bound for Canada

16 July 2025

JL 56 

NRT-ORD

It was such a beautiful day, clear and the sun beat down heavily already at 8am when I was checking in. Upon leaving, I was rewarded with the view of northern Taiwan, the mouth of the Danshui River, the Yangming mountains at the foothills of which I grew up, and also the Jinshan area, where I could just about make out the temple complex where mum and dad are resting. 

Taiwan looks beautiful, it is beautiful. As I looked at the calm of the Taiwan Strait below, I wondered whether (or perhaps when...) this would be the scene of an invading enemy force. This beauty, is it lasting? Could it all be just wiped away in the blink of an eye due to the mania and obsession of a dictator and despicable regime? What untold suffering and pain would the people of this beautiful island have to endure...? What awaits their lot in life, and in history?

These thoughts do creep up on me as I walk/bike the streets of Taiwan. In the faces of its warm, kind-hearted people, I shudder to see the lurking shadow of the terrible torment and ruin that may one day be. In the lives of my relatives and loved ones in Chiayi, a part of me wonders whether the time I say goodbye may very well be the very last time... 

Things are changing and happening quickly. NATO has declared China a threat. The Philippines, Japan, and the US are performing drills (allegedly in Australia) to counter China. Australia is being forced to take a stand, even though the wishy-washy Albanese while visiting China has declined to make any affirmative comment on whether Australia will ever be involved in a Taiwan contingency. Time is ticking. It's already mid 2025. The projection of an eventuality may be 2026l7, just before current president Trump, who has been fearlessly undertaking drastic measures in all fronts to isolate and cut China off. What is going to happen...? 

Where should I be? 

What would my role be?

Will I see my homeland again, and will I continue to enjoy the freedom of just dropping in to visit my relatives on a whim, like I have done for so many decades? 

This time around, I mainly wanted to see grandma (mum's step mum). For months now, I've been receiving news that she's not well, and about to pass. Which may be true, as she is already 93 and in a care home. She recognised me when I visited, twice in this short week. 

"You have such heart! (有心)", she said to me when she saw me. "It's expensive to fly from overseas". It was the first time I saw her since she had a nasal feeding tube installed. It means she's no longer eating. How awful that is. And her hands have these big gloves around them, to stop her from scratching herself, but I think mainly to stop her from taking the feeding tube out. I hear it's very uncomfortable, but for some reason it's what is commonly done in Taiwan. The old lady directly in front of Gran (she shares with 3 others a room) has had a feeding tube as long as I've been visiting that "care" home. I put care, as they really are just doing things to keep them alive, as from what I can see, there is little quality of life. They are being kept alive, and not living their lives, as a cousin of mine said (過活，不是過生活).

We (a cousin, an auntie and an uncle the first day, and then two of my cousins the second time I went) took her down in a wheelchair. The mp3 player I bought her back in early 2024 is still there, and we played Japanese songs. Granma would Bob her head to the tunes, even hum and sing along a bit. 

Mentally, she's there. In between moments of confusion from Alzheimer's, she's still able to recount moments in the past. Her questions show her curiosity, and also how much or how little she remembers. For example, she remembered I lived abroad, even said Holland. But she asked where my mum was... At one point, she told one of the cousins (the one who used to go help her clean her house and help around the kitchen around new years or big festivals) what there is in the fridge, and what to take out to get to room temperature before cooking. It's bitter, and sweet to see that interaction. And then she would descend into this confused state, and tell us it's already very late, even though it was 3pm, and still very bright out. 

What does that feel like? The confusing? The foggy memory, muddling through and unable to tell what is "real" and what was a memory, a thought, a premonition? Is it frightening? Does it fill the person with remorse knowing that at one point, they were able to do, think, speak as they wished, and yet now they are confined to a bed most of the time, with diapers and a urinary bag? How is that to be strapped to the bed by the staff to prevent them from wandering off (really, it's to minimise risk and liability)?

What a retched existence! What a way to end life, with this tube in your nose, to be nourished and kept alive through the nose and staring at the ceiling most of the days, unless some relative happens to drop by...

I remember a few years ago, when she first went in, granma was still able to walk. At least with her wheelchair. Once when I was leaving, and not sure when I'd be back, she walked me to the elevators, and said "Next time I may not be here when you come visit..." She knew what she was saying. At the time, she had been just admitted to the home after attempting to take her own life, after repeated failed attempts to have a carer go live with her. She was terribly upset that she was sent there, and said the carers were unpleasant and didnt feed her. Whether that is true or not is another matter...

 It's been around 5 years now I've not seen her walk. Her legs have probably lost the ability to walk. She has definitely shriveled and lost a lot of weight. Besides her wrinkles, and old people spots/tags on her face, she was like a child... Do we just revert to a childlike innocent phase unable to know or tell what is real and what is fiction as we decline and shrivel up?

I left her, as she said she was very tired and wanted to sleep. I suspected that may be the last time I will see her. I have that image of her in my mind... But I didn't have a chance to really feel what I was feeling (or thought I would be feeling). Especially as I was with other people, and the hum and buzz of our own lives took over as soon as we left the gates of the "care" home. 

It was that intense for about three days. Besides granma, I also went to visit my (paternal, the "little") uncle three times during my stay there. He's not in better shape, especially physically as he's been confined to a wheelchair for most of the past 5 years (pretty much since the pandemic in 2020 that spread from Wuhan, China). With occasional bouts in and out of hospital, he's at another home that's close to the Chiayi railway station. 

Uncle's mind slowly degenerating, as his brain was affected by a stroke he had. It triggered the onset of Parkinson's, which causes involuntary bodily movements. They've shaved his head, even though he had a head of hair, still very dark for his age. Like dad, who had a head of hair, and their dad before them. But at the home, they shave the residents because, I imagine, it's easier to clean and maintain, and prevents the spread disease. 

When you go into a place like that, you lose your autonomy, you lose your freedom, you also slowly lose your dignity. It's as if you go in, and you're just waiting to die. What a very depressing thought that people end their lives in such a place, surrounded by many other strangers who are infirm, barely conscious, and perhaps full of lament and misery...

The staff are kind (at least at the home my uncle is in) but they too are limited by what they are able to do and offer, which is often just a bit more than the minimum to sustain their lives and well-being. I fault more the system for treating the aged and infirm this way, for the staff can only offer what support they can with the resources they have. Some do go the extra mile, like the head nurse in uncle's floor, who plays and jokes with the residents. There are still those with a kind heart and humanity to see the residents as people, not just as patients or skeletons waiting to pass... 

One day, I did take uncle out in a mobility taxi. Originally, I intended to take him to where grandma and grandpa are resting, but the place was closed to the public to mark the birth of the Bodhisattva. Instead, we went to another temple that I know is accessible for people in wheelchairs.

And we just happened to be there at the same time as vice president Hsiao, who was visiting the area to donate blood and oversee the clean up efforts post typhoon Danas. What a coincidence. Thanks to my uncle, people let us through and even to the very first row to watch performances and speeches. We sat just metres away from the vice president, mayor, county mayor and other dignitaries. 

It was hard to imagine, that my uncle and I, simple civilians were able to be so close to the second in command of Taiwan, who herself dressed so simply in sneakers and spoke in Taiwanese. There was not the least a sense of grandeur or the feeling that she was superior to us, or that the common people are riffraff to be kept at bay. It was an inspiring and spectacular experience, which showed the maturity of this society and democracy that commoners can be seated so closely to people in power. It is the people who put them in power, and this should be the case that they are on par with the people they represent. 

The usual heaviness of leaving Taiwan was countered by the excitement of another plane journey. An unexpected one that I've been planning (by frantically looking for award tickets and considering all the possible options). Fortunately, I was able to get a Premium Economy redemption through AA on mostly JAL from Tpe-nrt-ord-yyz on one ticket. Instead of having a stopover in Chicago and/or Tokyo, this was a through ticket, though it does involve 24+hrs of being on the road /in the sky.