Call from brother

The last time brother and I spoke was two weeks ago, when I called him on new year's eve from some obscure location. It only struck me when I looked at the date that two weeks have  already gone by, and I realise again what a waste of time and my life to be so unproductive and so down...

The beginning of the conversation was about (family) business, which I just dread talking about, even though it must be dealt with. What to do with my mum's house, what to do with her belongings (chuck them or donate them...), and so on. He wants me to be available online in the coming period so he can skype with me and show me things to decide what to do with every single item in mum's house. It will be a very tough process, especially from afar...

It depresses me even more to think of all these things, especially knowing that for the first time in five years, I cannot be there for the lunar new year celebrations. When my brother mentioned what he plans to do to commemorate my parents on this special occasion (specifically for my dad, the anniversary of whose passing falls on lunar new year's eve...), I just cried. When he mentioned that he will not be spending new year's at home, but instead will go to stay with his mother in-law, I cried even more... Cried quietly of course. Thank goodness the office door was closed.

Just the image of my mum's home being empty for the first time ever is heart-wrenching. To think, only last year we were all together. Mum was still there, though sickly and weak, but we were together. We shared a meal, even though she ate very little. Mum, brother, his wife, my nephew, and I, all of us together. I could still hold her hand then, I could lie next to her and fall asleep imagining I'm a baby next to his mother. That's all in the past now... no more, no more... Momentarily, the past and all those beautiful memories saddened me.

"Are you alright? How are you doing nowadays?" he asked I think he could hear from the sound of my voice that I am really deflated and unmotivated (I imagine anyone can...). In a rare moment of bonding and care, I felt he was genuinely concerned, perhaps more so because when I visited three weeks ago I told him I have been terribly lonely and often sad these few months since mum left-- a feeling that intensified only after my return to Canada and as I began to pick up my life. I told him then about how lost I feel, so uncertain I am where to start and what to do with myself.

On the phone today, he encouraged me, told me to do things to distract myself and feel less lonely. "You just have to go on... what else can you do?"

Yes, go on, swallow the unpleasant feelings and debilitating emotions that leave your mind and soul so weak and tired, and you must try not let the loneliness and feelings of loss get to you and affect you. Or at least try not let it all affect you too much.

Coming from my brother, it was rare, and heart warming.

100 days

07092012.2303

For two weeks, I've felt the approach of this day. Perhaps I put too much thought into it, perhaps, like with many things in life I put too much meaning into "just another day". Brother seemed to have completely forgotten about the day. But it was the hundredth day after mum passed away , and the sadness and sense of longing and pain intensified.

I spent an hour or so last night at the river side, at a place where mum and I sat a while and admired the breath and beautiful of this land. I lay down to watch the clouds, and listened to songs. Inadvertently, tears began to shed, trickling down my cheeks as I sobbed quietly. The waves and music drowned out my crying.

This is a sadness that nobody, nobody can really understand. It is so personal, so raw because I was there, and it was traumatic. The nights and days, the almost endless fighting and struggle, and dying and eventually death... It saps a lot of energy from you, and leaves you so drained. Empty and drained...

100 days already since mum passed. Where is she now? Is she hurting seeing me cry so often and so much? Is she hurting because friends seem so hard to reach, and who I thought was true lasting, friendship seems so impatient and tired of my tears and me recounting my sorrows?

I laid out a full table of dishes for her... Vegetables, fruits, berries, drinks and even a bottle of Evian (my friend bought) to commemorate where we once were together. I cried when I asked her of she had finished. Of course it did not work...  It was fine cooking and preparing, but when it came to making the offering, I could not stop crying... Again, these are moments I realise that things take time, and that there is a shallow wound deep down.
Then I thought of calling my brother and his family. And in the presence of my little nephew, I threw the coins. And voila, it worked, and she had finished...

Mum is around me, mum is with me... And how it must pain her to see me cry so much, and to cry over such a trivial thing as relationship and feeling misunderstood...

Mum, I will be strong. I must be strong, because in this world, only I can make myself happy...

Remembrance Day

The bells tolled and echoed. And the square suddenly fell silent. A solemn silence, the kind that you dare not breathe in, for you fear that the breath would shatter that sound of nothing.

We stood still.
Tens of thousands of us.
Gathered together on Dam.
To remember.

The wind played with the flags, making them flutter. The red-white-blue at half mast flew above my head, dancing in the wind. It's movement were so random, so free, so natural. I closed my eyes and the image of the flag flying so freely stayed with me. The price of that freedom is invaluable.

May there be peace... May there be hope... May there be freedom... May there be freedom from fear...



In my mind there were flashbacks of pictures, movies, black and white documentaries of brave souls who have moved on, into a braver world beyond this one. They collided with the sounds and images embedded in our TV screens and the front pages. The bloodshed... the cries... the suffering... the nightmares... Wearing such a clean and white shirt suddenly filled me with guilt.

Just as suddenly as silence fell, music rose from the military band. A familiar tune, and in that moment I shivered slightly, making me wonder whether it was the evening breeze, or the rhythm of the national anthem that had such an emotional effect on me. All around me was a low murmur, as people softly sang.

... den vaderland getrouwe blijf ik tot in de dood. Een Prinse van Oranje...

Befitting to the atmosphere, it suddenly became colder. The sun had set behind the Royal Palace, casting a long shadow looming over our heads. The breeze caressed our cheeks, and the mood felt so familiar, but at the same time, seemed so very distant. The white marble National Monument looked soiled, covered in grime and soot, while the carvings of men and women who have just broken their shackles seemed somewhat faded, and eroded with the passage of time. What is normally a touristic photo-op donned on a more solemn meaning.



Wreaths of flowers were laid before the monument, by the Queen and the Crown Prince, by veterans, by the Prime Minister, Ministers. Sixty-two children (one for each year since the end of the war) also quietly laid red and white flowers to rest at the steps of the monument. To the unknown many who so senselessly died in Europe and in Asia... For the first time in history, young veterans, some perhaps just a few years older than me, were able to sit together with the older ones. The world war may have ended, but conflicts still continue to brew, and the Dutch are involved in various 'peace-keeping' missions around the world. In everyone's eyes was an unspoken grief.



I stood there and watched the crowd slowly disperse. One moment the square was full, the next it was almost empty. I pulled on my jacket to keep warm, only to realise elsewhere it was even colder.