Eclipse of the moon

It's not often that the moon eclipses, and even rarer that for a few moments in a couple of years the moon is completely aligned with the planet and the sun. There's a beautiful song about eclipses and the rising and waning of the moon, and how it seems to resemble the people you meet and leave in life... there's a time when the moon is bright and full, and when it shies away into the darkness... just as there is a time of meeting, there is a time of parting.

Dad was already home and packing his bags when we arrived at close to midnight. Our day to Belgium, and tour of the picturesque 'medieveal' city of Gent went so smoothly that even the weather cleared the moment we arrived and as we wandered the cobbled streets aligned with history and culture.


As soon as we paid and got out of the parking garage, we realised there was a big problem. The automatic window on the driver's side didn't want to go back up... and though it was sunny outside, nobody felt like driving two and a half hours at over 120km/hr on the highway in freezing temperature. So we called the car rental... and got referred to the car manufacturer... and were referred to an insurance company... then got referred to the Dutch Automobile Association... after an hour or so on the phone (with ridiculously high international roaming tariff!) we finally then got transferred to the Belgium Automobile Association. A repair man was promised within thirty minutes.

But it turned out to be another two hours before the window was fixed, and before we could leave the city. Perhaps the city didn't want us to leave, or at least, our memories of our mini adventure in Gent would never leave us.

I walked up to dad as soon as I came home, as I hadn't seen him for a day. We chatted a bit, connecting like we should have but never had much chance in the last two weeks because he was almost never at home. But I guess better late than never. How frail and thin he looked, the gray hairs on his head catching the light of my bedroom ceiling light. We chitchatted as he packed his bags. To be honest he has very little with him, and very little to take with him... and often when he picks up something he would then say I probably need it much more, and stuff it into my hand. It's typical of him, being so thrifty and stingy toward himself, but so giving and kind to me (especially).

A couple of moments our fingers touched. I felt the roughness of his darkened fingers, dark from years of smoking and years of work. It was an emotional touch, one that was accentuated by the fact that as he packed his bags he began the 'pre-departure' talk on how I should take care of myself, how I should eat well and mind my health, and that if there's anything I ever need, he'll support me to the end...

These kind of 'pre-departure' talks always seem to make my heart waver and eyes go moist. It's in those words of reminder and in the 'take cares' that reveal that despite dad not daring or not wanting to say it, he does care about us... or, perhaps, at least about me. I replied in a way I have often done, and out of my heart. Like so many times in the past, I told him that he is one to take good, good care of himself, to mind his health and to be happy. I told him he can enjoy his retirement without a care or worry in the world, and that nobody else is able to guarantee his own health and happiness than himself. Dad listened and looked down. He didn't say anything, but I believe in the eyes that avoided me temporarily, there was a shimmer from the way words you hear seem to touch you deeply.

Mum was next door in her room and she too was packing her bags. She and I still have to have our 'take care' talk, but for the most of the last two weeks, I've been with her and telling her that she too needs to live well, live happily and be free from misery and confrontations. I'm sure she knows how I feel, and there's nothing I've not already said.

I stood in the corridor in a position from which I could see both my dad and my mum in their separate rooms, separated by walls, busy packing their separate bags and lives. In truth, deep down I still had that sliver of hope I had been holding onto since childhood that they would be happy and loving together... but at that moment, though not a new moment of suddenly realising something for the first time, as I stood between the two of them, each in their own rooms and in their own separate lives, I knew it was for the best. It was, and is, meant to be. This way noone gets hurt...

I watched the both of them doing their own thing, ironically their backs were facing one another. Both middle aged, and aging more. Both my parents, and forever more. My mind flashed back to the arguments and 'cold wars' they've had since I was a child, to the arguments and 'cold wars' they had in the past two weeks... silently I said to myself I have done more than enough... I have said more than enough, and I must let go again, let go and let them just be. As I walked downstairs, I looked back at both of them again, wondering the next time will be when I will get to say good night and sleep well to them both. Silently, I wished them both good health and happiness.

In a couple of hours, it is time to say goodbye.

Talk with dad...

"To put it in a way that sounds terrible to hear, when I'm gone I couldn't care less what happens to this all."

Dad said that a few moments ago, and I was again taken aback.

It's rare that I talk to dad, and even rarer for a long time. When he came home late tonight, I walked up to him and tried to start a conversation. Who would have known that lasted two hours. Except the two nights he spent at home and had dinner with us, this was the longest time dad and I sat together in the living room in the past two weeks.

It started slowly, and mildly, small chit-chat about what we both did today, and where we went. I said I went to see a friend of my mum's, who took care of me and treated me like her own son in those years in high school when I lived completely by myself. It's been over five years since I last saw this dear friend, and I told dad how surprised I was at how people age and grow old. In a way, I was hinting at my dad, and made it more plainly so when I said to dad that even though that friend has grown old and looks somewhat tired, she still lives happily from day to day enjoying life, and enjoying the company of her husband in their house in the middle of the woods. Dad merely scoffed and wondered aloud what boring lives these people must lead.

It always seems to be like this when I talk to dad... you tell him one thing, and he comes up with negative things and complaints to say about that something or someone. And it's worse when it comes to any subject remotely related to either mum or brother... then it sometimes frightens me how much of that deep seated hatred and misunderstanding arises and bursts out, as talk clenches his teeth and gathers this tense, angry look in his eyes. Then, there were also moments when we connected, as we recalled moments in the past, moments growing up and when I was young. It seems like just yesterday when I first set steps in Europe, and now I've lived here almost 16years. All the ups and downs, the falls and climbing-back-ups. The sweet, bitter memories...

Since tomorrow is the last day of his stay here, dad told me what he thought about the past two weeks. He said he needed to explain why he reacted in the way he did. I sat and listened, nodding at times to show that I am listening and that I understand, as he talked about how he needs to protect his self-interests against "certain people", to guard against "other people" who might infringe against his rights and squander all his money, and about how he needs to be able to know that he can be in control of his money and assets. He ranted on about how the "other people" have treated him so unkindly and rudely, how they have shown him only a long and unwelcome face. Dad ranted on about how angry and disappointment, more than any other time he can remember in his whole life, of the "worthless dog" he raised. These 'other' or 'certain' people were no other than my brother... and to some extent my mum...

Angry, hurtful words... I sat and listened and nodded in understanding, but deep down inside I searched (hopelessly) for any show of emotions and love that may or may not be hiding behind dad's attachment to money and assets and profit. Perhaps it's years of working in a bank, or perhaps because he had a poor and deprived childhood growing up with five other children in poverty, but to him money and how to make or own more seems to be the most important thing in life. He even said it himself, much to my disappointment, that a house is nothing more than an investment. I said that a house is a place where you go back to to feel safe and sheltered from the outside world, but dad insisted it's nothing more than a "commodity" on a market in the capitalist world to invest in and to sell for profit...


At one point I asked him what he plans to do in the future, and how things should go between him and mum. Dad said he lives his life and doesn't want any one to bother him or interfere with how he lives, and started to berate mum for caring about what he eats and what he does all day. Taking this opportunity, I asked him why they don't simply live separately, or better still, divorce all together. I explained that, like I told them , and so many, many times in the past, I really don't want to see them live unhappy lives and have to suffer because they don't want to be with or see each other. I said, like I said so many times already, both of them are already so ill, and both need a calm and peaceful environment of living that is free from agitation and frustration, and living together is simply not helping anyone. Dad hesitated a little, and finally admitted: "To put it in an ugly way, I don't want to divorce because then mum will get half of everything."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry... all he cares about is money, money, money... I was surprised myself, but I asked a question I didn't know I could ask: "What if she divorces without having any of your money...?"

There was no hesitation, and in a loud, firm voice, dad said: "OK! I agree."

I was saddened, and a tingly feeling went up my spine...

Dad, where is the dad I used to know?

Dad, who have you become?

Colours of the Rainbow

It started with a new belt I bought last week, one with the patterns of the rainbow flag on.
Of course, it must have started much earlier, as mums have a sort of intuition for the 'ins and (very much) outs' of their own sons.

As I was putting on the belt this morning before going out, mum commented that she didn't really like the belt, and suggested I put on something else. I said I really like this belt, and she responded by asking what's so nice and special about it. I replied that it's the pattern, and sneakishly added that the pattern "says a lot".

Before my parents arrived, I sort of had this urge to 'come out' clean to them about my sexuality, and have been really searching for an appropiate moment to do so that wouldn't be so... dramatic. We've had enough drama already in the last few days. I more or less knew that mum would be the one I'd tell first, and dad would have to wait, if ever!, since he's more 'old fashioned and traditional'.

There was a chance last week, when I went to attend that posh event at the Peace Palace wearing a pink tie. Dad said that it looked "gay", but because the day earlier the others had just had a great big confrontation, I didn't make too much of it. I only replied: "So what if it looks gay? Gays are people too."

This morning, it was just my mum and me, so I pushed my chances a little more. After my sneaky comment that the belt "says a lot", my mum sighed a little, and said: "That's what I'm afraid of. I know it's a rainbow flag."

"Oh... does that matter?"

"I'm afraid you have that tendency. And you have that Brokeback Mountain poster in you room, I'm really afraid you have those feelings."

"HA! Tendency, smendency!" I scoffed.

"Well, you sort of told me sometime ago, and it made me really worry about you."

"What's there to worry about? I'm fine! There's nothing wrong with me at all!"

"But you have that tendency, and I'm afraid you are."

"It's not a tendency. It's natural. It's nature, it's nurture, it's everything and nobody knows how to explain it. I'm just who I am," I said firmly.

"I'm afraid you've fallen into that 'trap'." By now we were on our way to a park for a walk since the weather was so fine.

"Trap! I'm already so deep in there's no escape," I joked, thinking what a ridiculous use of word it was, and laughing inside.

"I really don't wish you'll be like that."

"Why? What if I am already?"

"Why, you ask? Because I'll be disappointed. I'll be very, very upset." Mum shook her head a little and looked into the distance.

"But what can I do about it? I am who I am, there's nothing wrong with me." I looked at her, and nudged her a little on the shoulder. "I mean see it from a Buddhist perspective. Who knows what or who I was in my past life, and this is just who I am now. I can't change it."

"Those sunglasses I gave you [a few days ago], I think I should take them back. I think over the years I've given you things to use and wear that are feminine, and so that may be the reason."

I laughed a little. "This has nothing to do with that! Fine, you can take back the sunglasses, but I'll still be who I am. There are a lot of reasons, like I said, and it has nothing to do with clothing"

"You know I've always wanted you to find someone and be happy with. To have someone to share life with..." she said quietly.

"And I can! And I want to, with someone I care about and love. A person I want to be with."

"Do you have someone now?"

"No... who do I have in my life? Noone. But I really want one," I said, looking around at the empty park I often go alone on my own, "I come here often and feel so very lonely. You know, I'm so 'old' already, and I shouldn't have to worry about how you and dad are getting along, I shouldn't have to be in the middle of brother and his girlfriend's relationship. I could just go and get a life of my own with someone, but no... I care too much about you people, and care too little for what I want..."

Mum didn't say much after that. We sat on a bench in the park, bare rose bushes and green, green grass and an expanse of water waving in the wind stretched before us. Seagulls flew overhead, as crows fluttered their wings. There was a light breeze in the air, and the sun shone on our faces. "I want everyone to be happy... but I need to be happy too."


We didn't touch upon the subject any more after that, and mum didn't react angrily or become more distant toward me. Like I said, she suspected already, and there have been hints here and there I've been throwing at her over the years, and now it's finally (come) out into the open. For the rest of the day we talked and walked around like the close mum and son we are, admiring the little spring crocuses that dotted the grass fields, even in the hustle and bustle of the city centre.


Little spring crocuses that were so colourful, beautiful and free with their buds freshly opened.

Reaching out

Dad came home a little bit earlier tonight, and I was still in my room trying to finish the readings for class tomorrow. I was a little surprised to see him, and the first thing he said was how windy it was this afternoon that he could hardly stand straight. As usual, I smiled and asked him what he did and where he went today. And, as usual, he replied “just here and there”... which mostly likely meant the same old place where he usually goes. I packed up my books and went into the living room to study further.

Soon he came down after me, and sat down on the sofa behind me. He continued talking about the weather today, and how it has so suddenly changed so dramatically and unpredictably. True, this morning it was wonderfully sunny and bright, and suddenly it poured with rain and a storm started to blow, but at times I wasn’t sure whether dad was still just referring to the weather, or unconsciously talking about something else... May be just my over- associative and imaginative mind at work.

We actually sat down and had a good half hour or so of solid conversation. Nothing deep, nothing groundbreaking in our relationship, and certainly nothing about the events of the past few days. But it was at least conversation, and more moments of bonding, even though it was mostly about things like how ridiculously prices have risen since the Euro, or how so many things have changed since the last time he visited, or how the weather is so different from before. We did talk somewhat about my future, and in his mind, he still insists that I must go on to get a ‘permanent head damage’ (PhD), because frankly to him all my other accomplishments mean nothing. Besides that, the short time we spent talking and bonding were so very precious... When he finished, he slowly walked upstairs, and as usual before leaving my sight, he turned to say: “Don’t go to sleep too late, ok?”

And as usual, I said to him: “OK, you go sleep first, and sleep well.”

Earlier in the day, I spoke to a good friend, who happens to be a professional psychiatrist, and who has for a long time been really caring and concerned about the wellbeing of me and my family. I had told her about the recent events at home, and dad’s sudden dramatic and unpredictable changes of ‘weather’. There were things that my friend mentioned that really struck me... at this point in life, my dad is really reacting and acting in a way a small child would, trying to test the limits of other people’s tolerance and love, by ‘crying’ and ‘screaming’. In truth, it’s a desperate cry for help, and however much the anger and outrage is, the pain and suffering inside is much, much deeper and more extensive. Perhaps, dad is not aware of how he is hurting people by what he says and does, but he must be very, very afraid and uncertain because, in all honesty, everything and everyone seems to be slipping away... his health, his job (now that he’s retired), even his family, and most of all, his life... everything and everything seems to be beyond his control, and it’s a normal reaction to want to cling onto something like money, or even find ‘refuge’ in an addiction like his gambling habit, in order to escape.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised the meaning of what my Buddhist spiritual guide once told me... nobody is ever ‘wrong’, just ignorant. Ignorant of the degree of pain, greed and suffering he is undergoing, and the degree of the pain, greed and suffering he is causing others. It doesn’t make you ‘bad’ or ‘worse’ as a person, because as human beings we are all so fragile in our emotions and beings... It’s pointless to react with anger and frustration and agitate someone who is already so angry, frustrated and agitated. Just accept, just acknowledge his pain, suffering and illness. Just accept him as he is, and send him compassion and understanding.

Because deep inside is a scared little child, trapped in an old and dying person, wanting and longing to reach out.

"No..."

I suspected as much, but I asked anyway.

Like routine dad returned home late, and I was sitting at the dinning room table and doing my homework. He came in quietly, and like always, diverted attention away from the fact he came home late (and from you-know-where) by starting with a flurry of questions. I had told him last night that I got accepted on this selective internship programme of my law department, and the first thing dad asked me just now was how it all went, what the process was, what I still need to do, etc, etc. I answered his questions politely. I looked at him, his eyes were bloodshot, his face tired and haggered, and in the pockets of his trousers his fingers played with coins that made that irritating clinking sounds of metal. Dad... what are you doing to yourself?

Seizing the opportunity to see and finally talk to my dad for the first time today, I told him that tomorrow the rest of us are having dinner together with some friends and colleagues of my brother. Well, brother never had the intention of asking dad to go, and I knew almost completely for sure that dad would never go, but I asked him anyway. Of course, as expected, dad's answer was a definite "no". But I asked, because I really don't want to give the impression that we're neglecting dad and leaving him out of everything. I guess perhaps I'm 'protecting' myself, guarding my own skin, in the sense that I'm deliberately pushing the ball into dad's court, when I know very well he wouldn't want to spend time with us. Probably I want to feel less guilty, and am trying to shift the 'blame' for dad's isolation to himself.

But I did ask, and he said no. And a no is a no.

Life goes on

Life goes on, even when it's not going too well.

The fighting has 'stopped', at least in the past few days, and now it's just another spell of 'cold war', which basically comes down to a total absence of communications between certain people in the family, and not even seeing one another. Even though my parents are only here for two weeks, we've sort of developed this routine, which seems to maintain the peace, and keep everyone more or less out of someone else's way, and so avoid confrontation. Again, I am the only one in the family everyone can and is willing to talk to, and the only one everyone talks to.

Basically brother goes off to work in the morning, whereas I go to uni or work, and mum goes out on her own to places she likes to (re)visit. Dad we practically never sees, since he stays in his (actually my) room and only comes down when everyone else is out of the house. And by the time I come home in the afternoon, my dad has also disappeared, off to his beloved gambling den, and won't be back until around midnight. He'd come home while I'm sitting in the dinning room and doing my work... walk up to me and in a hushed and almost apologetic tone ask what I'm studying... We'd converse a little bit, but soon enough the conversation would die down, and he'd head upstairs to bed.

So I've been spending most of my free time with my mum, even missing a few lectures and missing work, and catching up on the reading and homework in the evenings. It's tiring, but do-able, and I'd rather be tired during the day than let these precious moments of being together with mum go by... because, well, you never know.

We've been out and about, trying to retrace the times and places we once were, going to a few museums and visiting some old friends of hers, and even doing some shopping. It's nice, just the two of us, free and happy to do whatever and go wherever we'd like, without having to think about or take dad's odd temperments into account. And already it's almost the end of the visit, and at times when I'm enjoying myself with mum, in the back of my mind I'd uncontrollably sigh a little and think: " How much longer can I enjoy this before she leaves...?" I dread to think of the parting moment at the airport come Sunday...

Despite being occupied with family most the time, there's some good news with my studies and work. Honestly I haven;t been putting too much effort into my studies lately, and just rush through the readings and papers we have to hand in...but even so, I'm still getting really high grades :) And just yesterday, I was told by my professor that I'm "one of the select few" which the law department will 'officially endorse' for a number of prestigeous internship programmes at the tribunals and institutes here in The Hague. I was pretty surprised to be chosen, since even friends of mine I consider to be much 'better' than me were selected... So, maybe in the coming months I could have something waiting for me when I graduate in the summer; something other than unemployment.

As for work, a colleague of mine and I went to see a potential sponsor this morning with hopes that they will support us in a big party we're organising in April. It's with Dance4Life, an international camapaign originally started here in The Netherlands to raise awareness of HIV/AIDS among youngsters (see right banner!). Like the name suggests, the organisation organises dance events, getting volunteer DJs like the famous and amazing Tiesto to play at the events, in order to raise money for supporting organisations that combat HIV/AIDS around the world. After a good talk with the organisation, we were promised some promotional goodies, CDs, and even a DJ to play at the party! If all goes well and according to plan, it'll be quite a big hit of a party~

So... despite the string of horrible arguments and the difficult task of 'peacekeeping', there are still some things that are going right.

No Pok!

A little humour adds a little miracle to life.

February 28 1947

To those who died and were murdered due to intolerance and ignorance...

May such cruelties of man toward man never take place again in Taiwan, and beyond.

Flower on a Rainy Night
-------------------------

A flower on a rainy night
A flower on a rainy night
Fell on the ground in wind and rain
Out of everyone's sight
It sighs day and night
It has fallen not to return again.

A flower on the ground
A flower on the ground
Who pays attention to it?
Merciless rain, merciless rain
It has no concern for our future
It is not mindful for our frailty
Covering our destiny with darkness
Causing us to fall from the branch
Out of everyone's sight

Raindrops, raindrops
Lead us into the pool of suffering
Not mindful of our frailty
Covering our destiny with darkness
Causing us to fall from the branch
Out of everyone's sight

This moment...

Remember this moment... this moment at ten to one in the morning, when dad is sitting behind me watching TV, while I'm reading and preparing for my classes for the coming week.

Moments before, dad had returned from his daily visit to the casino, and like always when he comes home so late, he comes up to me in an almost apologetic and guilty manner. Usually he'd say something like: "Oh, you're not asleep yet?" I guess it's a show of concern, a sign that he cares, or at the very least his way of reaching out and trying to make amends after the tantrums in the morning.... or perhaps a way to divert attention from the fact that he came back so late and was out gambling again...

I don't harbour hatred toward him, because there's really no reason to. As usual, I'd ask him whether he's hungry, or whether he wants to have something to drink, and he'd then politely decline, but then go make himself tea or something in the kitchen. I'd ask how his day was, and what he ate for dinner, out of concern, but perhaps also as a way of reaching out to him and trying to tell and show him that whatever happened happened, and that I really don't have any animosity toward him.

I'd be working on the computer, like I am doing now, and he'd then be zapping through the channels on TV in the living room, like he is doing now.

This is a moment to remember, for some reason... a moment when dad and I are together in one room, within a few metres of one another. A moment when we are so close, but, oh, so far apart. A moment when we are breathing the same air, when we are together, and in a sense, 'sharing' and 'bonding'. Perhaps only in silence, but then perhaps this is how dad communicates best.

The moment would soon be over, like so many moments to remember. He'd turn off the TV, and walk slowly upstairs. Before leaving the room, he'd quietly tell me: "Don't go to sleep too late..."
To that, I'd then reply, "OK, I'll just finish this off, and go to bed. You go to bed too, and sleep well." Dad would then retired upstairs in my bedroom, where he's sleeping for the time of his visit, while I sleep on the floor in the living room.

Simple words, short sentences. But they seem to mean so much for some reason.

It's a moment, a moment to remember.

Like the one that just passed.

In tears

Again woke up to dad's terrible tantrums and abuse. Now he wants to sell the house we're living in, divorce, and cut off all relations with everyone in the family. He says we're all worthless and "vermin"... even me.

I quietly sat there at the breakfast table and listened to him throw a(nother) tantrum, feeling another day ruined, and my heart break again and again. I simply replied that he can do what he wants, do what he feels like... he can disown me and divorce mum, but he will be an old, bitterly lonely man... he can have his money, he can have his houses, but he will have nobody in this great big world, not even the family he rejects... he can have his anger, he can have his hatred and misunderstandings and he can feel like everyone has done him so much wrong... but he will still be ill and suffer for as long as he lives.

I said those words not out of hatred, but out of hurt and disappointment. I know that perhaps all what he said and ranted and raved about were words that just came up in the heat of the moment...I know that because he is physically very ill and suffering, he cannot but lash out verbally... And I know that he will be gone next week, and things will go back to normal again I emphasise with him, because when you are frail and terminally ill, you become scared and will see everything and everone as wrong and as the cause of your pains... Perhaps I should hav kept my thoughts to myself, and just let my dad rant and rave like a mad man... but, wrongly or not, I felt he needed to hear the 'truth', and needed to hear that he is hurting everyone, and most of all, he is hurting himself.

So I told him, calmly and very frankly, that I pity him. I pity him because he is so terminally sick in terms of his health and state of mind that he cannot let go of all this anger and hatred and suffering that makes him even more ill than he already is. I told him I have compassion for him, because he is so frail and weak already, but pretends that he knows everything and doesn't need anyone else, because everyone is wrong, and everyone is doing wrong to him. He threw up his arms in a sign of victory, and said he is very happy and is better off without the rest of us "worthless vermine".

But I know... I know deep down inside, he is hurting, he is a child crying and so scared of death and illness... I know deep down inside he is suffering, forever dwelling anger, deceit, lies and greed... I know he must be in so much pain, but is in constant denial, which hurts even more...

I grabbed my schoolbag and left the house.

Moments later I was again in tears.

Quiet evening at home

I was shivering and close to tears as I slowly cycled home. I never realised or expected that it would come to this... that I'd be dreading to go home and see my own family.

The four hours or so at uni seemed much too short. Again, woke up this morning to heated exchanges and arguments. To be honest, my dad is terribly ill, not only physically but also mentally. And when he feels like it, he just shouts abuse and threatens to do this and that. This morning it was about my brother's girlfriend, and the fact that she's living at our place without contributing anything. And because she comes from China, my dad has this strong stereotype and deep suspicion that she is like all Chinese people he knows and hears about in the media: theiving, coniving and good-for-nothings.

The funny thing is, a few days ago my dad and the girlfriend were getting alone fine, and he even gave her some money for new year's (a tradition with us). And suddenly she's the "enemy", she's a "Commie", and she's supposed to be trying to "take over" the house. Screaming, shouting, ranting about all these far-fetched conclusions and conspiracy theories, just like a naive child who knows so little about the world, but doesn't want to know any more than what he sees and believes as true. A twisted, conceited and bitter old man, who is so ill physically and mentally he doesn't seem to realise it, but goes from day to day driven by anger and frustrations and sorry addictions.

I was in the middle of it all, trying to talk some sense into my dad. I said time and again, you can't equate Chinese people with the Chinese government; it's racism, pure and simple. Besides, you don't have the right to come between two people in love. I told my dad, he doesn't need to approve of anything, but he doesn't have to treat people like dirt and scum even though they have done nothing wrong to him. And really, my brother's girlfriend has done nothing to my dad, but my dad just goes on ranting and raving about conspiracy theories and Commies. I try and try, trying to make him open his eyes, open his mind, but he serious is too blind and narrowminded beyond hope. In the end, I contacted the girlfriend and told her it's best not to be here for the next week or so while my dad is around. By midday, she moved her things out.

Dad thinks he won, but in fact he lost much more. He dares not to go up to my brother and the girlfriend to confront them about all this, and thinks just by treating people like dirt they'll cave in and move away. Of course, my brother got furious and left with his girlfriend. Later in the afternoon, my brother called me while I was studying. One of the first things he said was to warn me of a "confrontation". In the half an hour or so we spoke, he told me several times he has reached the end of his "tolerance level", and will "soon enough" confront dad if dad "goes too far".

I stood outside the library, and shook and felt my heart sink and sigh, as I heard my brother rant and rave about my dad, and warning of the "havoc to come"... I could have burst into tears again there and then. I pleaded to my brother, trying to calm his temper and tried to explain why dad is so angry and upset. All the years of no contact and no communication resulted in a lot of misunderstanding and distrust, and suddenly put two equally subborn, and equally short-tempered people who are so much alike in so many ways together, it's a war waiting to break out. Again, I was in the middle of it all, pleading, putting in a good word for the other person, while trying to appeal to reason and understanding. I tried to appeal to compassion, hoping that my brother could see two sides of the story instead of just the side tainted with hatred and anger. I reminded him that though dad is a terrible dad and has hurt us so many times, he did provide us with a good education and a good life. And, though I hate to say or think it, I told my brother that the way my dad goes on living like this, living in utter denial, shrouded in deep suffering and greed, he wouldn't have much longer... I pleaded for mercy, begged my brother to think of other people, to think of mum's fragile health that cannot stand to bear more screaming and fighting... I told him I could wish for nothing else but that everyone live in peace and happiness. In the end, my brother just said he couldn't promise anything. If confrontation comes, it will come.

I dragged myself home, dreading to face my family, and wishing I could go somewhere else, and be with people who don't shout and harbour so much hatred and anger...

The house was empty and darkening when I arrived around six. I set out to make dinner, thinking they'd all come home to eat. Half an hour later, mum rang the doorbell, and she was the only one who came home. Brother definitely won't come home after what happened this morning, and dad made the lame excuse that he doesn't want to be around this "mess", so disappeared off to his beloved casino again.

Mum and I sat down together to have dinner... no fighting, no anger, no hatred. Just my mum and me (and the sleeping cat), sharing, telling stories, and trying to re-capture all the happy and sad things that have happened in each other's lives in the last year or so while apart.

I listened to her attentively, pouring the occassional tea into her cup whenever it was empty. She talked about living with dad, about how they live such estranged and separate lives, about how they don't talk much, about dad's selfishness and greed, about dad's ailing health, and about how dad would suddenly throw tantrum over the smallest and most trivial things... More and more I was reminded of my life here with my brother, and more and more I was reminded of the saying "like father, like son".

I sat listening to my mum, allowing her to pour out the emotions and bottled up frustrations and hoping by 'emptying' on me, she would feel better, lighter and happier. She deserves to be happy, to be free from a raving mad man, and deserves the peace and quiet to recover from her illness... She told me in detail about the operations she had undergone, about those painful chemo-treatments, about the loneliness she feels at times because I'm so far, far away... I watched her closely, noticing the wrinkles that have formed on her face, around her eyes and on her hands, noticing how the hairlets around her ears have turned gray....

Emotional moments of bonding and sharing, just between my mum and me. Smiles, little tears, laughs and sighs we shared, and like so many times before we connected so deeply I could feel the mutual caring and love all around us. A far, far world away from the shouting and confrontations, and vain attempts to appeal to peace and understanding.

But deep down, I fear that that world far, far away may only be too near...

Fight...

Fight, fight, fight...
Constant war, constant anger, constant ill feelings towards one another.

I am silently and lonelily crying inside....

Longing...

I sit and stare out the window. I should be doing work, should be trying to finish off my deadlines, but I can’t. I can’t concentrate and can’t read anything without the angry voices and disgusted faces echoing in my mind.
Once again, I feel so lost, such disappointment and disbelief at the surrealness of it all, the best way to describe it is feeling ‘numb’. They say if you get hurt time and time again, you become numb. Maybe this is what I’m feeling now.

The family you grew up with, the family you had hoped and prayed and wished at every single birthday would one day be peaceful and happy, fighting and breaking again and again before your eyes… Love, understanding, compassion and respect… so little there is to speak of. Instead, anger, suspicion, soiled memories and ill-wishes seem to dominate and triumph. I sit here, defeated and beaten, exhausted and dreading to fight another battle against the uneasiness and fakeness of it all.

I sit here and stare out the window, wondering whether and when I can love, and be loved back…

A gamble

Almost 1am, and like usual trying to recollect my thoughts and experiences of the day just before going to sleep. Dad came through the door, back from his nightly visit to the casino.

It’s one of his terrible habits, a thing I absolutely loathe about him. In all the years he was working here since I was around 8 or so, he probably spent more time at Black Jack tables than at home. I remember one scene very vividly many many years back… My dad had come home for dinner, and after dinner rushed me upstairs to do my homework. But I heard the car door slam shut moments later. I ran toward the window, and saw the car pull away… Another time, I was perhaps just ten or so, he came home at two or three in the morning with the taxi. He had no money to pay for it, and rang the doorbell. I was the only one to go open it, because mum was of course upset… I was the one who dug into the piggy bank to pay for the taxi fare…

I got extremely upset a few years ago when he came to visit me while I was still in high school, and sarcastically I asked him: "Are you here to see me, or see the people at the casino?" He didn’t say anything. But after that he never visited for several years.

That was a few years ago. And though people change, circumstances change, old habits die hard. Before he arrived, I had the feeling that he would soon get back into his old habit again, but I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But like always, dad only disappointments. After arriving a few days ago, the very next day he just disappeared again. At least it was better than the last time he visited, when he ‘disappeared’ within hours of arriving.

Of course everyone knows where he goes. But like always he’d come home late with stupid excuses like he didn’t bring his glasses and so caught the wrong bus. I’d always ask him how his day has been and where he’d been when he comes home, and every time it’s vague answers like "just here and there" or "just out and about". Two days ago he made the most lamest lie that he went to Amsterdam to see his old office. But the public transport ticket he put on the table clearly revealed where he did go, and it was no where near Amsterdam, but more like Casinoland. Even on my birthday, after a quick lunch which seemed more like a formality than a real desire to be there, he stretched his arms and said he’d like to ‘go walk around a bit’ to walk off the full stomach. The rest of us wanted to go into the countryside, but dad said we could just drop him off in front of the casino. That night, he didn’t even come home for dinner, and wasn’t even there when I blew out the candles on my cake… Disappointment and hurting, time and again.

I think the lies and attempts to ‘cover up’ his trail hurts most. If he wants to go, just say so, but why hide and lie and pretend as if nobody knows and as if nobody should know, when in fact everyone knows!? It’s an addiction, and he doesn’t realise it. Worse still, I am concerned for his health and wellbeing when he spends all this time there. In his very fragile state of health, he really can’t get too tired and have too little sleep… but he doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t seem to give a damn about himself or what other people think.

He is a good dad, in the sense he provided and continues to provide me (us) with everything I (we) could ever need, and more. He never hit me, or overly scolded me or got angry at me, at least not compared to the clashes he and my brother have been having since as long as I can remember. But dad is a lousy father-figure, and even worse of a husband, for he is never around and knows only to share his presence and concern for the rest of the family with money and more money. Dad doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to care about the details of our lives, much less about how we feel and how we’ve been hurt so often by his lies and absence. And in the last few years he has become more and more distant, like a stranger who just happens to live at home, but gets into arguments with almost everyone about the most trivial and petty things. I am the only one he can talk to, and I am the only one who listens, and who he listens to… but more and more I feel this unbearable strain on my mind when I have to try placate his temperaments and distrust toward the rest of us, and try to step in every single time when an argument is about to explode.

I’m not sure how much longer I can take this, before I explode.

Family matters

Like a strange, foreign dream... one you could be shocked and disappointed to wake from at anytime.

I woke up this morning, to that disappointment and shock. One day after my birthday. Just one day... Like I feared, the peace and reconciliation made in the last few days were a sham, fragile and easily broken into thousands of pieces that can cut people deeply and hurt so bad.

Only last night, we were sitting around and talking in a calm manner about the future of this family. Dad promised that he would pass the deeds of the house we’re living in to me and my brother. We had all sat down together with financial advisers and notaries to draft up the plans in a way that would save a lot of taxes, and place the burden of the mortgage on my brother, so that my parents could focus on their pension plans.

Suddenly this morning, dad woke up in a terrible mood and began lashing out at everyone. Such hatred, such anger! Such intolerance and suspicion of everyone and every thing! Now he wants to have nothing to do with what we had talked about, saying that he trusts no one, and believes we’re all involved in a conspiracy against him. Most of all, he despises the fact that my brother’s girlfriend is living with us, and has this deep-seated and twisted idea that she is out to benefit from our assets. A ‘thieving rat’ he called her. Money, money, money… that’s what it’s all about. Money and how to get more of it, and how to protect it as much as possible so you can accumulate more and more. Nothing else seems to matter, especially not how other people feel, or the promises made or false hopes worked up. The fact that my brother and girlfriend have been together for almost two years and have plans to settle down together doesn’t matter. She’s conniving and plotting, eating and living for free, so she must be terrible. What a simple and tainted mind my dad has!

It’s all about money, all about property, all about distrust and conspiracies and misunderstandings. That’s all dad sees. He doesn’t see things as they are, just how it will benefit him or hurt him, and in his mind he thinks we’re all trying to cheat him. And he blames everyone, accuses everyone of the most ridiculous things.

He called me ‘soft’, and has this fear I would just give away my share of the house to my brother’s girlfriend for no reason. Earlier I told him about my plans to move out of the house as soon as I’m financially independent, and dad interpreted it to be me thoughtlessly abandoning my rights at home. I tried to explain to him that I can’t possibly live at home all my life, but he called me stupid and accused me of being blind of certain people trying to take advantage of me. Even the fact that I help my single-mum friend now and then came up in his tirade, because helping a single mother and baby “has no benefit”. Suddenly, being kind and being honest and treating everyone with courtesy and respect is a sin. I really can’t understand what kind of twisted world and sick ideas go around in his head…

I told him many, many times when he was diagnosed with liver cancer that sometimes in life it’s best to live happily and live well, and that everything else doesn’t really matter much when you leave this world. But he doesn’t listen, and still clings onto his ideas and misconceptions, anger and deep distrust of people like they matter more than anything else in the world. It’s been a year since I last saw him, and I was surprised how he has aged. His hair has drastically whitened on his head, his face become so haggered and wrinkled. Walking just a little bit makes him exhausted, and every few hours he needs medication to control his blood sugar levels. When you come to this stage in life, when you don’t know when you will ‘go’, why not live everyday with hope and with a light heart of compassion and kindness? Why go on being angry, having all this distrust and hatred bottled up deep inside, and cling onto money, money, money? How ill my dad is, how cold and heartless he is, that giving others the benefit of the doubt is such is not even possible any more… everything tainted with thoughts of money, money, money, benefit, profit and for me, me, me!

Whatever I try to say to him, however I try to smooth things out between people, however I try to appeal to common sense and emotions, it’s like he is resistant to my words. To me, it’s not really the money or the rights to the house that I care about. Of course dad has the right to decided where and to who his money goes… but why tear down the trust and good-will that has built over the past few days over nothing? Such a petty mind, a mind full of bad thoughts and bad karma…

I told him all I wanted is for people to get along peacefully and live happily without anger, without hatred. I told him how he has hurt and disappointed me, time and time again. He just walked away and closed the door behind him. As if closing the door can shut away all the trouble and grief he’s caused me by his sudden change of mind. As if closing the door can shut away the pain he has caused by his angry words and terrible temper…

I sat at the breakfast table, wondering what happened overnight that changed everything. I felt so bitter…so frustrated… I’m not angry at him, but just very, very disappointed. How can someone who is supposed to be so close be so distant? How can a loved one, your own dad, hurt and disappoint you time and time again?

What happened to my birthday wishes for everyone to get along peacefully and happily as I blew out the candles on the cake last night? What happened to those illusory hopes and promises of a better future together as a family and all those moments of sharing and bonding in the past few days?

Dead dreams. Broken hopes.

I buried my face in my hands, rubbed my sore eyes and aching head. Why…why this nightmare…?

Birthday

I received a lot of calls, and messages, and emails and ecards from friends and colleagues. It was touching to receive so many expressions and wishes. To be honest, at times I felt a little flustered and wondered what I ever did to deserve the wishes and gestures from so many people.

Actually, nobody in the family remembered it was my birthday, until my mum saw the date this morning and realised what day it was. It’s not that I love to be noticed and to be the centre of attention, but it’s nice to feel just a little special, and as if you could do anything you want because it's your birthday, if only for one day in a year. After realising it was my birthday, they secretly bought a cake while I was out, and hid it until late in the evening.

I laughed the moment I saw the big ‘24’ candles on the cake, and joked that they were really planning ahead. To me it didn’t really matter that they didn’t remember or got the year wrong, but, as they say, it’s really the thought that counts.

To everyone who wrote to me offering support when I was upset, and offering me the best of wishes for my birthday, thank you.

I’m sorry that I can’t write back personally to thank you at the moment… trying to spend as much time as possible with my parents while they’re still here, tonnes of school work to be done and with the part time job(s), I really don’t have much time to answer emails.

But I want you to know, I really appreciate every single word and the time everyone one of you took to remember me, and make me feel special.

Thank you! :)

21 February 1984

I was born.

After fighting, there is peace.

Or at least a period of peace.

It's been four days since that big outburst of emotions last Friday, and overall it's been relatively calm. New year's eve (Saturday) we managed to sit down at the table as a family and share a proper meal together. There was good food, wine and conversation. No finger pointing, no swearing, no shouting. Mum said how happy she was that we could finally sit down together and have a proper meal together. Dad, in a rare expression of his feelings, told us how proud he was of us (the children) and our achievements. Brother talked together, mostly about the car that he wanted, spurred by my dad, who promised to cover half of the costs. Between the clinking of our glasses, we wished each other success and wellbeing. I silently wished everyone peace and happiness.

We even managed to talk about some more 'sensitive' issues... like the uncertain future, and how to deal with the certain property and assets, especially due to the ill-health of both my parents. Before, dad would always stubbornly refuse to touch on the subject, but this time he softened, and we all managed to sit down with a family lawyer just yesterday and discuss things in a civilised manner. All this talk of money and property seems so cold and so 'de-personalising', but it's something that needs to be done sooner or later.

And for the first time in a long time, we took a trip together into the countryside the other day, smiling, laughing and sharing. Precious times, priceless times. Of course it wasn't all easy, and at times I needed to jump in and 'direct' the conversation to avoid confrontations and outbursts. Overall, everyone seems happy, and this seems like the beginning of something new, something beautiful, something I had longed for for so long.

Yet, beneath the smiles, the nice exchange of words and well-meaningness of it all, I feel like it's all so surreal. Still numb from the explosive exchange of words a few days ago, it's as if a part of me is half expecting something to go wrong, or perhaps even hoping that something would go wrong just to prove right that this family is indeed hopeless. And all the time I feel so tired, so exhausted from just being around them and having to 'intervene' and reconcile potential words that might just break everything down again.

Like a strange, foreign dream... one you could be shocked and disappointed to wake from at anytime.

Family reunion

I hugged my mum tightly, and started sobbing. Tears ran down my face, and everything was a blur. I broke down, and as if the intimate touch of another person I had so longed for broke the barrier that I had built up inside, the tears became unstoppable. All the frustration, the longing, the anger and aching pain flowed with the tears, as I hugged mum and rested my head on her shoulder.

Less than one day since my parents arrived, and my worst nightmares have already played out before my eyes. The things I dreaded, but dare not put down in words erupted, with all the shock and awe and fright still lingering on in the slight way my fingers now tremble.

A family reunion turned into a family split. We went to pick up my parents at the airport, and perhaps twenty minutes after were together dad threw a tantrum over the smallest thing and began scolding my mum left and right in the arrivals terminal. It was over a piece of luggage that mum took from him to lighten his load, but because she hadn’t told him, he got all upset and angry and went on all about responsibility. I stood there, and as usual tried to calm the eruption by saying it was OK, nothing was lost. For my brother, who had already more or less given my dad a cold reception when they saw each other, it was of course more fuel to his deep-seated anger and animosity towards dad.

All seemed well and dandy until dinner. We sat around to eat, brother sitting opposite dad, but throughout the entire meal brother neither looked or spoke to my dad. My dad got upset and muttered about how indignant and rude my brother had gotten since they last met almost three years ago. I sat there, and said nothing, but again felt tension and resentment resurfacing. Deep inside, I shook and wondered how long it would be till things escalate.

Not long. Suddenly out of the blue, and before retiring to his bedroom, dad told mum in a menacing tone that he would rather burn this house down than leave it to my brother. Mum was of course heart-broken, for the hopes that she had had of bringing the two together were again torn to bits. Brother overheard, and started to (over)react, listing all the wrongs that dad had done in the past few years, like never being a ‘real’ dad, like neglecting the family, like treating mum badly etc. etc. etc. My mum and I listened to his tirade. My mum tried pointlessly to try to calm brother down, to bridge the peace and gap, and try to smooth the tensions. At one point I responded (perhaps wrongly) by telling my brother that he is actually exactly like dad, in every single way, including the way he gets angry at the smallest little thing, the way he talks down to people and the way he treats his girlfriend, exactly like how my dad treats mum.

Then followed another tirade, this time against me, again accusing me of neglecting my house work, of forgetting to turn of the light, of not feeding the cat, of hanging the curtains wrong, of never being home (and then of being home all the time). His eyes bulged in rage, his fingers pointed and his voice boomed in the air. A more angry and terrifying person I’ve hardly encountered.

I stood there and listened, shaking my head in the disbelief at all the accusations I was again hearing… all the accusations over nothing that somehow turned into something so huge and sinful. I was so wrong, wrong and wrong again and again and again.

Perhaps the sound of brother shouting woke dad, and made him come downstairs. Without knowing what was going on, and still angry at the way brother had treated him, my dad burst out swearing, shouting, finger pointing. Like father, like son. Brother shouted back, in the same menacing tone and words and finger pointing, and accusing him of being a worthless dad. “Dirty PIG! Scum of the earth! SWINE!”, my dad replied. Mum stood there, and I could hear her heart break in her sighs and see her pain in the way she shook her head in sadness and disappointment. I stood by and told her not to interfere, not to get in the way, and to just let them fight and argue and say whatever they needed to say to each other. But when there seemed to be no end to the horrible abusive shouting and finger pointing, I told both of them: “You two are exactly alike, in the way you shout and gesture, in the way you treat your [girlfriend/wife]. You are exactly the same. If he is a pig, you are a pig. If he is scum of the earth, you too are scum of the earth”.

That stopped the shouting, and dad stormed upstairs. I wandered towards the kitchen, trembling from the horrors I had just witnessed, my head spinning from the upsetting family drama that had just unfolded, and had just confirmed my fears that this façade of a family reunion would erupt into a cold, cold war. My mind was full of pain, my heart aching. Mum silently followed me. As soon as I saw her near, I could not help myself…

I closed both arms around her and started sob like a little helpless and hurting boy. Sob like I’ve not done for a long, long time, because I finally had a shoulder to cry on. Behind my closed eye lids the images of the shouting and arguments replayed themselves, criss-crossing with the images of the scars and wounds on mum’s body, which she had shown me earlier, from the operations she had undergone in the past year to remove her malignant tumours. I sobbed, feeling her grip tighten on me, as we seemed to be sharing each other’s pain and sorrow, as if we both understood all too well what the other is going through. I sobbed, feeling remorse and numbness, feeling sorry mostly for her, because she has to put up with this, because she has tried almost all her life to care and support this family together, but everything seemed to be breaking down and worsening even more and more. I sobbed, for her, because as a cancer survivor this is exactly the very last she needed. I sobbed, for my dad and brother, for they constantly dwell in their miseries and anger and resentment toward each other, but do not see just how alike both are. I sobbed, for my family, the last tatters of which is being torn and shredded like a cruel, mean joke. In the back of my mind, ‘Why?’, “Why?”, “Why?” repeated themselves over and over again.

I cry as I write this… as I think about all these terrible things mum has to endure, about all the anger and resentment running so deep and so clear in my family, about the dreams and hopes and prayers I had as a little kid of a happy, united family… The pain… the disappointment… the injustice… the suffering… they all seem to draw more and more tears from my eyes as I type, and type.

It feel soothing to cry, so calming to let all the bottled up emotions and longings flow with the tears. For a while I was still broken, words wallowing on my lips like the tears wallowing around my eyes as I tried to express my wishes and hopes for this seemingly hopeless family. “All I want is that people get along. All I want is for you and dad to live a peaceful and happy life together. All I want is for brother and dad to reconcile. I want this to end. This horrible conflict. I want it to end”. The more I spoke those words, the more emotional I felt.

Boys don’t cry.

But I was never a boy, so let me be one for once.

Calmer...

2am. A few hours ago I was so frustrated and angry that I felt dizzy and unwell, but now it's as if that episode of anger and frustration never happened. Again, it's from experiences like this that you learn to try and not to get angry, because frankly you're only hurting yourself, and others, by spreading bad karma.

The rooms are more or less tidy (or at least tidier) now. The flowers have been arranged, bed linen changed, extra blankets set aside in case they get cold, and brand new towels and woollen socks (to keep their feet warm at night), have been laid out for them. The fridge and cupboards are full of food for us to feast on. And I've managed to get some of the work finished too.

A few hours more, and I'll be at the airport to wait for my parents to walk through that arrivals gate. It's exciting, joyful to be together as a family again, but at the same time , at the back of my mind, I fear the not-so-exciting, not-so-joyful things that may just erupt when we are around one another too long.

Whatever will be, will be.

Family stress

In about twelve hours, and my parents will be here. At the moment I'm feeling so anxious and irritated at the same time. Still so much school work to finish, but the house work is still undone. I cleaned up two days ago, and two days later it's back to the same old mess. Papers lying around, cups and plates thrown here and there, clothes everywhere. Disgusting. Just disgusting.

The more I clean, the more irritated I get... I think I'm just on the edge of shouting, or even crying because it's just all too much. Why the hell should I have to do all this, when I have so much work to do myself? I work two days a week, study the rest of the week, and still have to try find time to clean up, cook and do grocery shopping. And what do these other people do? And why should I have to clean up after someone's breakfast, lunch and dinner? Or why should I have to remove cigarette ash and butts from the sink because some smoker is too lazy to do it himself? When you use something, put it back to where it belongs. When you open a box or a can, throw the empty container away in the bin. When you're finished eating, put the plates in the dishwasher. How retarded can you be to just dump everything everywhere and hope things will clean up after themselves?! A few steps to get to the bin is not too much effort to ask, right? Rubbish! Complete rubbish!

I want my parents to come and see that we're doing well and living in a safe, clean environment, so that they don't have to worry about us. I want them to enjoy their stay here, because they've been working so long and hard, they deserve a break from life and stress. So on the one hand I want to clean up the mess, but on the other I just feel so angry why I'm the only one doing it. It's our parents, not just mine.

I thought family getting together is supposed to be a joyous and fun event. But really I'm starting to dread it. And the three weeks have not even begun.

Valentine's Day

Woke up to the sound of rain drops on my window. Only had the luxury of four hours sleep, as I was up almost all night studying and filling in this application for an internship. I really didn't have to get up this early, but since my parents are arriving in less than 48hrs, the fridge cannot be empty.

So... sleepy and drowsy, I dragged myself out of bed, and headed to the market at 8am. It was drizzling all the way, and cold, and nothing seemed to be going well. Because of this new light-railway system that's being tested in the city, lots of trams were rediverted or simply didn't go where they usually went... which meant lots of waiting and delays.

I bought really a lot of food and fruits this time, since it's lunar new year, which for us is sort of the equivalent of Christmas. In the end, I was carrying a huge bag and backpack full of groceries, whereas my monthly loan had pretty much emptied. To save time (and energy, since I was pretty much sleepy still) I left the groceries in a storage locker at the station, and rushed off to work. Pretty funny thinking back on it... storing all these fruits and vegetables in a locker at the busy station... security people were probably scrutinising my every move, wondering what I was up to.

As usual, it was 'gezellig'... it's this wonderful Dutch feeling and word of which there doesn't seem to be an English equivalent... it's sort of a mixture of something or someone being fun, cosy, warm all at the same time. And we, bacherloretes and bachelors, sat around chatting, gossiping, sipping hot tea over apple pies and chocolates, while it rained and rained outside. Oh yeah, we worked too.

The pompous gala event is this Saturday, so we were talking about what to wear. I burst out laughing when I heard in detail what was expected. It's a basically a day of celebrations and lectures at the Peace Palace, to be rounded off with a 'white bow' dinner party. Ladies are expected to wear a formal evening dress, whereas for men it's more complicated. Everything is down to the detail, because what you wear is who you are. So the formal attire consists of a:

• Black tailcoat with silk (ribbed or satin) facings, sharply cut-away at the front
• Black trousers with a single stripe of satin or braid in the US or two stripes in Europe
• White stiff-fronted shirt, with cotton pique dickie, boiled or heavily starched)
• White stiff wing collar (attached to the shirt with collar buttons)
• White bow tie (usually cotton pique)
• White low-cut waistcoat (usually cotton pique, matching the bow tie and dickie)
• Black silk stockings
• Black patent leather pumps or shoes

Of course, to look especially posh and elegant, a top-hat (rabbit included), cane (to point and poke people with, and to support yourself in case you've had one too many bourbons), white gloves (touch not where other people touched) will do the "magic trick". Silk, of course, not cheap cotton or rags. And dare not forget those shining, dazzling cufflinks, that according to someone can be bought for only 300 euros at a certain store in Zurich. Wrist watches are a definite no-no, for it will equate you with the common man, and you really wouldn't want that. Instead one of these flip-open gilded clocks hanging from you side pocket is the proper convention. If you wear glasses, better get a 'one-eye lense' to play the part of the sophisticated member of the gentry, but looking more like a pirate captain. If you have to be bourgeois, do it with (literally) "class".

As I listened to the description, I was reminded of those satirical cartoons of capitalist fat cat with dollar signs in their eyes. An image of ridiculousness and disgust. Thankfully, I'm not going to the gala dinner. I cancelled, because really I'd rather spend my time with my family. Something about a bunch of men and women walking around in these gowns and dresses just abhores me so. Maybe because I believe there are more important things in life than members of an exclusive club gathering together to give one another pats on the back... maybe it's to do with the fact that it's all seems like one big facade of a fashion show to show off who is more powerful and rich. Call me left, call me a closet communist, but really, who are you trying to impress?

At the end of the day, take off the layers and accessories that cost hundreds or even thousands of euros, you are naked. Bare, exposed and vulnerable as any other man or woman on the street. Strip people of their pompousness and arrogance, and you'll find them as scared of life and death as any human being.

This was my Valentine's Day. Like any day, really.

Birthday trip!

Just sort out details for a trip I'll be taking next week to a far, far away and exotic land known as Belgium.

Sometime ago my professor sent us invites to attend this three day seminar on international humanitarian law, organise by the International Committee of the Red Cross and the prestigeous College of Europe.

I've always wanted to know more about international humanitarian law, or, ironically it's called the 'laws of war'. It basically deals with the rules and regulations that govern the coduct of warfare, like what weapons are allowed, the protection of civilians etc, and is a fascinating, if not very current topic. Most likely I'll base my thesis on this field of international law, so the more I know the better.

It'll be in Brugge (Bruges), an amazingly beautiful town in eastern Flanders, and initially a bunch of my classmates were supposed to come too. We were supposed to go and enjoy the wonderful Belgium beers, chocolates, and 'vlaamse frites' (Belgium fries!)... but then they all cancelled at the last minute because frankly next week is a horrible week to take a trip. Which also means I'll most likely spend birthday alone, again : /

But I can't blame them. Hundreds of pages of reading, and two paper deadlines. It's a LOT of work. And since we have this ridiculous rule (more suited for primary school children than master students I think!!!) that if you miss more than one class, you are no longer qualified for the course, I basically have to leave right after class Monday afternoon, attend the three day seminar, and rush back Thursday night in order to get to class Friday morning. And to manage all the deadlines and reading, I've basically been working day and late to get everything finished.

It wasn't easy to make the accomodation arrangements. I searched online for a cheap hostel to stay in, and I entered the credit card details and pressed "confirm". All I wanted was a simple single room, and there was a bargain for around €75 for three nights at this place with great reviews... but no, somehow I ended up with four rooms costing over €250, and not even at a hostel near where I intended to stay! Crazy how online transactions work...

Hectic, tiring, and I know I'll be taking my fun-filled books with me on the train, but I hope it's worth the effort.

Sleepless nights

Again I can’t sleep. I’ve been having sleepless nights, nights in which I lie in bed, close my eyes and try to make myself sleep, but cannot. I curl up, hug myself, hoping that would do the trick, but nothing seems to help. Though physically tired, my head seems to be racing, seems to be filled with thoughts, worries, fantasies and fears.

Since I can’t sleep, might as wake up and write. Maybe by the time I finish this, and maybe when I get my mind down in words, I’ll be more…relieved.

Ten more days, and I’ll be older. I guess that’s one of the many things ‘bothering’ me recently. It seems like ever since the beginning of this year I’ve been feeling really agitated and empty, more empty than before. At first I thought the feeling, like all the things in life that are impermanent, would go away, but falling ill, and the bouts of not so pleasant weather recently hasn’t helped to lift my mood. It’s like inside there’s a voice crying out, at what or at whom I don’t know. But there seems to be some being deep inside trying to tell me something. It’s a mixture of feelings… of loneliness, of fear, of fear of rejection, of fear of failure, of longing and, perhaps, most of all, of hopelessness. I’m not sure if there’s one thing that I can point to as the source of all these negative emotions that have been pulling me down and making me depressive.

Next week, both my parents will be coming over to visit. It’s for the celebration of the lunar new year, during which traditionally families come together. Despite having horrendous amounts of work and deadlines in the next few weeks, and despite the fact I might have to go away to attend a three-day seminar in Belgium, I do look forward to seeing mum and dad again.

I’ve not seen them for almost a year, and this visit will be the first time in over five that both my mum and dad will be here. The fact that it’ll soon be my 23^rd birthday just made me realise that it’s been almost ten years since I last permanently lived with my parents. All these years by myself, thousands of kilometers of oceans and lands apart, I’ve grown up without them. It was a choice they made, a sacrifice even, to live me here in Europe so that I could have a better education. No doubt they were wonderful in providing me with all I ever need and so, so much more. No doubt they have my interests and my future in mind. But it all came at the cost of time together. The teenage years passed like a distant and vague memory.

I still remember that day when they left, that moment at the airport, me a little kid in tears waving goodbye to his parents. I somehow knew deep inside that moment would be the beginning of the end of my family. And I was right. Throughout the years the bonds between us became more and more diluted. My brother simply gave up keeping in touch with my parents, while I still harboured hopes that “blood runs thicker than water” and that in the end distance and time would not make our love and care for one another even less. Naïve perhaps.

However much you try to keep in touch, the barriers are still there. There are things you won’t tell to each other because the other wouldn’t understand, or because you don’t want the other to worry. And with time, the gap and distance grows, until one day you can’t even picture their faces without looking at their photographs. It didn’t help that a couple of years ago my dad just disappeared out of our lives without an explanation, and now he wants to suddenly rejoin us and pretend like nothing ever happened. The hurt has been done, and the feelings have become numb over time.

Partly inside, I deeply look forward to seeing both my parents again. It’ll be the firs time to see them both after discovering that they are both permanently ill with cancer. It’ll be so wonderful to have this precious time together, to be next to each other, to eat together, to walk together, to talk to one another and see and touch one another right in front of you. Life is short, and the times together even shorter.

There’s so much to say, so much to talk about… the future, with them, with me (and with my brother). There are things to be decided, even things that now seem so surreal to be dealing with, but which nonetheless must be faced up to before…before it’s too late.

Yet, at the same time I dread to face the façade that we’re a ‘wonderful, loving family’ reunited again. I know it’s pointless to dwell on unpleasant thoughts and unpleasant memories… the past has gone by, and you should never pre-judge the future based the past… but when I imagine and remember those terrible confrontations, arguments, bickering, the cold wars I cannot but feel an urge to just get away. Get as far away as possible and pretend I don’t have anything to do with my family any more.

Partly I want to get close to them, to bring everyone together again and make us all connect like we need to, but partly I don’t want to be involved. For too long I’ve had to be the bridge holding everyone together, the peacemaker who passes little messages because one person is not talking to another. The person who has to smile and dance around like a jester because the mood is so sombre. And I’m tired already, tired of this family I simply cannot quit because I care too much. I want to care for them, to love them all and not have to choose between sides. I want to show and let them know that I don’t favour anyone more than another… yet time and again they seem to be testing me. My longing for a relationship, one based on trust, understand, respect, and most of all, love comes from the desire to prove to myself that such things are possible in the world, despite what I’ve heard and seen and experienced.

Torn… like so often in life, I’m torn. All these incoherent, random thoughts and rants seems so pointless when I read back what I just wrote down… but this is how my mind is at the moment.

Incoherent, random, and ranting. And sleepless.

'Specialist'

It started to heavily snow at the beginning of the week, and overnight the snow thawed and disappeared. It was winter, but now I’m not sure what season it is anymore.

Been spending the past few days getting used to the busy life of school again. And since there will be ‘visitors’ next week, and since I may be going abroad for a few days (I’ll write more later!!), I’m trying to get as much work and reading done as possible. To be honest, the two weeks of vacation I just had I was simply lazy, and now I’m sort of feeling the pressure building. But I can do it. I know I can, because I always have.

Just now there was yet another round of shouting. As usual, my brother started it, because he came upstairs and found the girlfriend sleeping, instead of studying (like she should be doing). Well, in my opinion, it was already past eleven, so if she wants to sleep, let her sleep! My goodness... where's the descency?!

I had felt something was wrong earlier today when she came home from school, but didn’t think too much of it. A few minutes later she came out and threw up over the toilet bow. As she threw up and choked, I went to talk to her and ask if she needs anything. She said it’ll be alright, and that she’s not been feeling too well for sometime, and that today’s gotten a lot worse. I suggested to call the family doctor, but she insisted it’ll be alright, and that she’s “been to see the specialist”.

She didn’t elaborate and just went back to her room and closed the door behind her. “Specialist”… that word echoed in my mind, and I immediately thought of that episode some months ago.

Could it be…? My brother was somewhere in his room.

It's snowing!

It started a little bit as I was getting ready for class. I thought it would stop, because no snow had been forecast today. Wearing white pants was something I'd later regret.

A fascinating class it was today, about the origins of international law, and how it expanded and became so-called 'universal' in the age of colonialisation. You see, law was a product of the 'civilised nations', and only applicable to 'civilised' people. And in the last scramble for colonies at the end of the nineteenth century, law was used to promote and project European influence to the (literally) 'darker' reaches of the world. Land was taken, because the 'savages' were not civilised enough to own land. Uttterly unequal and biased treaties were drafted and signed, which basically signed away the rights and sovereignties of rulers in Africa and Asia. 'Savages' needed 'enlightened' ideas and practices to be 'liberated', and this was done through force, as well as institutions of law. The 'white man's burden' it was called, to spread civilisation (and to some extent, religion) throughout the darkened continents. A history and policy of hypocrisy, blatant racism, self-proclaimed superiority under the guise of 'humanity' and the supposed benign. Some would say the history has continued to this day.

So far, I've had the feeling the degree I'm doing and the university where I study is pretty... 'tame', in the sense that it sort of goes along with (conservative) mainstream theories. As I was preparing the readings for today last night, I was smiling. The very things I had studied and became indoctrinated with at SOAS were alive and kicking. The world is not as black and white as it seems. Democracy and law aren't neutral ideas that can be imported and exported like everything else this neo-liberal capitalist world society seems to produce and market. The critiques of post-modernism on the current world order, the Foucauldian discourse on us vs them, the vices of seeing the world through Eurocentric and ethnocentric perspectives all came flooding back. The left didn't die after all.

And all of a sudden, in the middle of class, a girl gasped as she looked out the window. It began to pour with snow, softly and silently it was almost surreal. The girl had apperently never seen snow before, so was excited, and she excited the rest of us too.

Soon class was over, and we all rushed outside. I stood there, stuck my tongue out and tasted the falling flakes. I cycled home, as quickly as I could, but the roads were horrible and jammed with cars. Quickly I got my camera, and in the snowfall that was getting bigger and bigger, I headed for the forest.

Winter had finally come.