Home again

I spread out my arms, and felt like I was soaring! High, flying adored, on my bike I have missed much in the past two months. The sea fell on my lips, and air wafted through my hair. A kind of freedom and relief rarely felt, yet whenever felt rejuvenates. Speed flew past my ears with the wind, as I pedalled swiftly through the night. A cool breeze, a starry night, the night before my last day in the Netherlands.

It felt a bit strange to be home again, even stranger with the knowledge that within the next 24 hours I will be packing up and leaving again. Home had somehow become a sort of stop-over, between one destination and another, from one place in life to another. Ironic, since home is supposed to be a place you return to after a long journey and rest. But there is no rest for me, not now.

My cat greeted me at the door as I entered. She sat and watched me, turned her head sideways, adorably as if to say that she recognised me, but that it has been much too long. Yet, the two months in Barcelona was just the beginning. Coming Monday will be the start of a new era in my life, a real move out of the house I have been living in, or at least been going back to, for the past ten years.

It is with strange feelings that I now sit in my own room, knowing that the day after tomorrow this room will no longer be my room, but just a room like so many I have, or am about to, grace.

Goodbye Barcelona

The final few hours, in Barcelona. My home for the last two months, my home for the Summer of 2008. And now so soon, it all seems to come to an end.

So much has happened in the past few weeks, in so little time, that I wish I could try to capture it all in words. Now I am about to leave with mixed feelings. Exhausted most of all, but at the same time overjoyed that I have graduated from a highly-respected University. Tired most of all, but at the same time anxious what ample opportunities in the great wide space out there.

Barcelona, thank you for the great times, the moments of tension, the moments of laughter, friendship, and harwork. Thank you for the beauty in your narrow alleyways, for the beauty of your citylife, and for the excitement and liveliness you have brought into our lives.



BARCELONA

Barcelona Barcelona
Barcelona Barcelona
Viva

I had this perfect dream
-Un sueño me envolvió
This dream was me and you
-Tal vez estás aquí
I want all the world to see
-Un instinto me guiaba
A miracle sensation
My guide and inspiration
Now my dream is slowly coming true

The wind is a gentle breeze
-Él me hablo de ti
The bells are ringing out
-El canto vuela
They're calling us together
Guiding us forever
Wish my dream would never go away

Barcelona - It was the first time that we met
Barcelona - How can I forget
The moment that you stepped into the room you took my breath away
Barcelona - La música vibró
Barcelona - Y ella nos unió
And if God willing we will meet again someday

Let the songs begin
-Déjalo nacer
Let the music play
-Ahhhhhhhh...
Make the voices sing
-Nace un gran amor
Start the celebration
-Ven a mí
And cry
-Grita
Come alive
-Vive
And shake the foundations from the skies
Ah,Ah,Shaking all our lives

Barcelona - Such a beautiful horizon
Barcelona - Like a jewel in the sun
Por ti seré gaviota de tu bella mar
Barcelona - Suenan las campanas
Barcelona - Abre tus puertas al mundo
If God is willing
-If God is willing
If God is willing
Friends until the end
Viva - Barcelona

Hours before the presentation

In a few hours, it will all be almost over. A presentation still needs to be done, but at least the vast majority of deadlines, assignments, assessments and lectures are all over. A sigh of relief, but not just yet.

It is interesting in a group of people how quickly you see people's true nature. Though we are supposed to be in a group project, it appears to be always the same people who show up at meetings, the same people who go to bed late, and always the same people who do the writing, the administrative work, and who try to get everyone else organised! And I happen to be one of these people.

Not that I am complaining, but sometimes you ask yourself and wonder: where are all the rest? Why are they not involved? Why do they get the same assessment as me, when they have done almost nothing at all?

I do enjoy what I have been doing for the past few weeks. We are involved in such a historic prjoect that could potentially change the way the world thinks about space activities. I mean this is why I chose this project, and why I volunteer myself to do whatever I can to make it however better it can be. Because I believe in space, and its ability to bring people together. When we humankind discover what possibilities are out there that overshadow the pettiness of nationalism, greed, indifference and intolerance, then we will realise that we need unity, peace and understanding of one another. In space, we realise how lonely we are, and realise the ugliness of our small feuds and discontents.

Tomorrow, the project will be presented and delivered, and it will be over for us. But a new age has just begun. If not, then at least for me.

Politicisation of flags

I am not really sure how I got embroiled in a political conflict, here at tmy summer school of space studies. I am at an institution founded on top-class education based on international exchange and intercultural understanding. But somehow the issue of my Taiwanese nationality has become an issue of debate. Unhappily so.

It all began as we were entering our final preparation stage for the report due next week. Historically, because the team compiling the report consists of dozens of people from all over the world, the tradition is that on the back cover there is a list of names, with next to the names the flag of the country where the person comes from. There have been incidences where people who have two nationalities have two flags next to their name.

So I do have dual-nationality, and like everyone who has the right to have both his/her country represented, I asked the person responsible for designing the cover to include the Dutch and Taiwanese flag.

Then came the email. From a fellow Chinese student who protested against the inclusion of Taiwan or the Taiwan flag in the flag. As if echoing the speech of an official from the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, this issue (before I realised it became an issue at all!) became labelled as a "serious matter".

So I took steps to stop things going any further. Believe me, the last thing I want is to be in the middle of a debate about sovereignty and never-ending "Taiwan-is-a-part-of-China" claim. It is simply futile and does not get anywhere. I wrote a very diplomatic and carefully phrased email to our programme director, requesting that he clarify the issue, and I cc-ed the email to people in our team, thinking they should be informed about the latest development in this very unpredicted protest from our Chinese colleague(s).

Hours later, I was spoken to by the chair. Though it was right to refer the matter to the director, and though the Chinese student had no right to decide what goes in or out of the final group report, it was a terrible mistake for me to cc the email to everyone. It was escalating things further, and putting the matter on the public forum, I was told.

I came away from that meeting somewhat disheartened. I am not sure what I had done to provoke anything, and if I did do anything (like write that email and send it to everyone) then it was only because I wanted the input from a neutral party with the authority to decide on such matters of controversy. And somehow the issue has come back to bite me, and I've made a number of people irritated.

It is funny.... even at an academic institution of learning and international cooperation, that politics can raise its ugly head and wreak discord and sow upset. All because of a flag... all because certain people cannot tolerate dissent or another opinion, and feels the need to shoot down all semblances of what has so often been labelled "splitting the Motherland" or "subversion".

And all I wanted was to be represented. All what I wanted was to be represented fully like everyone else has a right to. I am Taiwanese and Dutch, and those are my identities, those are the cultures and countries that have shaped me. Am I to deny that because someone else protests?

Once again, the politicization of everyday mundane things unveals its ugliness.

Go Andorra

I guess my friends and I were just fed up. Fed up with meetings that last hours but do not really get anywhere. Fed up with having to sacrfice Saturdays and Sundays to have discussions and work almost constantly day and night. Of course we all know that the project we are involved in is extremely important, and may even have an impact on the future of space activities, but we all needed a break!

So we silently sneaked out of our dorms on Sunday morning, and headed quickly towards the bus station. We booked a place, and the bus to get there, within an hour or so of deciding that we should take a short trip to get away from it all. Andorra awaited.

The bus journey to the mini-state lodged between France and Spain was uneventful, mostly because we were all dead-exhausted from lack of sleep and overload of work in the past few days. The day earlier, we had spent almost ten hours of non-stop meetings, and tensions between certain people in the group were running high. It was somewhat unpleasant to be there, and I could feel people getting really stressed and demotivated. So I slept almost the complete three hour journey from Barcelona to Andorra, only waking up at times to catch a glimpse of the scenery outside.

Mountains, blue water reflecting the sky, majestic rock formations, wooded landscapes... Catalunya is really such a diverse and magical land, with such much to explore and discover. It seemed like every turn of the bus revealed a new lands waiting to be discovered, towering tops of mountains, blended with gorgeous valleys and plains. Eventually, we arrived in Andorra, crossing the border with ease, and we were in another country.

The main city is located between soaring mountains in a way that it sometimes felt claustrophobic. There are only a few streets, and the main avenue was a shoppers paradise, filled with designer clothes, cheap electronics and ridiculously cheap cigarettes and liquer, because Andorra is a low-tax heaven. Most of the cars were Spanish or French, which shows how popular the country is. I felt a bit trapped, and wanted to get away into nature, but I didn't have much of a chance.

But it was nice to be with two people I could get to know better, and I think a shared experience like a road-trip, especially when sharing a room when the snore of another is so very close, really brings people together. We walked around the shops somewhat, and even had a chance to climb up half the mountain. Most relaxing of all was enjoying a long, long soak in the local thermal spa, which softened our bones and muscles after the past eight weeks of intense work and stress. I slept so surprisingly well, and did not get up until half an hour or so before we had to check out of the room!

I felt refreshed and rejuvenated returning to my little room in the middle of the heat of Barcelona. And I felt a little guilty too, especially since most of the group of people I'm doing this project with were here, slaving away... But sometimes you just need to get away to get some perspective. And get away to be free.

Game on!

Have you seen the latest Coca Cola cans? It bears the Olympic rings, and printed on one side are the Chinese characters for the world’s favourite soft drink. Another example of how the world has become drunk with the Beijing Olympics.

But have you read the latest reports of crackdowns on Free Tibet supporters just moments after Mr. Bush called upon China to reform, or the wave of bombings and deaths in the Uighur province of Western China? And do you know about the ‘unexplained’ disappearances of Chinese democracy activists, or the clean-up operation to rid the streets of Beijing of beggars, prostitutes and other ‘unwanteds’? Amid the pictures and broadcasts of the and glitz of the Opening Ceremony in Beijing is the sad overshadowing of China’s continuing violation of fundamental human rights. Sad states of affairs, which the International Olympic Committee (IOC) or leaders like Mr. Sarkozy would sooner want to forget.

Sports should not be mixed with politics, as the IOC has repeated told the rest of the world. But wait… how could the IOC take a very political decision to ban (then) Apartheid South Africa from the Olympic Games, yet fail so miserably to voice its opinion on the human rights situation in one of the biggest violator of human rights in the world today? Sure, sports has nothing to do with politics. Hitler would today scoff at this, for he had successfully shown off the new prowess of Nazi Germany during the 1936 Olympics, while openly hiding the effects of anti-Semitic laws, and discrimination against homosexuals and other races. And why is Taiwan not allowed to compete under its own name, but must be repeatedly degraded and humiliated under the title of “Chinese Taipei”? And if sports had nothing to do with politics, then why did 61 States boycott the 1980 Moscow Olympics after the Russian invasion of Afghanistan?

The Olympic Games is being openly used by the Chinese Communist Party to justify and legalise its oppressive regime in China. It is being used to trump the Party’s successes, and sideline the internal pressures of an increasingly unequal society, and the rampant practices of corrupt officials. The Games are openly being promoted as China’s “coming out party”, after which China can join the world as a responsible and equal power. Yet, no State in the world deserves any respect or recognition as a world power, however virulent its economic might is, when it does not respect the fundamental freedoms and basic human rights of its own people.

“From the outset, Chinese leaders saw the games as a chance to boost China's image, to redefine it as a worthy, humane global partner - and not a menacing behemoth. Ordinary Chinese thought it a ripe opportunity to mark the tremendous strides made in casting off poverty and totalitarianism and building the fourth-largest economy in the space of a generation.

In their bid for the Olympics seven years ago, Beijing officials said the games would increase interaction with the international community and spur improvements in human rights and media freedom. The Chinese government called on party image-makers to devise ways to appeal to foreigners and on officials to stoke popular enthusiasm at home. "Integrate with the world" became a catch-phrase.”

Yet, various independent human rights and press monitoring organisations have observed a noticeable decline in freedoms in the run-up to the Games.

Reporters Without Borders writes:

“When the International Olympic Committee assigned the 2008 summer Olympic Games to Beijing on 13 July 2001, the Chinese police were intensifying a crackdown on subversive elements, including Internet users and journalists. Seven years later, nothing has changed. But despite the absence of any significant progress in free speech and human rights in China, the IOC’s members continue to turn a deaf ear to repeated appeals from international organisations that condemn the scale of the repression.

[…]The repression of journalists and cyber-dissidents has not let up in the past seven years. Everything suggests that it is going to continue. The IOC has given the Chinese government a job that it is going to carry out with zeal - the job of “organising secure Olympic Games.” For the government, this means more arrests of dissidents, more censorship and no social protest movements.”

And Human Rights Watch comments:

“The Chinese government and the International Olympic Committee have had seven years to deliver on their pledges that these games would further human rights. Instead, the Beijing Games have prompted a rollback in some of the most basic rights enshrined in China’s constitution and international law”

I was strongly opposed to the awarding of the Olympics to China back in 2001. I have repeatedly expressed disbelief in the fact that the IOC can overlook the bids of world-class cities like Paris, Osaka and Toronto in favour of China’s severely polluted capital Beijing. It was simply self-delusion then to believe that the Olympics would improve, or change in any shape or form to say the least, the human rights situation in China. In fact, the Olympics were awarded based on the promise that China would commit to improving the fundamental freedoms of its people, yet seven years on, the country is just as, if not in some ways even more repressive, as ever.

And so Amnesty International reports solemnly a few days earlier that:

“In fact, the crackdown on human rights defenders, journalists and lawyers has intensified because Beijing is hosting the Olympics. The authorities have stepped up repression of dissident voices in their efforts to present an image of “stability” and “harmony” to the outside world. This has resulted in the detention and imprisonment of those who wish to draw attention to the other side of the picture, which includes human rights violations perpetrated in preparation for the Games.

[…] However, the IOC has shown a reluctance to follow up on such statements and speak out on human rights in the context of the preparations for the Games in a more specific, consistent and forceful way. Amnesty International believes it is not appropriate to publicly refer to progress in certain areas, while ignoring a marked deterioration in others. […]

The IOC’s diplomatic, non-public approach on human rights cases and issues does not appear to have yielded significant results. International pressure from other governments for human rights reform has also been insufficient, sending a message that it is acceptable for a government to host the Olympic Games in an atmosphere characterised by repression and persecution. The danger now becomes that after the Olympic Games these patterns of serious human rights violations may continue or intensify with even less attention paid by the international community than has been the case so far.”

In the light of the glorious and wonderful Games in Beijing, here is the “Top Ten List of Possible New Events the Chinese Might Want to Include in the XXIX Olympiad”:

10. Synchronized Waterboarding.

9. The Barbed-Wire High Hurdles.

8. The Tibetan Monk Toss.

7. Starving Doberman Obstacle Relay.

6. Speed Wheezing.

5. The Re-Education Spiky Bamboo Pit Leap.

4. The Beach Border Minefield Crawl.

3. The Twelve-Year-Old Factory Worker Pee Hold Marathon.

2. Rhythmic Baton.

1. The Baby-Girl Bayonet Stack.

Game on.

Oppression, crackdown, arrests and silencing media: 1
Openness, basic liberties and press freedom: 0

Space geeks

I don't think I have ever been with a bunch of people and felt comfortable making space jokes, or talking loudly about warp drive and Star Trek-isms. And yet here I am, in Barcelona, with a hundred or so people who share a passion and interest with me about space, and the opportunities and visions that are out there beyond our little blue planet. It feels good to somehow find a belonging...

After a long week of many nights sleeping only two or three hours, after working on assignments and deadlines and attending lectures at the same time, finally it was a two day weekend where we have no activities planned! So I slept in today, and got up close to eleven, and headed to the city centre with some friends. We had breakfast in the central market, and I was in fruit heaven with all these delicious (and cheap!!) berries and melons and kiwis and exotic tropical fruits. Later we wandered aimlessly through the little alleyways of the old town, getting lost, and enjoying the fact that we had time on our hands and did not have to worry or think about being there at this minute or that minute.

In the evening we went out to the movies. I had heard good reviews about Pixar/Disney's latest animation Wall.E, but I was pleasantly surprised how sweet and education the movie was. There is not much conversation, and the protagonist is a rusty old recycling robot whose lines consist of 'beeps' and high pitched squeals. But Disney magic does it again, by capturing the very human soul and essence and putting it in the most unliekly characters, taking them through ups and downs, and resolving their despairs with a sweet release.

There is a lot to be learnt in Wall.E. The waste of the human species, the eventual doom and self-destructive path we are going down at this very moment. Funnily enough, the most human character was not the people in the movie, but two robots that you learn to love and love to learn from. And there were a lot of insider jokes and anedotes about space and space travel that made it the more special, especially since all I have been doing is space, space, space in the past five weeks! I left the movie theatre, feeling light and amused, and as we made the journey home, we joked and laughed at the things that only we space-geeks would understand and appreciate.

It felt good.

One small step...

First I was afraid. I was petrified. The water was deep, blue, but calm like a mirror, save for the splashes made by my fellow 'astronauts' testing their gears. I have swam in pools many, many times, but never with a ten kilo tank on my back, never with a mask, and never with regulator in my mouth. I bit on the plastic tightly, and tried to slowly adjust to breathing with my mouth. Pigeons dabbed their little feet along the side of the pool, as they drank and watched.

I had signed up for a programme in space studies, but who could have imagined that it would eventually lead to scuba-diving. As part of a departmental activity (might I add, the greatest and most exciting of all...) the whole class got to experience first-hand what it probably feels like doing an Extra Vehicular Activity . Diving under water you can simulate similar conditions that exist in the micro-gravity vacuum atmosphere of outer space, which includes difficulty in moving, slowed response time, the obstacle of having to breathe through an artificial environment, as well as impaired communication with your team members.

Our mission was to first have a crash course in diving, whereby we learned the basics of breathing through our mouths, deflating and inflating the vest to sink or rise, and also some basic hand signals so that we may communicate with others underwater. The extended mission was to repair a mock of the Hubble Space Telescope... actually nothing more than two bouys anchored at a depth of 5 metres, with various (re)movable bolts and devices and mock-up parts we needed to replace. Sounds easy, but add the above all the water of an Olympic-sized diving pool, as well as the excitment of being monitored throughout on our performance and teamwork. The pressure was not just that of all the water weighing down on you. And imagine what it must be like for the real astronauts that have to perform vital space walks... that deathly vastness of space around them, the deep emptiness beneath their feet, and the potential risks of long exposure to cosmic radiation or a tear in their suits...

Getting the scuba-diving gear on was easy. The difficulty was mastering it, and doing so underwater. You must learn to be 'one' with the equipment, as it is the thing that will keep you breathing and moving, and which you will need to get to the safety of the surface. I inhaled and exhaled hard through my mouth at first, feeling my lungs gasp as if I could not get air, and my mouth dry up with every breath I took and gave. My feet felt heavy and clumsy with the fins on them, and only after a series of trial-and-errors did I manage to get to grips on how to manouvre.

I choked a number of times, and felt my mouth become numb with the breathing and clenched teeth. But despite setbacks that made me just want to give up and get onshore, I was determined to prove to myself somehow that I could do this. So slowly I sank, and afraid too. Moments earlier, a classmate had to resurface quickly because the pressure at a depth underwater was simply unbearable for his ears, and it felt like his head was going to explode. Imagine flying for many hours, and then having to descend to the surface. That horrible stinging sensation and pain in the inner ear is caused by the sudden changes in atmospheric pressure, and this problem is experienced by divers too. The trick is to breathe out while holding your nose, so that you 'blow out' the inner ear. As I slowly sank, I held my nose a couple of times and blew, blew, and blew again. After a series of 'pops', my ears were adjusting to the denser atmosphere, and so it was safe to continue. I heaved and sighed at accomplishing the first daunting task, and looked up at all that water above my head. The sun's rays were bent and distorted, but was a constant reminder of the world I had descended from. Big clear bubbles brushed against my goggles as they vented out of my mouth each time I exhaled. My teeth remained tightly clenched, so much so it hurt my jaw, a little afraid that if I lost my regulator, I would start to panic. And the worst thing you can do at such depths is to panic! I watched my breath, in and out, in and out, the way I had leant in meditation. And after a while, the breathing just seemed to take on a life and regularity of its own... in and out, in and out...

My three teammates and I proceeded to our target, and began our clearly outlined tasks. One person maintained the protocol, while another held onto a bag containing tools. One person wore big gloves to work on the exterior bolts, while I wore thin gloves to do the more detailed work. We worked together, as a team, perhaps bonded together by a common anxiety at first, but also by the fact that we had a mission to accomplish. Occassionally we gave one another a signal to communicate how we were doing, and those dozen or so minutes underwater went by quickly. When one person had difficulty with a task, the others would spring in to assist.

My main task was to unscrew a tight bolt and fix a wooden chip on one of the buoys. I held the wrench, but it was hard to turn with the viscosity of the water at such depths. And I made a terribly stupid mistake of actually tightening the bolt first instead of loosening it. I realised soon enough that focusing on the task assigned made me forget that I was even underwater, and forget all the discomforts of breathing through my mouth or difficulties in moving in water.

Slowly, I surfaced. And this was a crucial part that I much feared. Earlier our lecturers had reminded us of the potential lethal risks of surfacing too fast and holding your breath. Air in the lungs can expands as you rise in depth, and if you suddenly surface quickly, the expansion can be so great that you can rupture your lungs! I dreaded at the image of my lungs bursting inside me like a balloon. So I did what we had been briefed to do, and that was rise slowly from the bottom, and at the same time breathing out the air in the lungs. Bubbles escaped my mouth, and rose mesmorisingly to the surface. Soon enough, I also bubbled to the surface, face full of excitement, and mind full of joy and pride that we had accomplished our mission successfully as a team.

One small step for David... and the sky looked especially beautiful and blue.

Dutch Culture Night!

I had around four hours of sleep every night in the last week or so. First was the exam on Monday, which I spent almost the whole day Sunday studying for. Then came the whirlwind trip to Madrid, which lasted not even 3 days, of which we had probably around 6 hours of free time. Then, after returing to Barcelona, classes resumed again, and there was an assignment due, another deadline looming close, and then there was a culture night presentation I had to prepare for. During lectures in the daytime, I would so tiredly just doze off to sleep. How very embarassing, but I am really so exhausted.

Anyways, I guess things turned out well in the end. Because we all come from different parts of the world, representatives of each country is asked to present something special about their own culture and country. And the Netherlands happened to be tonight. In the midst of all this chaose, with some others I went to the supermarket and bought some food and drinks for the group. It was hilarious, as we wandered around the corridors of the supermarket picking out anything and everything slightly related to the Netherlands... chunks of Dutch cheese, readymade pancakes, kegs of Heineken and Grolsch beer, and bottles of wine. In the end we bought 30litres of beer and close to 40litres of wine. So last night I had so much beer on the floor of my room it was difficult to even enter. And the funny thing is: I hate beer!



Finally tonight was the night... Together with the other Dutch person in the group, we made a great 15 minute presentation with videofootages, pictures and lots of interesting facts about the Netherlands. I think we did a great job, especially given it was done inside this sacred chapel crowded with close to two hundred people, in an unbearable evening heat with no breeze. Yes, the wonderful student residence that we have just moved into is not the ideal place for a bunch of rowdy international students. But somehow we managed to pull things off, and tell people a bit about the country we come from... not just the softdrugs, legalised prostitution and same-sex marriage... but also a bit about the famous Dutch people throughout history, as well as the great strides the Dutch have made in space exploration.

I guess walking around in an orange shirt, with the Dutch flag around me, I can be proud too.




Arriving in the Netherlands

Prostitution in the Red Light District


Flower auction



Finding life on Mars

Study! Study!

OK... almost eight hours before the big exam. And I'm sitting here thinking to myself how they expect us to memorise all this... 'stuff' that we learnt in the past four weeks in 63 (and possibly more) lectures ?

I have gone through most of my notes, but there is still a pile I need to read through, and I feel like I have already forgotten what I read before. The last time I did an exam was more than a year ago, and somehow I feel so un-motivated to study. Especially the topics about engineering and business I seem to have an aversion for... and when you're not really interested, you are less inclined to remember...

All I can think of is that by this time tomorrow, we'll all be in Madrid. That's something to look forward and work towards...

Gay Circus

Enough was enough, and I left. I have been locked inside for the whole day, trying to cram 63 lectures from the last four weeks into my brain in preparation for the four hour exam on Monday morning. It was enough, and I had to go do something else!

Anyways, a few days ago I saw this brochure advertising that the circus was in town. Not just any circus, but the Gay Circus! What immediately attracted me (besides the halfnaked people) was the following:

In the same way we can talk about the existence of a pop, rock o hippie culture, there is also a gay culture. We identify certain colors, music, lifestyle, mentality, amusement as genuinely gay. Only this would be reason enough for staging a show.

But Gay Circus goes beyond. Very often the circus has translated the partner dance to the trapeze, acrobatics or contortion. We frequently attend to circus performances that present a love story as the common thread of the show… but this is always between people of different sex! The acts in Gay Circus shows with pride homosexual love with the hope that one day future generations will be able to attend a “conventional” circus and find there, with normality, acts that now belong to Gay Circus.

Barcelona is probably the most 'openly gay' city I have ever been... surprising, since the vast majority of the country is devoutly Catholic. Men walk around holding hands, girls kiss on the streets in public, and nobody blinks or stares. And coincidentally the (Gay) Eurogames is being held here this weekend, so on the metro were these butch-looking women with short dyed hair, next to well-trimmed and sophisticated gay men.

You do not see something like this in the Netherlands, despite the fact the Netherlands was the first country in the world to 'legalise' gay marriage. It makes me wonder, how can the Netherlands still claim to be a liberal country when gay people walking hand in hand in the street are beaten up regularly? And today I just read that the Amsterdam Gay Pride this week will be "toned down", because the mayor is scared of offending the Muslim population... Talk about the progressiveness of the Christian right wing.

Anyways... at first, I weighed the options of whether I should go or not... On the one hand, the exam will be an assessment of my learning in the past few weeks, but on the other hand, I really have not been doing much 'fun' lately besides go to lectures and seminars....And though studying is important, eventually this afternoon I got so fed up of studying I just put on my clothes and headed down to the beach where the big tent was set up.

I would have told other people where I was going, were it not for the fact that most people were buried deep in their books and notes. Plus, the idea of a circus full of gay men and lesbians may not be everyone's idea of entertainment.

And it was an amazing experience, of lights, movingly choreographed music, and artfully crafted by sturdy muscles and trained athletes, fully displaying the imaginative and inspiring ways to portray the endurance and beauty of the human body. It was a display of open human sensuality between men and men, women and women, something I have never seen so openly and closely before. When you see what wonderful art these men and women can create with their bodies, you cannot but be proud. Suddenly the kissing straight couple in the corner became the minority, and it was somehow comforting to be part of the majority.

Well, it would have been nicer to have someone next to me besides couples that snuggled up together as they enjoyed the spectacle before us.

Exhausted

Almost one month into the course, and I feel exhausted already. The constant and daily barrage of information, facts and lectures that we are exposed to, and then herded off to seminars and extra curricular events. All in the name of knowledge, which I cannot deny is a bad thing and I really am learning so much news that I never knew before, but then there does not seem to be time to rest, time to breathe.

Mum left Europe today. I called her just before she boarded her flight, the long, long journey home. I think it is easier to say goodbye on the phone... you don't have the urge to run after the plane, or to watch as the shadow of the person disappears into the distance. It is just a voice on the phone, which cuts off after the connection dies. But being easier does not make it easy.

When I sleep, my brain often does not. And my brain seems to often drift off into different places. A psychic once said that my soul drifts away every time I sleep. Which may be true, since I feel tired, even though I sleep for a long time. So, early this evening, I lay in bed to take a little nap in order to regain strength for another group meeting, I had a nightmare.

I saw mum's face, and she was smiling... but then her hair had fallen, and she was almost bald... The fake hair on her head did not sit right, and underneath that fakeness were the thin and fragile strands of her original hair... no longer the shiny black that smelt good when I drew close... but grayish, listless and thin. Mum looked tired, though she was smiling...

It was a powerful image, and so very painful too... Of course I wish it will not be a premonition, and by all the faith I have, I hope that mum will be safe and happy and healthy... But seeing that image made me literally shock awake. I lay in bed, grimaced in pain, and closed my eyes, wishing that the image would quickly go away....

I wish I could share it with someone.

But surrounding this lonely island is a vast, open sea.

Paris, je t'aime

It was nice to get away for a little while. And even nicer to see mum again before she leaves Europe, because who knows when or where I will see her again.

So we agreed to meet, and this time of all places in Paris. I made sure I arrived earlier than mum, so that I would be able to greet her at the train station as she got off the train. And greet her I did, with a big hug. It has been a week since I last saw her, and the time between seeing one another will only grow after this encounter.

No matter, as our two days together just started. But then again, looking back the time went by all too fast. We made our way to Musee d'Orsay, a luxuriously decorated former train station, which today houses magnificent marble scultures and the great works of Impressionist painter like van Gogh and Monet. I was dead exhausted, after having to wake up at 5am earlier that morning to catch my flight, so at one point when I sat down to rest, I actually dozed off in front of the portrait of a courtesan...



Paris is such a romantic city, whatever the season, and whatever the reason you visit it. This must have been my fourth or fifth trip... I guess I lost count since every time is a different experience altogether. So rich in history, and all around are sturdy blocks of 19th Century buildings with artfully decorated windows and balconies that align the Parisian bolevards and squares. And that mighty Seine flows throw the city, dividing it into two, in a city that is made of more than a dozen arrondisements, each with its own charateristic, each with a story to tell, and each with alleyways and parks waiting to be discovered. Underground is a whole network of tunnels, alive with the sound of grinding metal, as trains snake rapidly from one station to another to bring people of all backgrounds and cultures to their destinations. And the food... simply exquisite find cuisine, unparelled elsewhere in Europe, in bistros and brasseries overlooking the bustle of passerbys on the busy pavement of a crowded street.

Two days is just not enough for Paris, and is certainly not enough to enjoy the company of mum again. Early this morning, I took her to the station to bid her farewell. It was hard to see that train door close, and to see only a faint image of mum through the darkened window. The train departed, and pulled away slowly at first, then as if mercilessly, quickened its pace as it sped out of the station. Left behind are the family and friends, some still waving at the train in the distance, others trudging slowly home. I was one of the latter.

I had a number of hours to spare before my flight in the afternoon, so I headed for the Imax theatre to catch an episode on of the Alpes. They say when you are emotional, anything can make you teary. And so it was with this documentary on the epic journey of a mountaineer who sets out to conquer the mountain where his father lost his life decades ago. When he finaly made it up that mountain, despite all the odds of the bitter cold, of the steep and treacherous heights and falls, I could not but cry, especially as Queen's "Who wants to live forever" played lowly in the background, while before me the white snowy landscape of awing towering mountains stood.

Weekend in Barcelona

We sat down at a table, just the three of us. The sunset over the coast, while in the distance mountains stretch along the shoreline into the horizon, coloured by the reddish glow of dusk, shimmering in the blue Medditerean below. We sat and chatted with one another, as the feast of seafood and Catalan delicaies was being prepared. Rare are the occassions when we are together, and rarer still it will become as we each go our separate ways. Dad has certainly already departed, and hence the empty fourth chair at the table.


...I glance over at the empty chair, and realise for the second time in as many days how much I miss dad. It was a subtle realisation, and though he has been gone for almost six months now, somehow the fact is really dawning on me that he no longer will return. And that is an empty and worrying thought... I looked at mum and brother, and treasured those passing moments we are still together, sitting so close to one another, sharing a meal. How we have all grown... how we have all changed!


There is a reason, I guss, behind these nostalgic sentiments has a reason.
Over the weekend, mum and brother popped over to Barcelona for a short visit, taking advantage of the fact that I will be here in the six weeks to come. For me, it was a welcome change of routine from the daily lectures and busy programmes that have been lined up, and at last I could get a good opportunity to really see the city, and all the beauty and excitement it has to offer.
The shopping did not really interest me. It was the architecture, the unique modernist movement that has made such an impact on Barcelona's cityscape and skyline that drew me in. They say every city has been scultured by artists, and certainly the likes of Picasso and Gaudi, to name but a few, are those whose names will be engraved in the buildings and public arts they have crafted with their ingenious imagination and extraordinary perception of reality beyond the conventional. Admitted, I may not always understand or see what they wanted to protray, but the colours, the wild shapes and unrestricted use of curves and lines without regard for symmetry or esthetic balance, pushes the limit of art to a level that makes one wonder and think about the reality of existence.


But Barcelona has many faces, and the old and gothic also had its magical lure. Its narrow alleyways and cobble-stone lanes hide mysterious history waiting to be told, it seemed. I wandered the streets, losing myself in admiring the sculptures of carefully crafted adornements to buildings, fine testament to the wealth and significance that the Catalonians place on art and culture. Every now and now, another piece of the city's history as a trading post and crossroad of migrating populations is revealed, behind closed curtains, in the stained windows, and in the architectural styles that range from the local to the exotic.

From the top of Montjuic, one has a wide view of the city. A buzzling sprawl of life and energy at my feet, with towering in the distance spires of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia in vast contrast to the Torre Agbar, the doned spherical roof of which is the latest addition to the city's ever changing and ever-growing skyline. The Old City is said to be the oldest and biggest medieval town in Europe, whereas a few blocks down is the revitalised development area of the marina, where modern malls and yacht yards attract buzz with tourists. The beaches along Barcelona's coastline seem to add vigour to an already vibrant city... not only in the crowds of people that sunbathe there daily but also in the way the remnants of the 1992 Olympics has transformed the beach boulevard into an exciting area for recreation and leisure, day or night.

It was in sharing all these with family that I realise how different it is from sharing it with friends. There is an unspeakable bond that cannot be described, that cannot be altered, or denied. And, at the end of the day, there are so many memories that are shared, and that make one another laugh and think back when shared. Over sumptuous meals of tapas, paella, and doses of sangria, we enjoyed one another's company....

....company that was only too short, and went by too soon.

Sitges

Finally, a break.

After the first week of lectures, I think all of us are just exhausted and have gone overload with information and notes about the philosophy and romantiscism behind space exploration, limitations on technology transfers and the inticacies of why the sky is blue when the sun is brightest. Whoever thought the two months in Spain would be a breeze must think again. Lectures daily from 9am to (at least) 6pm, the swerltering heat, and who-know-what they are feeding us at the student cafeteria. But I'm in the sun, having some fun, and having this wonderful opportunity to meet over 100 people from all over the world... some (or perhaps most!!) of whom share this rare passion for Star Trek, and are not ashamed to say it!

To be honest, I have not been able to do much sightseeing since I got here. So imagine my relief when we were 'let go' to enjoy ourselves on Saturday afternoon. I quickly left the campus buildings, and left the group of people behind, and went out by myself. As exciting and necessary socialising can be, it can also be extremely tiring having to introduce yourself and tell al about your life and background twenty times a day.

I headed to downtown and treated myself to tapas (Spanish aperatifs)... mussels with french fries, mushrooms with garlic and parsley, and a light salad of octapus, squid, shrimp and egg. The portions were not very big, so I guess that's why I had ice cream straight afterwards. I rarely eat so well by myself, but I guess being generous to myself would not hurt.... besides, my two months here is all expenses paid, so why not enjoy a little, live a little?

I strolled down the touristic areas, the sun beating down on me. Something about this city fills it with life and colours that are very different from the gray tones of the Netherlands. I feel comfortable here... a kind of comfort that is somewhat similar to Asia; and the temperatures and traffic chaos are not much different either. But shopping and bourgeios boutiques were nothing for me, so I hopped on the train, and headed to the suburbs.

When the Devil tempted Jesus, He With the Horns is supposed to have said "Tibi Dabo" ("To thee I give"). So it is no surprise this beautiful basillica is built on top of the highest hill overlooking Barcelona, on top of which stands a statue of Jesus that is reminiscent of the one in Rio de Janero. It was a long journey to get up there, and I had to change three times, taking a suburb train, then an old Blue Tramway, and finally a Fenicular Railway. But the scenery was rewarding, if you could just ignore the run-down looking theme park and rusty-old rides. You could see the whole Barcelona, this beauty gem on the Medditerean, with all its neatly arranged streets, with its unique spires and skyscrappers, and the modernism of the Olympic Stadium and Sir Norman Foster's communication nearby. Behind me lay columns of hills that streteched into the distance, while before me was the lazy sea, sail boats and sun.

And it was perhas this same sea that attracted me most, so much so that this morning I headed out to the little resort of Sitges, some 40minutes by train south of Barcelona. It was only when I got there did I realise that Sitges prides (literally) itself as the most prominent gay resort in Spain. Indeed, the narrow alleyways were filled with rainbow flags and pictures of transvestites and men in drag. Tanned men walked around with naked tops and winked, which was somewhat embarrasing.

But we headed down to the beach, and decided to have a swim. Or at least, my friends did. I have never been much of a fan of public nakedness, so I just sat in the sun and watched the waves wave as I read my Time Out guide to other places I could venture to and restaurants I could conquer. The surrounding fat old(er) people and bare breasts were not really much of a sight to look at.

I stayed on the sand a while before heading into the water myself. I wore these pants that dry really fast, so I wadded in the sea till my thighs, and let the water tickle my feet and soothe my skin. It felt cool against the heat of the Medditerean sun, though all arond me were all these kids and people splashing and playing. I thought back to the last time I touched the same waters not so long ago, not so far away in Israel....

It was on a clear day like today, and it was the same water as the one that washed over me. But it was just my friend and me, and moments of joy in one another's pleasant company.

!Socorro, ladron!

I was almost sure he was the thief. I saw his hand come out of my friends bag, and there was a wallet in his hand. But I wasn't sure if it was my friend's wallet, and I hesistated to react.

I turned, and the hand disappeared altogether, and so did the person. The metro doors beeped and were just about to shut. At that very moment, a lady came up to us, and said that my friend had just been robbed. We quickly jumped out of the metro before the doors shut and the train pulled away. A few metres away was the man who I think had taken my friend's wallet, but I could not be sure.

We went up to the man, bald, wearing a gray T-shirt and long white trousers. He had a small beard, and a Medditerean look. He looked innocently as if he did not understand what we were saying, and he just pointed ahead, as if the thief had gone ahead. We rushed forward towards the ticket gates, but there were a horde of people, and though my friend frantically asked around whether anyon had seen her wallet, noone answered.

I suggested maybe the man in the gray T-Shirt knew more, and we walked back to the platform, and upon seeing us, the man pointed us in the other direction, the complete opposite direction that he had shown us just moments earlier. He was definitely a prime suspect.

We went the direction he showed us, but the platform was already deserted, so we sort of gave up and turned to sit down. Suddenly, on the bench next to us was my friend's wallet. I don't think my friend actually realised it, but it seemed too coincidental that that man in the gray T-Shirt was standing right next to the wallet when we 'found' it again. Of course all the money had disappeared, most likely in his pockets, but the credit cards and identification documents were still there. And those were more important than anything else, I guess.

Conveniently, the man who had told us to go first this way then that way, walked off and away. Somehow I know, he took the wallet. Somehow I know he is rejoicing now at his new loot, maybe even laughing at the foolish and unsuspecting tourists...

And I know that one day he will pay dearly for his petty crimes.

Hola Barcelona!

I arrived late afternoon yesterday, after a delayed flight and having to haul my suitcase in the 30C heat. I felt like I was going to faint or that my arms were going to break, and all I could think of was a bed to lie down. I had lost my way in a foreign country, foreign city where people do not speak English, and I not a word of Spanish or Catalan...

Hours before, I had to endure a difficult parting from my mum. It was when the engines of the plane started to roar and when the wheels started to roll did it hit me hard that I will be leaving.... and that I will be leaving my mum. I was suddenly somehow close to tears...

Only after much struggle, pointing and more walking did I manage to arrive at the place to register for my coming two months of 'fun'! I had been accepted to this summer course on space studies with a full scholarship a few months ago, and now the day has finally come. I am really lucky to have all my expenses paid, but to be honest I am not sure what to expect. A friend of mine who did the course before gave me a briefing on it, but nothing could be more real than the real thing.

So far, there has not been much activity yet, and all the 110 participants from some 26 countries are just starting to get to know each other. It's a really diverse group, with lots of Americans, Canadians, and the one or two nationals from countries all over Europe, and also a few from as far away as India, Japan and China. I was exhausted from just arriving, but I still made an effort to go out with some people and see the city of Barcelona at night.

From the air, Barcelona is a massive, sprawling metropolis right on the Medditerean, wedged between green hills, and criss-crossed by neatly organised roads and thouroughfare. At the street level, you feel the heat, vibe and liveliness creep into you. Traffic, pedestrians and hordes of tourists chased after by hordes of vendors. It is enough to make you dizzy just standing in one place. Even at night, the streets were packed, as Spaniards have a habit of eating late and going out late. So when we got to a club at close to midnight, literally, the night just started.

I'm not a big fan of clubs and dance, so I drank something, talked a bit with the people, and left with some who were probably just as tired (or bored ) as me. But only a few hours later, I was up at close to 8 on a Sunday morning (a rarity for me!!) and jogging with some people I met up and down the hills near my latest residence.

It was pleasant, and I had never realised how quickly I could run. But the heat was already starting to annoy, and I hit the showers, took a sweet nap, before enjoying a full brunch. The rest of the day, we had introudcutory sessions...just very basic stuff like how to use the network system, where the library is, and where the classrooms will be in the coming 9 weeks.

Fast forward to tonight.... crowds of people crowded before a screen at pubs and bars all over the city (perhaps even all over the Europe) to watch the Finals of the Euro2008. Never a fan of sports or football, I stood there and tried to join in the excitement, only to find my attention wandering off to admire the unqieu Barcelonian architecture, and the changing lights of the dusk sky.

A wave of cheers, and Spain scored its first and only goal, whereas Germany scored none. Fireworks were set off, as people chantted and sang "Viva Espana!~". The streets became abuzz with revellers, wrapped in the Spanish flags and in uncontainable excitement and euphoria. The country had proudly just become European Champion in football... whatever that may signify... I stood around, and looked at the people cheering and jumping up and down and going wild, and felt my trousers get wet from spilled drinks. Somehow these kind of excitement never seem to infect me, and tonight was no exception.

Pre-departure

I cycled today, something I did not expect I would be doing, especially given that a few days ago I was completely stressed about packing my belongings and going abroad tomorrow. But somehow, all that mess in my room has been tidied away, put into suitcases and boxes (or thrown away!), and by this morning I was more or less ready to leave the Netherlands. I called a number of companies to tell them to cancel my contract, and also did some administrative errands to make sure I will be deregistered as a student.

Yesterday night I was still lying in bed early in the morning at 2am thinking about what needed to be done. But surprisingly, it went very smoothly, and the people I contacted or spoke to were really (surprisingly) helpful (by Dutch standards). So by noon, I even had time to go see my old colleagues and hug them goodbye.

My mum had been waiting patiently for me to finish all I had to do this whole week. I had promised her that I would take her cycling, and seeing it was the last day I am here with her, I really did go cycling!

It was so pleasant, and I could think of no better way to say goodbye (at least for now) to this country than by bike. We rode through the forests, stopped to watch deer and the Queen's palace, and rode onto to the bourgeois district of Wassenaar, which my mum has always enjoyed cycling through. All those beautiful mansions tucked away in the forest. Purely serene... I remembered then that when I was little I promised my mum that when I grow up I would buy one of those BIG houses in the woods so that she can retire and enjoy her life there... Sadly, I still need to earn a big salary, and to do that, I still need to finish my studies and get a decent job.... one day. A thought came over me, a grim thought, especially seeing mum's cheeks which have sunken a bit after all that therapy.... would it be too late?

But why dwell on the what if's and hows and whens, when I could be enjoying those precious few moments cycling next to my mum and seeing her so happy and so full of life? There were so many beautiful moments, when I looked at my mum from the corner of my eye, and wished I could capture that moment of her when she is smiling so naturally because she is so free and so enjoying herself in all this nature surrounding us.

Later in the evening, we went out to dinner with my brother and his girlfriend. It was a really fancy restaurant, but they insisted that it be one, to 'celebrate' my coming months of success. I just felt embarrased that we had gone out to eat because of me, but nonetheless it was a really cosy get together.

Before I leave in a few hours...

Final days

Lately I've been extremely moody and stressed. I feel it, and I don't like it, and the more I don't want to be moody, the more I feel stressed.

I think the state of my room at the moment has a lot to do with it. Everywhere, there are papers and my belongings strewn all over. I'm sifting through 24 years of my life in less than 7 days, and I need to decide what I should keep and what I can throw away. Being the nostalgic and sentimental person, I feel like I'm throwing a part of me everytime I put something in the bin... a ticket stub, my school notes, my old clothes (some which I don't even fit any more...), a stuffed toy... it's hard to let go, but then again, somethings I know I will never use or look at again, probably forever! And these are just material possessions. Not that they cost much, and much of it is probably just junk to any other person, but they hold dear sentimental value.

Problem is, I really want to get everything out of this house before I leave the country. My brother says I'm welcome to leave things behind, but I just want to have a clean break from this place. I just want to leave, and never come back here, because this is no longer my home. And why should I leave my things in a place I don't feel comfortable in? I'd rather pay a storage space to pile all the things I'm not taking with me to Canada than leave it behind here. But there's so much of it, and thinking about it just annoys me...

I guess I'm feeling moody partly (or perhaps greatly) because I'm only now starting to realise how little time I have left. I guess people panic when they realise time is really ticking, and they start to wonder why they didn't do things earlier. And so it is now with me... realising that my time here in the Netherlands is short and counting down, though I would like to take things slowly and appreciate every last moment of it. Seems like I still have so much unfinished business to take care of... contracts that I need to cancel, my studies which I need to deregister from, and all those people I need to meet and bid farewell to... I wish I could have the luxury of taking it slowly, and doing everything bit by bit without having to rush it... And most of all, have the time to see all those people I would like to see before I leave this country, maybe for good.

Going for a walk after dinner today, I went to the rose garden nearby where I've been going since I was a little boy. Seeing those flowers and trees reminded me of the time when I used to run around barefoot on the grass and admire the birds building their little nests in the ponds. But today, even though it might be the last time to go there for a long time to come, I was in no mood to admire all this beauty around me. My mind was tense and my mood depressed... I felt really bad afterwards, since I really was not pleasant company for my mum, who just wanted to enjoy the nature and the sunset... I felt really guilty and apologised for ruining her evening... and also my evening with her, since in two days I will be saying goodbye to her too.

Saying goodbye, to things, to places, to people I care and love most... it's hard, and I wish I could have the time to do it all at my own pace, to treasure every moment of it and remember every bit of detail.... but time is short. And has just gotten shorter.

Freak storm

It first rained, and most of the guests sitting on the patio were undisturbed. Then it poured, and we decided to move into the restaurant. A wise decision, as only moments later, it began to hail. Huge balls of eyes, some as big as a child's hand, striking down on the earth and breaking into endless shards as it hit the ground. Pedestrians fled for cover, and the normally tranquil square now seemed a disaster area, littered with pieces of broken ice. I sat in the comfort of the restaurant and looked outside. The waiters scrambled to keep the guests assured, and tried to drain the pools of water that had collected on the parasols and that threatened to drench the guests sitting below.

Then, in one swift move, the wind shrieked and howled and cried, as rain ripped outside like a mad creature unleashing all its might and fury. It has been a long time since I saw anything like it... and the scene was reminiscent of typhoon-like conditions. The fierce and rapid fallings drops of rain, coupled with piercing winds. Chairs slid, tables shook, and the guests, drenched and shocked, now fled inside, not even bothering with their food and drinks.

I sat in the relative calm, and admired the chaos unfold before me.

Second day of being back in the Netherlands, and brother had kindly offered to take us on a long Sunday-drive. Mainly to go to this outlet shopping mall some two hundred kilometres away for cheap deals and good buys, but incidentally we were lured by the sunshine and hills of Limburg-- a rarity in a flat and plain land as this one-- and drove further to the city of Maastricht. Besides the freak weather show, it was a pleasant drive. We enjoyed each others company, joked and chatted. And bringing us all together was mum, which looked energetic and happy-- a far cry from when she was undergoing chemo treatment not so long ago.

We talked about trips together, about what mum can do now that she has decided to take a long leave from work. Sometimes you reach a stage in life when you realise the most important thing is not just work or making money, but sharing with family moments of joy and togetherness. Whatever will be, will be, and nothing else really matters anymore. There is really no point to fret or dwell on when or what if, but just enjoy the time we have together.

Enjoy the beauty and shared moment when the sun slowly set, and cast a golden hue on the clouds and all the land below.

Home again

Close to midnight, and the engines roared as we gently lifted off. The sprawl of lights and cities below dimmed as the plane banked and headed out into the darkness of the Taiwan Straits. A 16 hour flight ahead, but for the first time in over a decade, I was not flying alone on a journey that I like to call "leaving home to go home". And there is a marked difference, as I was not overcome with sadness, but felt comforted that mum sat next to me (...even though she slept most of the time!)

First to Bangkok, we flew, and after a short stop, diagonally across continental Asia onto the Europe continent. Over Irrawaddy Delta, the plane shook and jarred violently over a long stretch of turbulent air. Into the darkness of the night I peeked, and imagined the unimginable destruction and death in the land below. But eventually we flew safely over all that, and left it all behind.


Mum is very much excited about coming to Europe with me, and I am glad that I could somehow make this trip possible. After all those intensive treatments and restless days not being able to eat much and not feeling herself, she deserves a good rest. I slept somewhat on the plane, exhausted from the last few days in Taiwan which have gone by quickly and eventfully. First a long trip south to visit friends and family, then returning to Taipei, I made a trip to go see my dad, and bid him farewell. Even hours before my flight, I was still running around buying things to fill my suitcase.

As morning dawned, and as I enjoyed my sumptuous breakfast over Europe, the clouds thinly revealed the forests and towns below. As we slowly approached Amsterdam, I could see familiar sights of polders, low-lands, wind-powered windmills and reclaimed islands. A sense of 'home-liness' came over me, and I felt emotional that after a month or so I am again returning to my second home.

My brother was kind enough to take a few hours off of work to pick us up and drive us home. The land has not much changed, though the trees and fields are now much greener compared to when I left in early May.

After a short rest, we went out to the city centre, and did some small food shopping. Amid the crowd, I felt somewhat lost for some reason... I could understand what people were saying around me, I could see the buildings and places that I have been before, but then I felt it seemed to be so long ago when I last was here. Where did this sense of alienation come from? Why did I feel like such a tourist in my own town? Maybe this is the jetlag talking.

Home again...

Home with relatives

I looked at the last picture taken of dad. He wore that red chequered shirt, the one that looked good on him... the same one that I once wore, and that he took to wear after I left it behind once.
Sitting around him at a restaurant table, my aunts and uncles, cousins and other relatives. That was over a season ago.

Down in Chiayi (嘉義) live most of my relatives, as it is where my dad was born and grew up. I like to sit down with dad's older sister (my 'big' aunt), and listen to stories about their past; stories that dad never really shared with anyone. Looking at the pictures of dad, my aunt said how he was so intelligent, and so good at writing. He even started to keep a diary as a teenager, and those words and memories are still somewhere to be found if we were to search through the old family home. I longed to be able to read what dad once wrote, so that I can understand and appreciate him a little more... even after he has gone.

I stroked dad's big smile in the picture, and imagined him sitting in the armchair opposite mine, the one he always sat in when he was at my aunt's. But this time, and forever now, it was empty.
Dad was the pride of the family, my aunt said, who studied hard, and left for the big city (Taipei) to start a new life from scratch. And how hard he worked, two, three jobs in the beginning, as a bank clerk, as an economics lecturer at a number of evenings schools, often eating very quickly between going from job to the other. I was only little then, but I remember days when I would stay up till perhaps after 10pm (late, for a little boy) and wait for dad to come home so I could tell him "Dad, how hard you have worked!" (爸爸辛苦了!) as dad entered the door. It was my evening-ly ritual... perhaps as a little boy I knew how hard dad worked to provide us with a comfortable home, and even then I was eternally grateful.

And years of hardwork and stress eventually took its toil on dad's health. More and more his health ailed, but he did not want to acknowledge it or get checked. Dad never complained, never said how tired or frustrated he was, and continued to work hard to provide us with a good education and carefree life. Who knew what he had to do, what dad had to sacrifice in the process? All he wanted was that I study well and excel to stand on my own two feet one day so that I will be able to contribute to society.

I put down the photo-album, and dad's smile disappeared with the closed page. I recounted that frightful phone call that Sunday evening, and again heard mum's jittery and weathered voice on the phone telling me to come home. How long that plane journey took, how I rushed in the pouring rain to arrive in the hospital to see dad lie there with closed eyes.... how, within a number of hours, I would be holding his hands as life and warmth slipped away from my fingers...

Dad has been gone over four months, and as I told a friend the other day, I have been thinking of dad less and less, and I am very afraid that I will one day forget him. Forgetting him is like he never lived, and that all he has done for me, all he has given me, never were...

Perhaps the fact that I had to clench my jaw to keep the tears in told me otherwise.

Unwell

It is hard to see a loved one ill and weak. I cannot describe that feeling.
Worse is when that person feels like the walls are closing in. And that feeling is infectious.

Lost thoughts in Taipei

Yesterday, mum and I went to the National Palace Museum. I insisted, because I thought it would make her forget the miseries of constantly having deadly chemicals being pumped into her through a tube in her shoulder.

Though I was a bit worried whether it would be too tiring for her, it was not actually too bad, and we had a good time. She hid her infusion equipment in her pursue and we walked around the museum admiring all sorts of artifacts, and even enjoyed a good lunch at the restaurant next door. Just like that, the day flew by, and it was already late afternoon when we arrived home again.

Then, as if from one instance to the next, the drugs took effect. I had a meal of vegetables, mushrooms and dumplings prepared. She took a few bites, and felt nausea rise. Within moments she rushed to the bathroom, from where I heard gagging sounds.

It was painful to hear, and mood dampening to watch. Worst thing, mum kept on apologising that she cannot eat what I had cooked for her... and even at one point apologising for the fact that she was ill and that she was letting us (my brother and me) worry about her wellbeing.

The rest of last night and this morning she was lethargic and pale. Sitting did not seem right, and walking around did not seem right. Even lying down felt uncomfortable. Nothing she did seemed right, and it is always like this every time she has chemo. Thankfully this morning the infusion medicine had finished, and we could go to the hospital to take out the tubing. But then the nausea returned, together with the tiredness and sad looking posture.

I sat next to her, laid next to her... I put my hand on her back as she slept, imagining that my hand could miraculously such out the cancerous tumours inside her intestines. But, of course, no way can I ever take the pain or suffering away... no way can I imagine the misery and pain of being so struck down by the medicine that you feel no enthousiasm for any food or anything that you previously so enjoyed doing.

And how many people in the world must live with this... and how many family and relatives must also live with this!