as the song continued.

Ong namo Guru Dev Namo

Ong namo

Guru dev namo...

 (I bow to the divine teacher.)

 

I felt this pinch of sadness overcome me.
I feel that way sometimes, often when least expected.
A void and loneliness that I think cannot be filled.
Temporary, but enough to leave you feeling so vulnerable, exposed, and broken for moments thereafter.

 I looked around the apartment that I have lived in for close to seven years.
The apartment that I can proudly call my own, the apartment that I remember the day I moved into, I sat on the floor of the empty space and shed some tears.

They were tears of happiness, tears of also sadness.
My first home, yet, my parents are not there to share it with me.
My first home, made possible because of my parents who saved and worked hard to give me a better life.

Thinking back, I realise just then how far I have come. 

And I realise how far I still have to go. 

This little commemoration ceremony may well be the last I hold in this home for some time, for in around three months, I will need to have packed up everything and be ready for the next stage of my journey.