Stopover Vancouver

It was such a smooth flight. Barely any turbulence, and the tailwinds blew with us across the Pacific. I fell asleep almost immediately after boarding, waking only to eat, turn my body a little. Most of the flight I was deep asleep. Perhaps the massage a few hours before the flight, despite leaving dozens of bruise marks all over my back, has really made me more relaxed and sleepy.

With four hours to spare, I ventured into the downtown area of Vancouver. It didn't take much effort, and a bus ride and half an hour later I was at the port area. Towering skyscrappers, lights reflecting in the sea. A cold chill, colder than in Taipei, but, as someone texted me and mentioned, may very well just be a little preparation for the frigid cold waiting for me back in Montreal. It seems like the further east you go, at least when flying from Asia, the colder it gets.

I felt a little strange in Vancouver. Wandering around the downtown area, which was no more like any other North American city, there were all these Asian(-looking) people. On the bus, on the streets, on the billboards of restaurants and shops, signs and evidence of the large Asian community here in Vancouver. It seems strange, so bizarre even, that having just left Asia and arrived in Canada, I would be surrounded by people speaking in Mandarin, Cantonese, and by people though Chinese(-looking) speak in such a way if you did not see their physical appearance you would think they were Canadians, down to the very "eh?". And they are very likely born and bred Canadians, just... perhaps having lived in Europe for much too long, the notion of race and nationality is still very much engrained in my thoughts and consciousness.

Not that I saw much of Vancouver... but from what I saw and experienced, it is such a peaceful city, such an organised and English (-speaking) city. Right on the Pacific, surrounded by mountains. Even from the air at dusk as we approached in the changing twilight, there was a serene beauty about the city and its surroundings that make Vancouver somehow attractive.

Now... soon back to Montreal.

Departing for Canada

Sitting alone at the terminal building. Gate D7, and not a passenger in sight. This is not my gate, but with almost two hours to spare, I wandered through the airport looking for a place to settle. Settle for a few moments before I get up, leave and fly far, far away.

This trip home is about to end. And it is with confused feelings that I leave. In the final hours at home, I felt frustrated, lost, confused and feel the race of time against me. The more the time ticks away, the more I feel I may have missed something. And the feelings of helplessness, of loss, of defeat sweeps over.

I notice it is a terrible pattern of pre-departure blues which brings the mood at home down to a low point. I try to resist, to control my frustrations, frustrations that I think are related with my inability to really let go. But it is hard. As I took my last bath before leaving, I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself. Calm my mind, calm my spirit, and try to reassure myself that I can go on, that I can leave without leaving a bit of me behind.

The day has been long, and tiring. A morning of rain and fierce winds we braved as we rode to pay our respects to dad in Jinshan. I felt overwhelmed as I held those incense sticks and spoke to dad in my heart. I told him to take care, to be happy, to be free, to take good care of himself, to eat well and dress well, and to look after mum. Words and wishes as if he were there right next to me. Only, unspoken words, words of such deep affectiong and care. I felt my vision blur as the tears threatened to spill.

Later at the airport, I would hug my mum, again, and again, and again until the last moment before entering the restricted area. I could see her eyes moisten, and perhaps my brother's eyes were not dry either. So many departures, so many times I have had to say goodbye at the same spot. When I was young, I used to cry. No, I used to bite my tongue and hold the tears in until after I entered those glass doors. Then I would quicklu walk into a corner and shed those heavy tears. But today, as I held onto mum, in my heart I silently wished her well. Wished that she would be happy, be care-free, be healthy, be able to move on and find strength to live without worry and fear.

For that is what I wish for her. Nothing more. And with that I can make peace and leave... leave home, in order to go home.

6 February

On this day last year, my dad passed away. I had rushed half way around the world for that moment, and just made it. It was a gray, dull, cold, rainy day, much like today. His hand held onto mine, or rather, mine held onto his. It was wrinkled, dry, and peeling somewhat.

The beeping of the machine slowed, slowed, slowed, and gradually stopped. I whispered soft words into his ears, telling him to go with ease and in peace, and to let go. Let go of this life, let go of suffering, let go all the worldly things that keep us all so preoccupied all the time, yet, at the end of it all, amount to nothing. And he let go, left, the warmth of his body fading slowly until what remained on that hospital bed was a thin, frail corpse.

I did not shed a tear then. A calm overcame me, a stillness never before experienced, yet so subtle it felt surreal. In meditative serenity I comforted myself, and others. Life is only so much, I then realised, but memories are so much more that continue to live on longer than life.

So it is fitting that on this day, exactly a year later, I should be packing my bags in preparation to leave home. A year has come and gone, and I too have come and am about to go. Strewn on the floor of my dad's old bedroom are my bags and suitcases. When I open the drawers and cupboards, it is as if the trapped memories are released into the present and relived again. Pictures, letters, clothes, books... each a story, or a part of a story of a person, of a life, of a part of this all which is somehow connected to everything else and leads to everything else. Pens, audio tapes, bedspreads, namecards... each a reminder, a souvenir from the past that can make you remember the times and moments shared and passed. Alone they are merely objects, some yellowed by age, others faded away and barely readable, yet together they are pieces of valuable memories that continue to live on.

Indescribable gratitude

There are moments and people you encounter in life sometimes for which you are so grateful to that thinking about them can almost bring you to tears. And the more powerful when the moments and people are combined together to evoke feelings that I cannot describe.

Mum arrived in Puli this afternoon, after a year of not having been here. I had been hoping and wishing that she would come here, to enjoy the peace, capture the beauty, and hopefully bring some of it back home with her. Finally she’s here.

I notice that she’s so happy here… smiling, laughing at reverend’s jokes, and listening attentively to reverend’s dharma talks. I sit next her and deep inside am so glad that she can be exposed to all this peace and good feelings and good thoughts, and secretly wish that it will recharge her, give her the boost of energy that she needs in order to go on.

And I am so grateful, as I knelt before reverend this evening before retiring for the night. So grateful to him for taking us in and bringing so joy to my mum’s life, bringing wisdom and the dharma into our beings, and for making us understand that it is ever only so much. So grateful I am too, to others like Jane who are so kind and willing to help others, willing to extend a helping hand and expect nothing in return.

There is a deep sense of gratitude that I cannot express. But I feel it. And it brings almost tears to my eyes.

On the bus to Puli

Just left Kaoshiung, after a quick one day visit and stay at uncle Alan’s place. It was nice to see them all again, especially the children. We went to Pintung yesterday, to the Great Peng Bay area, which is an island salt-water lake. As we rode the boat, we watched white cranes fly and soar behind us, in flocks like white shadows trailing in the foaming path of the boat. It was a magnificent sight, and very calming to ride on the waves, together with mum and brother, and uncle’s family.

The children… they’ve really grown a lot, and both are almost as tall as I am. The older one, Iain, has a deeper voice now, an is as shy as before. Perhaps he’s just getting used to his new voice, and he hides his mouth behind his hands a lot. Behind his hands I can see him smile and snigger sometimes. I wonder what he is thinking behind those smiles.

We walked together to the railway station this morning. And only in own brief moments alone did I learn that he may be moving to Canada as soon as this summer. In a way, I am happy for him. But on the other hand I also can sort of feel the anxiety, and perhaps fear, of leaving home, and about to be away from family and friends. It’s not yet sure where he will go, or where he will study. But there is a likely chance that he may go to Montreal. When asked where he’d like to be, given the choice of Vancouver and environs, he said why not stay with me. I feel humbled that he’s think of me, and want to be with me. But then again, I wonder whether we’d get along, and how life with be with a teenager who’s about to go through the confusing period of puberty and getting to know himself. Will I be able to guide him, be there for him, help him and support him when he needs it the most? Will I be able to cope with his psychological developments, his initial feelings of isolation and estrangement when he first arrives? I’m not sure. And, perhaps things will not turn out that way