I've not dreamt of dad in ages. I just saw him, during a nap, and the sight made me cry...
He was sitting at a desk, all by himself, all alone. There was a dim light, and he had a thick jacket on. I approached him, and he looked so changed. His face so thin, his face so glum with sadness.
I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn't say. Contrary to other dreams, he spoke in this one. I proposed that we go out for a walk, but he didn't want to. He only sat there sad and shaking his head. I've not seen him like this ever, not even when he was alive.
He obviously looked very depressed, very down, but I couldn't help him. I tried to take his hand, but as soon as I reached for his hand, I woke up crying...
Could it be that my own moods and depression is affecting dad? Could it e that he is greatly saddened that I am like this, in this terrible state of mind, and he is appearing to tell me something...?
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
07 February 2013
06 February 2013
6 February
6 February
I dozed on and off since I got on the plane. So tired I am, exhausted after having only slept two hours (actually less...) last night.
I had a vigil... Lit a candle and places it before a picture of mum and dad. It was a picture taken professionally over a decade ago. I remember that day vividly, how we all met up after dad finished work and gathered at a nice steak restaurant. After dinner, we've me across this photography parlour, and as we were all dressed up that night, someone (was it mum or dad...?) suggested we take a family portrait together. It would be our only one. And at the same time, mum and dad took a picture, just the two of them, mum holding onto dad's arm.
I sat and meditated for a while before the little make-shift shrine. My friend dropped by, as he remembered the significance of the day, he wanted to be there, even though I was agitated and wanted more to be alone. In my mind I wondered what his intentions were, why he was even with me at such an intense and melancholic occasion when he could elsewhere... Why was he even spending time with me when often he just ends up crying as if I depress him and am the source of all the pain and unhappiness in the world... It's all so personal, the memories still all so fresh after five years.
As the clock ticked toward 2.21pm in Taiwan, I felt the memories return... All of us gathered at dad's bedside. Beeping of a heart monitor. Dad's breath heaving. Me kneeling by his bedside, holding his hand, his arm. Me whispering to him, reminding him to let go, to take it easy. There was sobbing in the background. A nurse was called when the beeping of the machinery decelerated. Mum and brother stood a few steps behind me, away from the bed, stricken with grief. Who would have thought, that day would be the beginning of several years of struggle against illness and death?
My friend and I sat down, at a moment when I felt comfortable to sit down. He asked what word came to mind when I think of dad. I didn't know. But I could see his face, I could see his smiling face, the dark shade of his skin, the thick black hair he still had at age sixty (even though he was ever so conscious of every little strand of white hair and used to spend hours trimming them away in with two small mirrors...)
Then a word did come to mind. Not exactly a nice word, but it was what I felt described dad in the last few years of his life, at least in relation to me and the rest of the family: distant. He isolated himself from everyone, led a solitary life, and lived in a separate apartment for years prior to retirement. We would never know whether he was truly solitary, or, as speculated he had someone else or perhaps another family. But he was truly a distant figure, who appeared very rarely, yet was always still so wiling and able to provide for us the children and support us through university.
I spoke about perhaps dad's proudest moment, looked into the distance and at nothingness an just narrated what came to mind. My friend sat and listened and cried. Perhaps there is something therapeutic in just being allowed to talk, and just having someone listen. Just listening without commentary from someone who doesn't really know what it's like, what if feels like to lose a parent.
It was helpful, and so unlike the ways my friends have snubbed me with cliche comments whenever I start to talk about how difficult and fresh mum's passing has been...
Dad's proudest moment was the few months he spent in New York as a trainee. He lived with a distant relative, who owned an ice cream parlour, out in Flushing Meadows, Queens. There's a picture of dad lying on the floor next to a transparent glass table, and spread on the table were bills of American dollars. He had such pride in his eyes, in his smile. He managed to save so much money in those few months in the US. I was not around yet, and he and mum had just started a new family. Those were the hey years of our family, when mum and dad worked hard to solidify a foundation for a better life for the two children they were to eventually have.
When the time closed on that moment, I could not stop tearing. Those last few moments with dad were so calm and gentle back then, but now, five years later, so painful to remember. How did I manage to stay so strong? How did I manage to be so collected? Why am I so weak now, so broken and in pieces and torn by memories of loss, breakup, feelings of abandonment and loneliness, and haunted by traumas of my childhood?
Perhaps I never had time to grief, properly grieve day's passing, my friend suggested. Perhaps, I do not know. For immediately after dad passed, mum's treatments for cancer increases in frequency and reoccurred occurred every single year. Did I really have time to grieve, to live my life, to pick up the pieces, to salvage all the memories and belongings before mum's illness and needs took over?
At 2.21pm local time, with my fingers I snubbed out the flame.
I dozed on and off since I got on the plane. So tired I am, exhausted after having only slept two hours (actually less...) last night.
I had a vigil... Lit a candle and places it before a picture of mum and dad. It was a picture taken professionally over a decade ago. I remember that day vividly, how we all met up after dad finished work and gathered at a nice steak restaurant. After dinner, we've me across this photography parlour, and as we were all dressed up that night, someone (was it mum or dad...?) suggested we take a family portrait together. It would be our only one. And at the same time, mum and dad took a picture, just the two of them, mum holding onto dad's arm.
I sat and meditated for a while before the little make-shift shrine. My friend dropped by, as he remembered the significance of the day, he wanted to be there, even though I was agitated and wanted more to be alone. In my mind I wondered what his intentions were, why he was even with me at such an intense and melancholic occasion when he could elsewhere... Why was he even spending time with me when often he just ends up crying as if I depress him and am the source of all the pain and unhappiness in the world... It's all so personal, the memories still all so fresh after five years.
As the clock ticked toward 2.21pm in Taiwan, I felt the memories return... All of us gathered at dad's bedside. Beeping of a heart monitor. Dad's breath heaving. Me kneeling by his bedside, holding his hand, his arm. Me whispering to him, reminding him to let go, to take it easy. There was sobbing in the background. A nurse was called when the beeping of the machinery decelerated. Mum and brother stood a few steps behind me, away from the bed, stricken with grief. Who would have thought, that day would be the beginning of several years of struggle against illness and death?
My friend and I sat down, at a moment when I felt comfortable to sit down. He asked what word came to mind when I think of dad. I didn't know. But I could see his face, I could see his smiling face, the dark shade of his skin, the thick black hair he still had at age sixty (even though he was ever so conscious of every little strand of white hair and used to spend hours trimming them away in with two small mirrors...)
Then a word did come to mind. Not exactly a nice word, but it was what I felt described dad in the last few years of his life, at least in relation to me and the rest of the family: distant. He isolated himself from everyone, led a solitary life, and lived in a separate apartment for years prior to retirement. We would never know whether he was truly solitary, or, as speculated he had someone else or perhaps another family. But he was truly a distant figure, who appeared very rarely, yet was always still so wiling and able to provide for us the children and support us through university.
I spoke about perhaps dad's proudest moment, looked into the distance and at nothingness an just narrated what came to mind. My friend sat and listened and cried. Perhaps there is something therapeutic in just being allowed to talk, and just having someone listen. Just listening without commentary from someone who doesn't really know what it's like, what if feels like to lose a parent.
It was helpful, and so unlike the ways my friends have snubbed me with cliche comments whenever I start to talk about how difficult and fresh mum's passing has been...
Dad's proudest moment was the few months he spent in New York as a trainee. He lived with a distant relative, who owned an ice cream parlour, out in Flushing Meadows, Queens. There's a picture of dad lying on the floor next to a transparent glass table, and spread on the table were bills of American dollars. He had such pride in his eyes, in his smile. He managed to save so much money in those few months in the US. I was not around yet, and he and mum had just started a new family. Those were the hey years of our family, when mum and dad worked hard to solidify a foundation for a better life for the two children they were to eventually have.
When the time closed on that moment, I could not stop tearing. Those last few moments with dad were so calm and gentle back then, but now, five years later, so painful to remember. How did I manage to stay so strong? How did I manage to be so collected? Why am I so weak now, so broken and in pieces and torn by memories of loss, breakup, feelings of abandonment and loneliness, and haunted by traumas of my childhood?
Perhaps I never had time to grief, properly grieve day's passing, my friend suggested. Perhaps, I do not know. For immediately after dad passed, mum's treatments for cancer increases in frequency and reoccurred occurred every single year. Did I really have time to grieve, to live my life, to pick up the pieces, to salvage all the memories and belongings before mum's illness and needs took over?
At 2.21pm local time, with my fingers I snubbed out the flame.
21 December 2012
Train ride
Almost twenty years ago, a dad took his son on a train journey. The dad bought a day-ticket, for unlimited travel throughout the country. How excited the boy was, for he loved trains. And even more exciting, they boarded one of the first double decker trains in the Netherlands at the time...
Close to Zwolle or thereabouts, there came smoke out of the locomotive. There was a a strench in the air... The train broke down. But that didn't ruin a beautiful day shared between father and son...
Riding the same type of train now, towards the city of one of my alma maters, Leiden. The train may look old and may have lost its novelty and luster over the years. But the memories of that day still remains...
Just passed station Mariahoeve... In 1994, on the platform, the boy bid farewell to his dad. The 10 year old boy was in tears, for the parents and the family were going to be split up... That was the beginning of my family's separation...
I cried and cried. Dad looked at me sadly and didn't know how to comfort me. A train passed by. A speeding train that did not stop.
"What kind of train is that? Where is it going?"
Between sniffles, I answered, and temporarily my attention was diverted from my sadness and pain... "It's an EC train..." Eurocity. This was before the era of the high speed Thalys. "Going to Paris, from Amsterdam..." Even then I could tell where the train would stop. Dad complimented me.
Soon, he boarded his train bound for the airport. Soon, dad slowly disappeared from my life...
Funny how objects and places conjure such memories and temporarily plunge your mind into sadness...
Close to Zwolle or thereabouts, there came smoke out of the locomotive. There was a a strench in the air... The train broke down. But that didn't ruin a beautiful day shared between father and son...
Riding the same type of train now, towards the city of one of my alma maters, Leiden. The train may look old and may have lost its novelty and luster over the years. But the memories of that day still remains...
Just passed station Mariahoeve... In 1994, on the platform, the boy bid farewell to his dad. The 10 year old boy was in tears, for the parents and the family were going to be split up... That was the beginning of my family's separation...
I cried and cried. Dad looked at me sadly and didn't know how to comfort me. A train passed by. A speeding train that did not stop.
"What kind of train is that? Where is it going?"
Between sniffles, I answered, and temporarily my attention was diverted from my sadness and pain... "It's an EC train..." Eurocity. This was before the era of the high speed Thalys. "Going to Paris, from Amsterdam..." Even then I could tell where the train would stop. Dad complimented me.
Soon, he boarded his train bound for the airport. Soon, dad slowly disappeared from my life...
Funny how objects and places conjure such memories and temporarily plunge your mind into sadness...
11 December 2012
Wandering thoughts
This was supposed to be a trip to remember my mother, and in some ways my father... to remember the way they were, how kind and compassionate they were, how they gave me so much and asked for so little in return... It was supposed to a trip and time alone to figure out how to go on now that they are gone, and now that I am all alone. (Yes, I have a brother... But I get so little from him, and will only hear from him if I call... And my messages, telling him what I'm doing and how I'm feeling are almost always answered with: "Ok".)
I've thought of mum, and on occasion of dad too... I've been carrying with me two pictures of them, taking them from site to site, and finally parted with them at the Bodhi tree in Bodh Gaya where the Buddha became enlightened... In my little shoulder bag, I have a picture of mum, taken on brother's engagement day, and every time I come across a sacred site, I would take that picture out and sit it on the beautiful white teddy bear mum bought me last year. She said to me then: "This bear will be with you when I'm no longer around..." And that's true... The bear is a reminder of her, and I often fall sleep hugging it, sometimes with tears in my eyes...
This trip is supposed to be about remembering my parents, and finding myself... Yet, I find myself thinking of my ex... thinking of what we had, what could have been, and what broken relationship we seem to have now within such a short period of time... Is it really just me, as he seems to have suggested so many times over the past few months? Have I really changed so much that I'm so unbearable and unlovable? How can I not change having lost my mother and remaining parent? Have I really become such a terrible person after emerging from perhaps the greatest trauma of my life to date, so terrible that I get the impression from him that i only bring him grief and misery?
This time, this trip, alone is partly to get away, and to give my ex some distance from me, because increasingly I feel he's so tired of me. Yet At times, even while visiting so of the sacred sites, I find my mind remembering the wonderful moments, precious little intimate moments we once shared, and also remembering some of the mean and hurtful words that were exchanged. i find myself thinking about how he's doing, what he's doing. And I wonder, does he even think of me at all?
I do think of him fondly, miss him, sometimes even imagining how it would if he were here with me. I've written so many emails and notes over the last month or so telling him how I feel about us, our impasse, I made little surprise gifts and appearances for his birthday, and there's been very little reaction.
Is he doing this to spite me, to get his own back because I was gone and ignored his messages and calls for much of the start of of this year? I find myself, despite being in such peaceful surroundings, thinking and wondering: what is wrong with me...? Perhaps he's feeling free and uninhibited to do whatever, be with whomever while I'm not around, and yet I think of him so much, and carry with me his beloved teddy bear everywhere I go... Why am I using so much energy on my ex, when it is my parents I should be thinking of and remembering on this special journey?
here and there I am reminded of Buddha's words:
"They do not brood over the past,
They do not hanker after the future,
They live upon whatever they receive
Therefore they are radiant.”
What am I doing, but brooding over the past and longing for a distant, dream-like future? Why am I thinking about someone who is so far away, and who seems to grow more and more distant from me?
At this moment, I feel deeply the pain of loss and loneliness, especially when my body feels so wretched from illness and the nauseating effects of malaria pills I have to take for at least two weeks...
I've thought of mum, and on occasion of dad too... I've been carrying with me two pictures of them, taking them from site to site, and finally parted with them at the Bodhi tree in Bodh Gaya where the Buddha became enlightened... In my little shoulder bag, I have a picture of mum, taken on brother's engagement day, and every time I come across a sacred site, I would take that picture out and sit it on the beautiful white teddy bear mum bought me last year. She said to me then: "This bear will be with you when I'm no longer around..." And that's true... The bear is a reminder of her, and I often fall sleep hugging it, sometimes with tears in my eyes...
This trip is supposed to be about remembering my parents, and finding myself... Yet, I find myself thinking of my ex... thinking of what we had, what could have been, and what broken relationship we seem to have now within such a short period of time... Is it really just me, as he seems to have suggested so many times over the past few months? Have I really changed so much that I'm so unbearable and unlovable? How can I not change having lost my mother and remaining parent? Have I really become such a terrible person after emerging from perhaps the greatest trauma of my life to date, so terrible that I get the impression from him that i only bring him grief and misery?
This time, this trip, alone is partly to get away, and to give my ex some distance from me, because increasingly I feel he's so tired of me. Yet At times, even while visiting so of the sacred sites, I find my mind remembering the wonderful moments, precious little intimate moments we once shared, and also remembering some of the mean and hurtful words that were exchanged. i find myself thinking about how he's doing, what he's doing. And I wonder, does he even think of me at all?
I do think of him fondly, miss him, sometimes even imagining how it would if he were here with me. I've written so many emails and notes over the last month or so telling him how I feel about us, our impasse, I made little surprise gifts and appearances for his birthday, and there's been very little reaction.
Is he doing this to spite me, to get his own back because I was gone and ignored his messages and calls for much of the start of of this year? I find myself, despite being in such peaceful surroundings, thinking and wondering: what is wrong with me...? Perhaps he's feeling free and uninhibited to do whatever, be with whomever while I'm not around, and yet I think of him so much, and carry with me his beloved teddy bear everywhere I go... Why am I using so much energy on my ex, when it is my parents I should be thinking of and remembering on this special journey?
here and there I am reminded of Buddha's words:
"They do not brood over the past,
They do not hanker after the future,
They live upon whatever they receive
Therefore they are radiant.”
What am I doing, but brooding over the past and longing for a distant, dream-like future? Why am I thinking about someone who is so far away, and who seems to grow more and more distant from me?
At this moment, I feel deeply the pain of loss and loneliness, especially when my body feels so wretched from illness and the nauseating effects of malaria pills I have to take for at least two weeks...
03 December 2012
At Mahabodhi
Here I am, right here, right now, at the very place where the Buddha himself achieved enlightenment some 2500 years ago.
I cannot hold back the tears or emotions. I have mum and dad's pictures in my hand, and two teddies bears in my backpack. So many pilgrims and monks surround me. It is crowded yet still serene. I'm sitting on floor at the base if the main temple of Mahabodhi...
Mum, dad... I am here... I am alive, I am well. I am pursuing a dream, I am fulfilling a promise I made to mum. Here I am, alone, but not feeling lonely, tearing yet there is a sense of calm and closure.
Mum, dad... I hope you are both well...
People call me an orphan now, but I will be strong, I will be strong and love myself, even if I am by myself now. I will try to be kind and compassionate, I will try to harbour less impure thoughts and hatred and anger... I will try to do more good and see goodness in everyone, in everything.
I will leave a picture of you two here, let you listen to the chanting and prayers, let you experience the spirituality and strong positive energy flowing in this beautiful temple complex and garden...
And I will walk away. Let go and walk away.
I cannot hold back the tears or emotions. I have mum and dad's pictures in my hand, and two teddies bears in my backpack. So many pilgrims and monks surround me. It is crowded yet still serene. I'm sitting on floor at the base if the main temple of Mahabodhi...
Mum, dad... I am here... I am alive, I am well. I am pursuing a dream, I am fulfilling a promise I made to mum. Here I am, alone, but not feeling lonely, tearing yet there is a sense of calm and closure.
Mum, dad... I hope you are both well...
People call me an orphan now, but I will be strong, I will be strong and love myself, even if I am by myself now. I will try to be kind and compassionate, I will try to harbour less impure thoughts and hatred and anger... I will try to do more good and see goodness in everyone, in everything.
I will leave a picture of you two here, let you listen to the chanting and prayers, let you experience the spirituality and strong positive energy flowing in this beautiful temple complex and garden...
And I will walk away. Let go and walk away.
04 November 2012
Dream: mum and dad
The clock went back an hour early this morning, and it's officially winter time. And the sudden drop in temperature really revealed winter's approach.
I took the opportunity to sleep in, sleep properly till I wake up naturally.
I was woken up around 8or so by the need to go to the washroom. I went back to bed, and I dreamed...
Mum and dad appeared before me. They looked lovely, caring and warm. I reached out to touch them, at least I tried... I reached out to feel their warmth and feel love, for its been so long since I felt the warmth of another, felt true love from another...
But they disappeared. I ended up crying...
I took the opportunity to sleep in, sleep properly till I wake up naturally.
I was woken up around 8or so by the need to go to the washroom. I went back to bed, and I dreamed...
Mum and dad appeared before me. They looked lovely, caring and warm. I reached out to touch them, at least I tried... I reached out to feel their warmth and feel love, for its been so long since I felt the warmth of another, felt true love from another...
But they disappeared. I ended up crying...
21 July 2012
Dream: father and mother
All I can remember is me crying with such force and vigour. I saw myself sitting in a room by myself. It was some kind of classroom, and people were coming and going. I remember it was some kind of special occassion, like father's day or mother's day, or some kind of family holiday. Everyone had their parents with them. I was all alone by myself. All alone, and just sitting there.
Seeing all these people with their parents reminded me of how parentless and 'abandoned' I really am. I buried my face in my arms and began to howl and sob. Nobody came to comfort me. I just sat there and cried, and the crying was so real that when I woke up, I instinctively went to wipe my eyes (but there were no tears).
Seeing all these people with their parents reminded me of how parentless and 'abandoned' I really am. I buried my face in my arms and began to howl and sob. Nobody came to comfort me. I just sat there and cried, and the crying was so real that when I woke up, I instinctively went to wipe my eyes (but there were no tears).
Nightmare
I collapsed on the floor and slept for a good hour or so after getting home from a whole day of errands. Paperwork and dealing with banks and bureaucracy is for some reason so draining...
Repeatedly, I had to write mum's name, and hand over copies of mum's death certificate. Repeatedly, I have to say she "passed on", "left", "moved on", "is no longer around". And it feels heavy every single time I say it. It feels like a reminder, just in case I did not fully realise what happened two weeks ago.
In my dream, mum and dad appeared. Perhaps it is related to the fact that we were trying to get documentation to prove that indeed they are our parents, and that they are both indeed deceased. They looked well, and were smiling. I think the scene was our old home, the place where I lived for two, three years before moving abroad at the age of seven or so. They were wearing clothes I could immediately associate with them.
Seeing them was enough to make me drown in sorrow and suddenly cry. Seeing them both in my dream was a powerful and painful reminder of what I have lost, and will never have again...
That is loss. True loss of the most painful and terrifying kind...
Repeatedly, I had to write mum's name, and hand over copies of mum's death certificate. Repeatedly, I have to say she "passed on", "left", "moved on", "is no longer around". And it feels heavy every single time I say it. It feels like a reminder, just in case I did not fully realise what happened two weeks ago.
In my dream, mum and dad appeared. Perhaps it is related to the fact that we were trying to get documentation to prove that indeed they are our parents, and that they are both indeed deceased. They looked well, and were smiling. I think the scene was our old home, the place where I lived for two, three years before moving abroad at the age of seven or so. They were wearing clothes I could immediately associate with them.
Seeing them was enough to make me drown in sorrow and suddenly cry. Seeing them both in my dream was a powerful and painful reminder of what I have lost, and will never have again...
That is loss. True loss of the most painful and terrifying kind...
Memories
It is difficult enough to shift through mum's belongings, to see pieces of paper, pictures and memorabilia that sheds life to the person I just lost...
It is even more painful when shifting through the boxes and cupboards I find pieces of paper, pictures and memorabilia belonging to dad.
After I do this, after I clean up this house and clear everything away, there is nothing else left... There will be no one else left...
It is even more painful when shifting through the boxes and cupboards I find pieces of paper, pictures and memorabilia belonging to dad.
After I do this, after I clean up this house and clear everything away, there is nothing else left... There will be no one else left...
24 June 2012
Dream
There was a city, it looked like San Francisco, with a beautiful red bridge spanning a broad river. Suddenly a flood came and the entire place was obliterated. There was nothing left but rubble and a rotten stench...
In another segment of the dream, mum looked healthy and well, and we were riding the airport metro (due to be partially completed in 2013...). The train was so fast, and we rode it for so long. I was very excited and took a lot of pictures
Suddenly, we arrived at the station and got off. Three men jumped on me and rubbed me of my iPhone which had all these precious pictures on it. I got very upset, as began kicking them all in the balls. They fell one by one to the ground. One of them I saw was dad...
In another segment of the dream, mum looked healthy and well, and we were riding the airport metro (due to be partially completed in 2013...). The train was so fast, and we rode it for so long. I was very excited and took a lot of pictures
Suddenly, we arrived at the station and got off. Three men jumped on me and rubbed me of my iPhone which had all these precious pictures on it. I got very upset, as began kicking them all in the balls. They fell one by one to the ground. One of them I saw was dad...
19 May 2012
Dream
Was it one dream or two? They were somehow related.
One was brief, involving my ex. We were walking around together, in a busy city until we came to a bridge. (That much i could remember...)
The next dream involved something sad and happy. The happy bit involved my whole family going to a venue to plan a wedding, my brother's wedding. (strange because he already had one in real life...) Then the next scene, which lasted a while was one in which dad appeared.
He was lying in a bed, dying. Mum, brother and I gathered by his side. We talked and laughed, it was not sad. Dad was giving advice to mum, about how to "go". They talked about death, about grandma's passing, about how there were many unspoken things and a lot of regret.
Mum was in tears. She said at grandma's deathbed grandma apologised to mum for being picky and difficult. Mum cried because she said she had tried so hard ever since she came into dad's family, yet she never got approval from dad's relatives. But when grandma passed, she asked for forgiveness, and grandma told mum she knew and could see mum did more than was expected of her.
Brother was in the room with his wife, but he seemed frustrated. I found myself on dad's bed, leaned in close to dad and was in tears. On his quilt were a bunch of writing and numbers I could not decipher, but they seemed to tell me something. Mum was sitting by dad's bedside, looking sad. They were still talking about death and dying...
One was brief, involving my ex. We were walking around together, in a busy city until we came to a bridge. (That much i could remember...)
The next dream involved something sad and happy. The happy bit involved my whole family going to a venue to plan a wedding, my brother's wedding. (strange because he already had one in real life...) Then the next scene, which lasted a while was one in which dad appeared.
He was lying in a bed, dying. Mum, brother and I gathered by his side. We talked and laughed, it was not sad. Dad was giving advice to mum, about how to "go". They talked about death, about grandma's passing, about how there were many unspoken things and a lot of regret.
Mum was in tears. She said at grandma's deathbed grandma apologised to mum for being picky and difficult. Mum cried because she said she had tried so hard ever since she came into dad's family, yet she never got approval from dad's relatives. But when grandma passed, she asked for forgiveness, and grandma told mum she knew and could see mum did more than was expected of her.
Brother was in the room with his wife, but he seemed frustrated. I found myself on dad's bed, leaned in close to dad and was in tears. On his quilt were a bunch of writing and numbers I could not decipher, but they seemed to tell me something. Mum was sitting by dad's bedside, looking sad. They were still talking about death and dying...
05 May 2012
Second last night
Will be sleeping next to mum tonight, just to make sure she will be alright: after over an hour of icing and wiping her body, mum's temperature dropped to 36.5C, which is about normal. False alarm, thus, and we could all breath with relief again.
A thought crossed my mind as I laid down my blanket next to mum on her bed. I remember when I was young, much younger, when I was sixteen, seventeen or so. At the time I visited dad in the summers and would sleep next to him. I remembered that on the final nights, I would always go to sleep with the thought that it would be the nth night before I leave. That would make me sad, and sometimes I'd fall asleep with tears in my eyes, having cried to sleep as I listened to dad snore and was so close I could smell his scent...
I will be doing something similar tonight, on this second last night before my departure...
A thought crossed my mind as I laid down my blanket next to mum on her bed. I remember when I was young, much younger, when I was sixteen, seventeen or so. At the time I visited dad in the summers and would sleep next to him. I remembered that on the final nights, I would always go to sleep with the thought that it would be the nth night before I leave. That would make me sad, and sometimes I'd fall asleep with tears in my eyes, having cried to sleep as I listened to dad snore and was so close I could smell his scent...
I will be doing something similar tonight, on this second last night before my departure...
08 April 2012
Sleep talk
"Graduation... Wear [something] thicker..."
Again, almost as soon as mum fell asleep, she began to lightly snore and sleep talk. Often it's a mumble so soft I can hardly understand her. But it's somehow sad and funny to see her hallucinate and talk to emptiness...
Who or what is she seeing in her mind? Is it dad...? Is dad appearing before her eyes? Or is dad really here, right in this room, and only mum can see her in her hallucinogenic state? Without me realising, I again shed a tear.
I don't know why it makes me sad to see her like this. She seems to see me and hear me when I speak to her. But she also looks so lost and confused. "Go to sleep," I said as I stroked her forehead softly," "Please sleep well and fall asleep quickly. Nothin else is important..." It was a scene that somehow felt so familiar, but I am not there yet...
She moved her hand and seems to be drawing something. Her movements look like she's swiping an invisible touch screen. At one point she was tugging at her NJ tube, and I moved in to stop her and tell her to stop.
Randomly, more words and disjointed sentences came out of her mumbling lips.
"Photographs... Photographs..."
"Your own younger brother..."
"Only twenty years old and already killing..."
"If you discussed it, buy it..."
It really seemed like she was talking to dad at one point, and was describing her condition to dad. "Cancer blocked the stomach... Here for check up...." She smiled as she (sleep) talked, smiled so beautifully, smiles like there was not a worry in the world. Though it worried me to see her talk nonsense, seeing her sleep and smile touched me so, for she looked so peaceful, so at ease...
And it made cry, for again it felt so strangely familiar, but I know I am not there yet. I cried the reason only I know, and with time will perhaps be revealed.
Again, almost as soon as mum fell asleep, she began to lightly snore and sleep talk. Often it's a mumble so soft I can hardly understand her. But it's somehow sad and funny to see her hallucinate and talk to emptiness...
Who or what is she seeing in her mind? Is it dad...? Is dad appearing before her eyes? Or is dad really here, right in this room, and only mum can see her in her hallucinogenic state? Without me realising, I again shed a tear.
I don't know why it makes me sad to see her like this. She seems to see me and hear me when I speak to her. But she also looks so lost and confused. "Go to sleep," I said as I stroked her forehead softly," "Please sleep well and fall asleep quickly. Nothin else is important..." It was a scene that somehow felt so familiar, but I am not there yet...
She moved her hand and seems to be drawing something. Her movements look like she's swiping an invisible touch screen. At one point she was tugging at her NJ tube, and I moved in to stop her and tell her to stop.
Randomly, more words and disjointed sentences came out of her mumbling lips.
"Photographs... Photographs..."
"Your own younger brother..."
"Only twenty years old and already killing..."
"If you discussed it, buy it..."
It really seemed like she was talking to dad at one point, and was describing her condition to dad. "Cancer blocked the stomach... Here for check up...." She smiled as she (sleep) talked, smiled so beautifully, smiles like there was not a worry in the world. Though it worried me to see her talk nonsense, seeing her sleep and smile touched me so, for she looked so peaceful, so at ease...
And it made cry, for again it felt so strangely familiar, but I know I am not there yet. I cried the reason only I know, and with time will perhaps be revealed.
02 April 2012
Eve of the surgery
I got home, and knelt before dad's portrait. "Please dad, protect mum and help her surgery to go smoothly tomorrow... May she eat and drink away, may she at least enjoy some of the privileges of living by being able to taste, to digest food naturally... May she have strength again and may she have the health to live a life of happiness..." I knelt on the floor, and kowtowed with great reverence. Tears were on the rim of my eyes. It was a touching moment of just me and dad, and my prayers...
I also prayed before the little shrine mum has set up in the dining/living room area. A thought came to me out of nowhere, again the random imagination of a naive child who daydreams in order to escape from reality at times. I thought to my self and asked the deity: " if I have accumulated any good merit points in all my life, I would cash it all in and direct all the positive karma to mum in the hope that the surgery will go well, and that she will be free from her problem of not being able to eat or drink. Take my good fortunes away, take anything from me, just let mum come out alright..."
Before I left home, I did the second thing I went home to do. I grabbed the most recent family portrait, of me on the left, brother in the middle, and his wife on the right. In the foreground is mum sitting down and holding my little nephew. Our first family portrait together. "We are family..." I once commented it the portrait. We are family, and we can grow strong, be strong together, no matter what. I took that portrait, and it is now standing at an angle where mum can see from her lying down position.
Anything, anything, absolutely anything to keep the hopes up, to keep the spirit afloat and mind at ease. As I headed back to the hospital, I sat quietly in the taxi. The scenery outside was a complete blur. All I could see and imagine were scenes of "this time tomorrow"... Will mum be conscious? Will she be in the intensive care unit? Will the procedure have gone as planned? Will the doctor come out and say to me "I'm sorry, we did the best we could..."? I was again so afraid; so anxious, such a nervous wreck...
Pray, pray, pray...
31 March 2012
How are you, dad?
"Dad, I miss you so much!"
"Dad, I love you!"
"How are you, dad?"
"I hope you are forever happy and healthy..."
I lay down towards the end of the movie and without realising it started to tear. Tear first, and then cry. Silently cry as mum slept on her bed a few steps away from me. I was lying down in a position that she could not see my face.
The movie "How are you, dad?" (爸，你好嗎?) really touched me. It is a movie composed of short, extremely touching stories about dads and their families. A dad who is distraught by his son who wants to undergo a sex-change operation... A dad who sits at home alone at night after the children visit him and celebrate his birthday... A dad who cries on his birthday next to his daughter, who due to an accident is now in a vegetative state... A dad who risks (and loses...) his own life to save his two children from drowning... Various shorts about the silent sacrifices, unexpressed feelings of love and devotion and longings, and loneliness of dads throughout the world, from all walks of life.
The end credits had recordings of various members of the public declare their feelings toward their dads. Declarations of love and intimacy, in several languages, yet the messages are all the same. Tell someone you love him/her, express your true feelings and do not be afraid of your feelings. Tell them before it is too late! Show them and love them when you still have the chance!
I cried watching the expressions of love of so many people. There are perhaps things I did not say to dad I never had to the chance. I never said : "I love you!", because it feels strange and embarrassing. Even though I "keep in touch" still with my letters, he is now long gone, and whatever I say to him or write to him is replied only with silence. How I wish he is happy, how I wish he is free now and can enjoy the life and many pleasures of life he deprived himself of while he was still with us!
I turned to look at mum, and saw the tube coming out of her nostril. Her chest heaved, her mouth slightly open, her body twisted in a mangle again in that protective foetal position. She looked so fragile, so weak... How she is suffering deep inside! How I wish I could do much more to take away her discomforts and mental anguish! I cried even more seeing mum lie there...
I lost dad, and I am losing mum, slowly, slowly losing her... Those beautiful expressions of care and love to dads at the end of the movie could just as much be expressed to mums, to my mum. And one day, I may sit and dream and ask "Mum, how are you?" and receive a silence as a reply...
I became so afraid, and I cried even more silent tears. Why suddenly did my mind drift to my ex? Why did I imagine him by my side, why did I close my eyes and imagine him comforting me and holding me so tightly like he used to do before? Why is it that in my deepest moments of despair, I have the urge to write to him, to contact him...? I haven't contacted him for over two weeks now, the last time we spoke I unleashed my feelings and asked him how he could tell me he loves me and cares about me so and yet still be with another person. I told him how afraid I am, having to deal with my mum's situation and to suddenly receive hints that he wants to be with me and help me get through this... In my deepest moment of despair, in my moments of sorrow, I cannot help my thoughts drifting to him, even though I feel we have drifted apart...
The movie left me longing, for dad, and fearing the loss of my mum. The movie left me longing for my ex, left me wondering about how beautiful it would be if I could talk to him and not have to feel like I am the "other" person...
I wrote him a text message, rightly or wrongly, I wrote to him.
"I miss you so much..."
11 March 2012
Dreaming of dad
Mum spoke, so weakly for this is the way she speaks nowadays. "I dreamed of dad yesterday. We were so loving together, like old times. I said to him that I am unable to cook well now, but I asked him what he would like to eat..."
I listened with a quiet smile. I cried quietly even more. Mum misses dad deeply still, and perhaps in this very difficult stage, perhaps fearing that it is her final stage, she probably misses him even more, and is wondering why he is not around any more.
Tears on a blanket
Tears leaked from my eyes and moistened the new blanket . It is so
very, very cold tonight, and initially mum did not want to use the
blanket. She actually bought it for me, the exact same one and bought at
the same time as she bought one for my ex last year. But before she
could say anything else, I quickly took the blanket out of its wrapping
and covered her thin body with it. The blanket is so soft, so
comforting, so tender to the touch.
I lay next to her,
and placed my arms around her body. Silently, foolishly, for it is only
something a child with an over-imaginative mind would do, I imagined my
hands had healing power. I imagined that through my palms, I could pass
on my own strength and energy. I imagined I could give her the necessary
nutrients to keep her body going and to give her some of my weight
(though there is not much to give...), for mum is unable to eat, and has
been unable to eat properly for weeks now... Naively, I imagined that
my hands could heal and take away whatever was ailing her deep inside
and stop her from vomiting. Images of her bending over the toilet bowl,
looking so sickly and so embarrassed flashed across my mind. I closed my
eyes. "Perhaps I should have never studied law, but medicine instead. I
feel so helpless and don't know what I can do for you..." Even with
closed eyes, I could not stop the tears.
Mum sniffed a little. If she was tearing, it was not my purpose of saying those words. The last thing I want is to add sadness to her pain and suffering.
"It hurts me so to see you vomit so much...." More tears flowed, like an incessant stream filled with emotions, filled with love, undying love and care, which though precious and heart-felt, can do so very little to vanquish the demons that are ailing mum and destroying her body bit by bit, bit by bit...
Have you ever loved someone so deeply that when they hurt, you hurt too? And you love them so deeply, much too deeply, that you hurt perhaps even more, because on top of seeing them hurt, you hurt also from from feeling so hopeless, from being so helpless to reduce or remove the hurt of your loved one.
How painful this kind of love is! How much suffering this strong attachment is!
But is it not the test of true love; of true, unconditional love that knows no boundaries, that is expressed in so many ways, and expressed time and time again? Oh, the tears, they did flow, so quietly and so powerfully that my body shook next to her. I tried to contain my shaking and sobbing, but the hurt was so intense. The love is so very strong, defying logic or explanation. I pressed my palms against mum even tighter, and my thoughts and positive energies went to her with even more vigour.
"...And I imagine dad is hurting too, seeing you like this..." I saw dad's face before me, the same smiling face I can see everyday on that portrait of him hanging in the living room. I imagined his face contorted in grief and pain... How would he feel if he were to see mum so thin and so weak, so lifeless and so down? Perhaps he is watching us, and weeping quietly too...
Dad, do you see my tears? Do you feel my desperation? The desperation of a child, so helpless he is only able to shed tears and imagine he has special healing powers...
I lay next to her,
and placed my arms around her body. Silently, foolishly, for it is only
something a child with an over-imaginative mind would do, I imagined my
hands had healing power. I imagined that through my palms, I could pass
on my own strength and energy. I imagined I could give her the necessary
nutrients to keep her body going and to give her some of my weight
(though there is not much to give...), for mum is unable to eat, and has
been unable to eat properly for weeks now... Naively, I imagined that
my hands could heal and take away whatever was ailing her deep inside
and stop her from vomiting. Images of her bending over the toilet bowl,
looking so sickly and so embarrassed flashed across my mind. I closed my
eyes. "Perhaps I should have never studied law, but medicine instead. I
feel so helpless and don't know what I can do for you..." Even with
closed eyes, I could not stop the tears. Mum sniffed a little. If she was tearing, it was not my purpose of saying those words. The last thing I want is to add sadness to her pain and suffering.
"It hurts me so to see you vomit so much...." More tears flowed, like an incessant stream filled with emotions, filled with love, undying love and care, which though precious and heart-felt, can do so very little to vanquish the demons that are ailing mum and destroying her body bit by bit, bit by bit...
Have you ever loved someone so deeply that when they hurt, you hurt too? And you love them so deeply, much too deeply, that you hurt perhaps even more, because on top of seeing them hurt, you hurt also from from feeling so hopeless, from being so helpless to reduce or remove the hurt of your loved one.
How painful this kind of love is! How much suffering this strong attachment is!
But is it not the test of true love; of true, unconditional love that knows no boundaries, that is expressed in so many ways, and expressed time and time again? Oh, the tears, they did flow, so quietly and so powerfully that my body shook next to her. I tried to contain my shaking and sobbing, but the hurt was so intense. The love is so very strong, defying logic or explanation. I pressed my palms against mum even tighter, and my thoughts and positive energies went to her with even more vigour.
"...And I imagine dad is hurting too, seeing you like this..." I saw dad's face before me, the same smiling face I can see everyday on that portrait of him hanging in the living room. I imagined his face contorted in grief and pain... How would he feel if he were to see mum so thin and so weak, so lifeless and so down? Perhaps he is watching us, and weeping quietly too...
Dad, do you see my tears? Do you feel my desperation? The desperation of a child, so helpless he is only able to shed tears and imagine he has special healing powers...
A child's tears on a blanket
Tears leaked from my eyes and moistened the new blanket . It is so very, very cold tonight, and initially mum did not want to use the blanket. She actually bought it for me, the exact same one and bought at the same time as she bought one for my ex last year. But before she could say anything else, I quickly took the blanket out of its wrapping and covered her thin body with it. The blanket is so soft, so comforting, so tender to the touch.
I lay next to her, and placed my arms around her body. Silently, foolishly, for it is only something a child with an over-imaginative mind would do, I imagined my hands had healing power. I imagined that through my palms, I could pass on my own strength and energy. I imagined I could give her the necessary nutrients to keep her body going and to give her some of my weight (though there is not much to give...), for mum is unable to eat, and has been unable to eat properly for weeks now... Naively, I imagined that my hands could heal and take away whatever was ailing her deep inside and stop her from vomiting. Images of her bending over the toilet bowl, looking so sickly and so embarrassed flashed across my mind. I closed my eyes. "Perhaps I should have never studied law, but medicine instead. I feel so helpless and don't know what I can do for you..." Even with closed eyes, I could not stop the tears.
Mum sniffed a little. If she was tearing, it was not my purpose of saying those words. The last thing I want is to add sadness to her pain and suffering.
"It hurts me so to see you vomit so much...." More tears flowed, like an incessant stream filled with emotions, filled with love, undying love and care, which though precious and heart-felt, can do so very little to vanquish the demons that are ailing mum and destroying her body bit by bit, bit by bit...
Have you ever loved someone so deeply that when they hurt, you hurt too? And you love them so deeply, much too deeply, that you hurt perhaps even more, because on top of seeing them hurt, you hurt also from from feeling so hopeless, from being so helpless to reduce or remove the hurt of your loved one.
How painful this kind of love is! How much suffering this strong attachment is!
But is it not the test of true love; of true, unconditional love that knows no boundaries, that is expressed in so many ways, and expressed time and time again? Oh, the tears, they did flow, so quietly and so powerfully that my body shook next to her. I tried to contain my shaking and sobbing, but the hurt was so intense. The love is so very strong, defying logic or explanation. I pressed my palms against mum even tighter, and my thoughts and positive energies went to her with even more vigour.
"...And I imagine dad is hurting too, seeing you like this..." I saw dad's face before me, the same smiling face I can see everyday on that portrait of him hanging in the living room. I imagined his face contorted in grief and pain... How would he feel if he were to see mum so thin and so weak, so lifeless and so down? Perhaps he is watching us, and weeping quietly too...
Dad, do you see my tears? Do you feel my desperation? The desperation of a child, so helpless he is only able to shed tears and imagine he has special healing powers...
I lay next to her, and placed my arms around her body. Silently, foolishly, for it is only something a child with an over-imaginative mind would do, I imagined my hands had healing power. I imagined that through my palms, I could pass on my own strength and energy. I imagined I could give her the necessary nutrients to keep her body going and to give her some of my weight (though there is not much to give...), for mum is unable to eat, and has been unable to eat properly for weeks now... Naively, I imagined that my hands could heal and take away whatever was ailing her deep inside and stop her from vomiting. Images of her bending over the toilet bowl, looking so sickly and so embarrassed flashed across my mind. I closed my eyes. "Perhaps I should have never studied law, but medicine instead. I feel so helpless and don't know what I can do for you..." Even with closed eyes, I could not stop the tears.
Mum sniffed a little. If she was tearing, it was not my purpose of saying those words. The last thing I want is to add sadness to her pain and suffering.
"It hurts me so to see you vomit so much...." More tears flowed, like an incessant stream filled with emotions, filled with love, undying love and care, which though precious and heart-felt, can do so very little to vanquish the demons that are ailing mum and destroying her body bit by bit, bit by bit...
Have you ever loved someone so deeply that when they hurt, you hurt too? And you love them so deeply, much too deeply, that you hurt perhaps even more, because on top of seeing them hurt, you hurt also from from feeling so hopeless, from being so helpless to reduce or remove the hurt of your loved one.
How painful this kind of love is! How much suffering this strong attachment is!
But is it not the test of true love; of true, unconditional love that knows no boundaries, that is expressed in so many ways, and expressed time and time again? Oh, the tears, they did flow, so quietly and so powerfully that my body shook next to her. I tried to contain my shaking and sobbing, but the hurt was so intense. The love is so very strong, defying logic or explanation. I pressed my palms against mum even tighter, and my thoughts and positive energies went to her with even more vigour.
"...And I imagine dad is hurting too, seeing you like this..." I saw dad's face before me, the same smiling face I can see everyday on that portrait of him hanging in the living room. I imagined his face contorted in grief and pain... How would he feel if he were to see mum so thin and so weak, so lifeless and so down? Perhaps he is watching us, and weeping quietly too...
Dad, do you see my tears? Do you feel my desperation? The desperation of a child, so helpless he is only able to shed tears and imagine he has special healing powers...
02 March 2012
The view
"Come take a look at this view," I said to mum, numerous times, "You can see the mountains and our house from here!"
I thought the view would cheer mum up, get her out of her hospital bed, give her (literally) a change of scenery. From the seventeenth floor you van really look out and see far out and clearly. All these buildings, cupped gently by surrounding mountains. But for some reason mum refused to come, again and again.
"Why don't you want to see this...?" I asked, disappointed. I'm running out of things to make mum feel better about being hospitalised.
"Because... Because you dad used to stand there and look out the window!" she said loudly, almost with anger.
It suddenly hit me then. Dad stayed in the same hospital, though on the twelfth floor, the week or so before he passed away. Mum said he stood before that view for a long time, silent. He took in that same view of those buildings, of those green mountains, of the same sky...
I thought the view would cheer mum up, get her out of her hospital bed, give her (literally) a change of scenery. From the seventeenth floor you van really look out and see far out and clearly. All these buildings, cupped gently by surrounding mountains. But for some reason mum refused to come, again and again.
"Why don't you want to see this...?" I asked, disappointed. I'm running out of things to make mum feel better about being hospitalised.
"Because... Because you dad used to stand there and look out the window!" she said loudly, almost with anger.
It suddenly hit me then. Dad stayed in the same hospital, though on the twelfth floor, the week or so before he passed away. Mum said he stood before that view for a long time, silent. He took in that same view of those buildings, of those green mountains, of the same sky...
24 January 2012
memory lane
Feeling like I need some time alone, I took the metro downtown and got off at a stop where I know there is a famous night market.
The weather was dreadful, and within minutes I was drenched, and hungry. As it's the second day of the new year holidays, much is still closed, and wherever it's open, it's crowded with families eating and celebrating, which for me to go in by myself would be very depressing... And there were moments, being drenched, and wandering around the empty city on a cold night like this all by my self, I felt u could easily cry from the deep, deep sense of loneliness and abandonment I felt...
I turned a street corner, and recognised the place... Dad lived here a couple ten years or so ago, in an apartment provided by his bank for bachelors/bachelorettes. At the time, mum and us, the children, were in the Netherlands, and dad worked and lived here alone by himself.
I knew the area well, for every summer I would come stay with him for a month or two. We'd go out to dinner at nearby eateries, and we'd stroll around the area every evening after his work. I knew the area well, and there are many memories at various places.
I walked past Dongmen Market, now a darkened alleyway as everyone has gone home for the holidays... I came to the gates of the building where dad lived on the fourth floor, in room 413 ( I recall many times whenever I left after my summer stay, I'd quietly "bless" the room, for I never liked the room number (4 being inauspicious in Taiwan, and 13... Well, 13 is 13)). A sense of nostalgia overcame me... How young I was then... Thirteen to the age of seventeen or so. Was I carefree, innocent, and free from worries? Not necessarily, for I had things that occupied my mind. Maybe not as heavy as illness and death, maybe not as frustrating as being broken hearted and feeling as lonely as I do now. But there were worries back then, for I was, and I guess have always been, a thoughtful (ie think too much...) boy.
Those were the beginnings of My parents' estrangement, which cumulated in their eventual (physical) separation. Even short periods of being together, there would be arguments, arguments which traumatised me. It made me feel so torn between a dad I care about a lot (but whom I could not really approach and express my love to, except every year with a card on this birthday), and a mother I loved deeply and often felt was wronged. I often felt like I
needed to be the bridge between the two, and was often the role of messenger. After periods of "cold wars" (as I called it...), imagine the smile on my face, the joy, joy, in my heart when they would start talking to one another again.. Those arguments, often over trivial things like money matters or what to eat and what to wear, caused me to vow that I, if i were in a relationship, i would never (to the best of my ability) intentionally hurt my lover with words (perhaps I failed miserably in this...)
I remember sitting in the foyer of the fourth floor on 1 July 1997, and together with dad watched the handover of Hong Kong to back to China... A sad moment, dad said, and he expressed fears that our homeland might one day be forcibly taken by the Chinese. Hearing that filled me with indignation and fear, and dad's words perhaps sowed the seeds of my love for my birth county, and anti- (Communist) China sentiments.
As I walked, many more memories came back to me... Hikes we took together into the mountains... Getting up very early in the morning for a soak in the hot springs north of the city... Walks in the park, which then had only feeble looking twigs, but now a decade or so later is covered with tall trees... Visits to the book store, where we would lose ourselves for hours, sometimes until closing time (I would be in the comic book part or the English book section, mum in the travel section, dad reading some kind of novel or current affairs magazine...).
And then I noticed the name of the road dad used to live on. Jinshan South Road, named after the same town where he is now resting in peace... I never made that connection, not until today, not until tonight's walk down memory lane.
The weather was dreadful, and within minutes I was drenched, and hungry. As it's the second day of the new year holidays, much is still closed, and wherever it's open, it's crowded with families eating and celebrating, which for me to go in by myself would be very depressing... And there were moments, being drenched, and wandering around the empty city on a cold night like this all by my self, I felt u could easily cry from the deep, deep sense of loneliness and abandonment I felt...
I turned a street corner, and recognised the place... Dad lived here a couple ten years or so ago, in an apartment provided by his bank for bachelors/bachelorettes. At the time, mum and us, the children, were in the Netherlands, and dad worked and lived here alone by himself.
I knew the area well, for every summer I would come stay with him for a month or two. We'd go out to dinner at nearby eateries, and we'd stroll around the area every evening after his work. I knew the area well, and there are many memories at various places.
I walked past Dongmen Market, now a darkened alleyway as everyone has gone home for the holidays... I came to the gates of the building where dad lived on the fourth floor, in room 413 ( I recall many times whenever I left after my summer stay, I'd quietly "bless" the room, for I never liked the room number (4 being inauspicious in Taiwan, and 13... Well, 13 is 13)). A sense of nostalgia overcame me... How young I was then... Thirteen to the age of seventeen or so. Was I carefree, innocent, and free from worries? Not necessarily, for I had things that occupied my mind. Maybe not as heavy as illness and death, maybe not as frustrating as being broken hearted and feeling as lonely as I do now. But there were worries back then, for I was, and I guess have always been, a thoughtful (ie think too much...) boy.
Those were the beginnings of My parents' estrangement, which cumulated in their eventual (physical) separation. Even short periods of being together, there would be arguments, arguments which traumatised me. It made me feel so torn between a dad I care about a lot (but whom I could not really approach and express my love to, except every year with a card on this birthday), and a mother I loved deeply and often felt was wronged. I often felt like I
needed to be the bridge between the two, and was often the role of messenger. After periods of "cold wars" (as I called it...), imagine the smile on my face, the joy, joy, in my heart when they would start talking to one another again.. Those arguments, often over trivial things like money matters or what to eat and what to wear, caused me to vow that I, if i were in a relationship, i would never (to the best of my ability) intentionally hurt my lover with words (perhaps I failed miserably in this...)
I remember sitting in the foyer of the fourth floor on 1 July 1997, and together with dad watched the handover of Hong Kong to back to China... A sad moment, dad said, and he expressed fears that our homeland might one day be forcibly taken by the Chinese. Hearing that filled me with indignation and fear, and dad's words perhaps sowed the seeds of my love for my birth county, and anti- (Communist) China sentiments.
As I walked, many more memories came back to me... Hikes we took together into the mountains... Getting up very early in the morning for a soak in the hot springs north of the city... Walks in the park, which then had only feeble looking twigs, but now a decade or so later is covered with tall trees... Visits to the book store, where we would lose ourselves for hours, sometimes until closing time (I would be in the comic book part or the English book section, mum in the travel section, dad reading some kind of novel or current affairs magazine...).
And then I noticed the name of the road dad used to live on. Jinshan South Road, named after the same town where he is now resting in peace... I never made that connection, not until today, not until tonight's walk down memory lane.
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