MRI

I felt oppressed, like something was pressing down on my chest and I could not breathe. I closed my eyes and opened my eyes. There was a mirror intches away from my eyes, I could see the depths of my pupils, and my forehead, and strands of hair. I closed my eyes again. I felt a bit of moisture in my eyes as I kept them shut..

The whirring sounds began. Loud. Metallic. Unpleasant. 

The technician put in over the ear headphones that pretty much fixed my head into position on the head rest before the machine slid me into the MRI machine. The ceiling of the room were panels of blue sky and clouds. As the platform I was lying on slid into the MRI machine, the blue sky disappeared, and I was in this white, brightly lit cavern. 

The radio started playing. She asked if I just wanted to listen to the machine, and initially I thought to myself why anyone would want to do that. But while in it, I did wonder perhaps it would be more meditative to just meditate to the sound of the MRI whirring, clanking and banging instead of pop music interrupted by the occasional radio DJ introducing the songs. 

I had been feeling anxious before. Weeks have gone by since I've experienced head aches, particularly bad on my right temple. I first noticed them in March, but it went away. Then it came back in July or so, when I was in close contact with someone I learned caught covid, even though I never developed full on covid (tested numerous times). We're the headaches a symptom of covid or something else?

 The headaches really affect my ability to think or focus, and makes me cranky sometimes. It really has been bothering me, and worrying me. So I took up the therapist's advice and got seen by the doctor, who suggested I do a brain MRI.  Just to rule out anything nasty or severe. Like a tumour. 

The machine continued whirring. It would stop and everything would go silent for a bit until another sound, each time different, would start. I just imagined that the magnetic coils or whatnot is spinning rapidly and making that intense sound. It was terrifying at times, and I felt I could not breathe. I had rested my arms on the platform that I was asked to lie on, and suddenly, out of nowhere I felt such discomfort on the joints area that was touching the platform. I just felt such discomfort and unease. Nauseated even.

As soon as the platform entered the cavern with me lying there, I could not help but think of my dear, brave mother. I could not but see images of being with her at the hospital, doing all those scans with her (...how many did she have to do on her own?) all those years ago.12 plus years to be exact. 

I thought doing the MRI would affect me. But I had no idea it would affect me so badly. I just feel utterly exhausted from the experience.

What went through her mind when she did it all those years ago? Was I there to comfort her, to hold her hand afterwards? What did I say to her after each visit? Did I treat her to something nice so she could forget the ordeal? How did she feel?

The tears wallowed in my eyes. I held them back, but I could feel them. The loud sound of the machine triggered something deep , deep inside I did not realise was there. Just beneath the surface. There is still a lot of painful , traumatic, unpleasant memories that I did not realise were still so raw underneath my smiles.

Mum is of course long long gone, she suffers no more. Her own memories of the ordeals she underwent are nothing more in this universe. She has transcended all that, all the suffering, the noise, the terrors of MRI scans.

But I got up and left the hospital shattered. Feeling like I had seen a ghost. Ghost of the past. 

The magpie crossed my path, and our eyes just locked. It started at me for several moments, for what seemed like eternity. Were it not for the lady behind me approaching, I think we would have just stayed staring.

It cocked it's head sideways. Its red eyes sharp and judgmental as it stated at me intensely, as if asking me "why are you sad?"

Why am I sad?

Fourteen to forty

 

Just returned from Brisbane, where I met up with a friend (one I made on a recent 3day biking trip), and caught an evening theatre production of the autobiographical play Fourteen. An beautiful, moving play set in the late 1990s of a smalltown gay teen faced with daily bullying and abuse at school. With throwback tunes of JLo, Shania and the Vengaboys. It was pure nostalgia, even though I was fortunate not to have experienced the same kind of horrendous abuse at school. There were so many moving moments, especially scenes with his supportive mother, and siblings, that made me tear up.

At fourteen, I was a shy, pimply kid. Living alone, and to some living the dream as I did not have any parent or adult around. But it was a really lonely existence, and, like the main character, beginning to discover my own sexuality. Between Moby and Savage Garden, and discovering my love of Elton and the beautiful songs of the 1980s, I was a dreamer. Though not abused at school, I was reeling from abuse during my childhood, and only coming to terms with it through library books on self help. 

They say the teenage years are formative years. They can break you or make you stronger. Flirtations with suicide are common in those confusing years. Having this dark feeling when standing on the platform and seeing an oncoming train. Or sudden thoughts of "what if" I ran a light in oncoming traffic. Those thoughts have long, long disappeared, thank goodness.

But those of us who are strong (and certainly in the 1990s, as compared to some teens today, many were perhaps much more resilient and able to withstand the tests of social anxiety, peer pressure, family troubles) matured and came of age in the hopeful 2000s (...the fall of the Twin Towers was however a period of global uncertainty and anxiety). The following years, looking back now, seem like a dream. 

And I would not have it any other way, for I know I have been able to live a comfortable, perhaps even privileged life with opportunities for travel, to meet good, kind people, and for learning and work that I would have never imagined at fourteen. I would not have it any other way, even through those very dark, difficult and painful years in the lead up to dear, brave mum's passing, which was almost exactly 12 years ago.

From fourteen to forty (this year), it seemed to all go by in a flash.

Is that a good thing? 

I can only imagine so.

Before the show, I met up with a Kiwi I met on a recent trip along the spectacular Brisbane Valley Rail Trail. We just seemed to hit it off, and biked a few hours together. Through just pristine outback terrain and cattle country, we biked and talked, and just somehow bonded. I'm glad we stayed in touch, and feel this is a good friendship that may blossom.

We are similar in age, and have many similar interests (in biking and exploring the world), and like me, she took a chance and packed up her stable life back home to try her luck in Australia. Of course, NZ is closer, and the countries are similar, but still, it does (as I said to her) take a lot of strength and courage to do what we have done, especially at an age  when the 'convention' is to settle down, get a family, mortgage and just work till retirement.

But we seem to want more. People like us seem to have this sense of adventure and are not afraid of venturing out because we know that (against the frowning judgemental voices around us) if we do not do this, we would/most likely will regret it later in life.

If we do not pursue this strange lure of the unknown and foreign, and leave behind the comforts and familiarity of our settled lives, how can we ever grow? I remember just before coming to Australia, a friend asked me what I'm doing. "You're just throwing away everything and going on an extended holiday!"

Of course, it's all a big gamble, and I don't know what will come out of moving here after 10+yrs at my old job (in which I felt I had long plateaued in) to pursue this doctorate degree.

But I don't have regrets. I'm seeing more of the world. I'm learning how it is to live in the southern hemisphere, what it means to be "Aussie". And where else can you just bike and encounter kangaroos staring back at you?

Homeward bound

 

BR 315, 11.27 TPE time, somewhere above Okinawa in the Western Pacific. The end of a two week trip to Seoul, and then Taiwan. The first few days were spent exploring a bit of Seoul, which I must admit I enjoyed much more than I thought I would. Lots of biking around, and explored the old royal palace by foot. There are many things that reminded me of Taipei, especially the cityscape, and were it not for the different Korean written script, I swear I could feel like I was in Taipei.

What brought me to Seoul was a two day workshop on exploring the nexus between space and nuclear escalation. Poignant topic, especially given the heightened tensions on the Korean Peninsula, but also some attention was directed at the Taiwan Strait. I was invited as a legal expert, and it is really thanks to a former student of mine that I had this opportunity to travel and speak. It really was a prestigious opportunity, especially as it was in part hosted by the UN. It also gave me the opportunity to meet up with two former students from six years ago. It’s heartening to know and hear from them how much of a positive impact, and dare I say influence, I had on their studies. As I told them, I really didn’t do much else, and I was happy to make a little difference.

Honestly, when I was invited over a month ago,  I was quite nervous. Why me, I thought to myself. What do I have to say or contribute to the discussions amongst these other experts and government officials? I remember waking up in Elliston next to B. that day just after the new year, and being delighted initially at the prospects of an expenses paid trip to South Korea (…and our inside terrible running joke about ttsongul). But then what crossed my mind was whether I was capable. It took me another 10 days or so before I had the courage to write back and accept the offer to speak.

And it went very well. I was prepared, articulate, and could chime in the discussions and provide (I think) good input and ideas that stimulated discussions. My former student, who was part of the organising panel told me they really enjoyed my company and presence. It was encouraging to hear that.

The day the workshop ended, I headed to Taiwan. It was always my plan, as the very next day was my birthday. The big four zero. A few months ago, I was just dreading what I would be doing, the stars somehow aligned and this trip came, which allowed me to plan a trip back to Taiwan. I really wanted to see my parents on the day of my birthday, and that’s what I did, which was really unplanned and seemed that it was meant to be.

It was not as emotional a visit to Jinshan as I imagined it to be. Two of my cousins took a day off from their work, and drove /accompanied me to the mountains. I think their presence was calming and was a big help as normally I would have been frantically running up and down, trying to wash fruits, lay out goodies and getting ready for the offering ceremony. My cousins accompanied me to see both mum and dad, and I stood there quietly, silently wishing, as I always do, that they are well, and that they will watch over and bless my brother, his family, and all our relatives… that always makes my eyes water. Even after 16 (dad) and 12 (mum) years, the emotions are still very raw. Little memories, little moments in my mind still make the dam of my eyes break, and this intense feeling of longing well up from deep inside.

This has been an emotional trip. After seeing my parents, I went to stay in Tainan overnight and biked around a bit around Anping before heading to Chiayi. What followed was several days of nostalgia and memories.

I don’t know what overcame me. I was so emotional and overwhelmed that everyday, I would well up and cry. The main trigger was seeing “small” uncle on dad’s side. I knew he was confined to a home and a wheelchair for some time, as  the last time I was in Taiwan (in November/December 2022, for “big” uncle’s funeral), small uncle was already in a home. I wanted to go see him, but I could not as there was a COVID outbreak on his floor, and so he was confined (this was just after Taiwan fully cleared mandatory COVID restrictions, being one of the later countries to do so). So I videochatted with him through LINE. He seemed aloof, not fully there.

Then throughout the past year or so, in the family group chat, other relatives would post pictures of his in a wheelchair, sometimes scratchy the lottery, sometimes out somewhere (never really far), as he is now fully dependent on others for his mobility. He gaze always looked like he was absent, not really looking into the camera (but then again, he never really smiled or looked happy. This is worse).

When I saw him finally, I think that broke me. I had not been in touch, or responded much to family chats, not even reacting to photos. Seeing him, being confronted with the reality of his situation moved me so.

He is always the uncle I visited whenenver I want to Chiayi. The uncle who, when I was a child, would take me out, take me to go to the train station to go train spotting, and later, when I could ride a bike, we had a regular route of YuanFu Temple (where grandma’s remains are put to rest), the park for 10NTD per song karaoke (later, the Senior’s Centre, where karaoke is free). It was a regular, predictable routine. On certain days, “big aunt” or my cousin would suggest going somewhere further, like Beigang or the mountains for a drive or to eat something. Little things, but over the years, they added up and are memories in my mind.

He has always been the uncle who lived at the same address as the former ramshackle two storied shack where grandma and grandpa raised six kids (though the house has been built up and modernised). He was the uncle who ate almost the same things, and lived his own life, and known for his temperaments. But he is the same uncle who somehow of all the relatives, is close to me, and even helped me financially to purchase furniture for my first home in Toronto.

On the first visit, big aunt, cousin and  I wheeled uncle out to the nearby plaza of the new Chiayi Art Museum, and then we went to have turkey rice. When we sat down and waited for our food, he took out a red envelop with quite a bit of money. I just welled up and cried. I just couldn’t control it. Later on, as I was saying goodbye, big aunt would also take out a red envelop and stuff it in my hand. Making me cry again.

I don’t know what it is. It’s love. It’s the affinity you feel with relatives, a bond that you cannot describe but can only feel at these moments. My aunt told me later that small uncle also has the beginnings of Parkinson’s, which explains why he is twitching involuntarily at times (though he’s still able to hold utensils and feed himself). She also said that a cousin, the one who comes after me, whose father’s funeral I attended just over a year ago, apparently tried to take advantage of our uncle’s state and steal money. Apparently, some 2mNTD is missing, as far as they know. That adds to the pain and sadness I feel. That cousin even tried to get our uncle to adopt him, a mere three months after his own father passed.

What would possess a person to do that, to just see and covet money at all costs? I thought I found an ally, as he too is gay (and last time, I even stayed at his house, where he lives with his partner. I don’t know if they are still together). Now he has been, obviously, ostracised and relations have soured bitterly. Worse thing, he is a policeman. An enforcer of the law, a public servant, yet one that can engage in such despicable acts of malice and greed. I don’t know if my relatives, particularly my uncle, would want to pursue this legally, as certainly as soon as this gets out, our cousin will lose his career and face prosecution.

I did think, a few years ago, how nice that he seemed to be spending more time with our uncle.  And back in 2019, when uncle was still able to walk and travel, that cousin took uncle to the US and Europe. He later tried to use photos from that trip as evidence of how close he and our uncle is. Perhaps he does not know that my relationship, my history with our uncle goes back much further. And that we are much closer (even though I have been more distant, especially in those years of the pandemic, when I was unable to travel much).

I spent more time with my uncle, the last time, I took him to the train station, where we watched trains. It was as if it was meant to be, as just as we walked in, the Alishan rail was just about to depart, and a commuter train with the “Love Taiwan 2024” aboriginal livery (that got criticised for looking like beetle nut spit) was parked there. We just stood (he sat in his wheelchair) on the platform a while, and a push-pull Tse-Tsiang Express headed to Qidu pulled up, and slowly pulled away. Neither of us said anything. But I captured that moment on video, and I remembered something dad had said to mum, and mum later told me, when they once went to Jinshan. As mum and dad were getting off the bus, dad said, “When it’s time, we all have to get off”. I sent the video to big aunt, recounting what dad had once said. Dad got off far too early.

I must have cried more silently as I biked from relative to relative, listening to stories being recounted, listening to how things were with dad and mum. Stories I cherish, for for those little moments again alive in our minds and memories. Those stories make me learn more about them, things that I no longer have a chance to learn about or know. And that is truly beautiful.

While in Chiayi, I stayed with ‘small’ aunt’s place, like I usually would when I am back, and always I’m overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity shown to me. I also visited mum’s step mum in a home, and she seems to be much better, even though her mind is slowly slipping. She is after all 92, and has the beginnings of dementia. She now sometimes says the strangest things, such as the fact that she had to fly on a place from the 5^th to the 3^rd floor to sleep one night, and that she couldn’t sleep as her bed was full of ants.

 

 Also there with grandma, despite the smiles and laughs, I deep down feel a tinge of sadness about how quickly they have deteriorated, and perhaps soon she too will leave this world.

These things are inevitable, of course. I know it. I know it through experience, as mum and dad have already departed, and it has already been over a decade since. I cannot fathom that it has been so long, and that I have also been growing older. I think part of being so overwhelmed and triggered by the sight of  my uncle, grandma and other relatives, is the fact that I am too reminded of my own fragility and mortality. And I do wonder sometimes, what am I doing? Is it enough what I am doing in my life?

It came to my mind that perhaps I would like to spend a few months in Taiwan this year. Not that I can do much. But perhaps (if my university allows it), I could be around at least to see my uncle in particular, and just spend a bit of time with him. Before it’s too late. Not for personal gain or because I want anything. As I told big aunt and my cousin, I haven’t done much or spent much time with dad, but perhaps I could do something for my uncle, as we are all relatives. He has always been so kind to me, so generous as well, not asking for anything. What is spending some time with him, when he is not in a good state and deteriorating?

I know, I have my own life to lead, my own future to plan. But if I could combine working on my PhD and being there, just making a little difference to the quality of life of someone dear,  why not?