It doesn't matter

"Thank you..." mum said, as she looked up at me from my bed, "I made you feel so wronged..."

I immediately teared, and my body shook with the sensation of being deeply, deeply touched. Touched because despite her harsh words, she does not mean them. I knew that already, but what she just said, her thank you, confirmed that again. "It doesn't matter," I said as I untangled the various tubes sticking out of her body, "As long as you are happy, as long as you are comfortable..."

Really, what does it matter if I think about it afterwards? After confrontations, even if I feel it is mum whose voice is raised and who is being demanding, so what? I don't need to be right all the time. I don't need to have my way, for my way is not necessarily the right wei.

I don't need to argue with her, don't need to fault her or lecture her on everything. She is already in a lot of discomfort, she has a tube going into her nostril, she has two tubes coming out of her IV port. Her body is a thin frame of bone and skin, her mind is probably in a daze of having not only to cope with the constant discomforts , but also having to mentally digest the risks of undergoing another surgery and the possibility that she may not have long left...

And I perhaps forget too easily, because I can eat, and I put food and drink to my mouth without thinking about it too much. But mum is starving! What does that feel like to be starved of food, to see food all around you, to smell food, to hear about people talk about food, and yet not be able to enjoy it?

Mum is already tormented enough, and she does not need me to torment her even more.

Torment

"I have never felt like this in all my life..." mum said. She looked terribly weak, terribly shaken. Another vomiting session, three, four throw ups in one go, brown liquid pouring out of her mouth into the see through plastic bag I just managed to hand her. It pains me, it really pains me so! I lay down next to her an patted her back, her thin, bony back. I felt her ribs on the side of her body, I felt her shoulder blades, I felt her spine... I felt such pain, such terrible anguish seeing mum suffer again and again.

Five times vomiting today. It seems to be getting worse, though the first few days in hospital it seemed to be getting better. Now, even shots that are supposes to prevent vomiting, which are painfully jabbed into the muscles, do not work. Tonight and last night, mum vomited all the same, yesterday even within five minutes of having the needle stuck into her arm, even barely before the blood has dried...

"What is the meaning of living is this is the way it is?" I asked rhetorically. I know, in this moment when death is lurking so close by, and just before an attempt is made to insert a tube into mum's nose so she can at least sustain her life and her body for just a bit longer, what I said was perhaps cruel and unfeeling. But I suspect that mum feels the same sentiments, or otherwise she would not say that all her life she's never been through something as terrible as what she is going through now...

What is the purpose of all this? All this pain, discomfort, all these sores and mental anguish at seeing your body decline and decline? What lesson is mum supposed to get out of all this suffering if anything? Six years of being sick, six years of treatment and getting even sicker from treatment, and now surgery, now being robbed of the ability to eat and drink

[as I was typing this, mum made a gargling noise, and I knew she was going to throw up again. Six times today! Six times!!!]

What is the purpose of all this suffering? What is the purpose of living at all if all you will get is sicker and sicker and sicker and sicker? I am hurting and crying so badly inside... So badly deep inside...

Oh, cancer! How you torment my dear, brave mother so! Oh, damned cancer! How you cause her so much pain and suffering and do not seem to want to stop anytime soon! Cancer, you are taking my mum away, bit by bit, you are making her so weak, so thin, so very sick... Are you happy now? Have you fulfilled your mission yet, or is your final object to torture her till she dies?

Well, when she dies, you will too...

Wannabe

In moments of despair, you still need to laugh and joke. And somehow I still have it in me to play the naughty, foolish child.

"Get off the bed! It's for "sick person"", my aunt told me. "Sick person" 病人 is Taiwanese for "patient". There's some social taboo lying in a hospital bed, especially if you're healthy. "If your grandma were here she'd scold you silly!"

It doesn't really bother me, and I seized the rare opportunity mum got out of bed to lie in it. I said I wanted to see the world from the perspective of mum... She her view from the hospital bed, see what angel she sees the world (or the room), from what angel she can see the tv screen, see from her bed what she can see of the world outside the window. It's good to put on someone else's perspective for a change, for I believe it allows you even more ability to sympathise and have compassion.

I played ill (without going overboard...) and that made my mum and my relatives laugh. "Everyone will come to this one day. I'm just preparing for it!" it's true, is it not? We will all get ill at some point, and one day we will die. For some people one follows the other, even though it may be a very unpleasant chronology, for being ill you really have very little appetite and energy to really live life, and then you die. What a sad state of affairs... A state of affairs mum seems to have landed in...

So for a good half an hour or so, I lay in mum's bed as she sat next to me, a reversal of roles. They handed me fruits, and I just lay there covered under mum's blanket, trying to see how it feels like being the "sick person". But of course I know however much I pretend, I cannot conjure up the same feelings of pain, sores and fears as mum feels...

I closed my eyes and lay under mum's blanket. Momentarily, I "blessed" the bed and blanket, silently praying that they will give mum comfort and a sense of security, silently wishing that my prayers of peace and happiness will flow from my mind and stay in the blanket and bed, and protect mum who now spends so much of her day lying here.

A lady came into quietly, and handed me a brochure advertising private health insurance. "I wish you will recover your health soon" she said to me.

"Thank you," I said as I received the brochure.

After she was gone, I chuckled out loud. There are times when you need to poke fun at reality and at life. And lying in the hospital bed is one of them.

Sunset

How many more sunsets can I experience with mum...?

Everything is empty...

220:2012.1247

Even the greatest love will fade,
Even the closest of friends must separate one day,
Even the strongest body and most resolute will cannot escape the fate of death.

And the heart will feel, the heart will fear,
The heart will hurt, the heart will ache,
The heart will cry, and long, and suffer as the waves of emotions lash against the shores of human experiences.
Only a calm, contented heart will weather the fiercest of storms and come out unscathed.

Everything is empty,
Nothing is real.
Everything is an illusion,
Nothing is mine to own or mine to cling onto.

Be prepared,
Prepared to separate from that which is dearest to your heart and not flinch.

Ward 172

There is a patient  a few doors down who calls out every few minutes. The call is like that of a parrot, sharp, deep and annoying after a while. He cannot help it. I saw him and believe he suffers severe neurological damage, and is in a vegetative state.

Ward 172, on the seventeenth floor, is one of the four neurosurgery wards. Mum was admitted here for two weeks before and after her spinal surgery, and now she has been re-admitted here again to monitor her condition and get to the bottom of her vomiting. I walk around the corridors and occasionally peek into the rooms. Those few seconds when I peek into other rooms, I see so much... patients lying there with their mouths open and tubes inserted into their nostrils... patients writhing in their beds in great pain... a wife spoonfeed her husband, a mother massage her severely paralysed child...

Illness affects a lot of people, not just the patient in question. And me being here, being able to care for my mum, is nothing compared to what so many people do quietly and invisibly. There are so many unsung carers out there, who resist tiredness, who must overcome despair and anguish, and try and try and try hard to provide and care for their loved ones in the hope that the loved one will get better again. We, the carers, are the silent masses behind every patient, who provide precious love and support through our words and actions of encouragement. we are people from all walks of life, speaking various tongues, from all social backgrounds are all gathered here, brought together by the fragility of our human bodies, brought together by our care and love for our loved ones.  Human suffering is universal, and human compassion and care too crosses all boundaries.

I am touched to see family and friends gather around other patients, just as some of mum's relatives and friends have come to see her when she was hospitalised (less people came to visit this time, because mum does not want to alarm people again...). Besides the fruits and foods they bring, they bring much encouragements, they bring stories  of the outside world into the hospital ward, and they offer patients comfort and invaluable support to complement the professional care and medical assistance the doctors and nurses provide.

My story is not unique. It is repeated and replayed day in and day out throughout the world, and often is untold. When I think this way, when I see other relatives and friends take care of their loved ones, I remind myself I am just one of many. And that in itself is a source  of strength to push on and to care for my mother, no matter what. Because so many people do, and so many people do without  complaining...

Eve of Christmas Eve

'tis the eve of the Eve before Christmas Day. For some reason, this year does not feel so special. I listen to Christmas songs on the radio, I've put up decorations with friends, I've even bought lots of food and drinks in preparation for a big feast with friends later this evening... And the snow that has stayed away till today finally fell, making it a real White Christmas...

But I don't feel the Christmas spirit. I feel blasé , uninspired, not really moved by the festivities (though the Nutcracker helped a bit to boost the feeling inside me...). It feels as if this holiday season came soon quickly, too quickly, and I do not even realise it. What have I been up to this December that Christmas just crept up on me? Traveling, working on finishing my thesis, and caught up by worries of my mother's ailing condition, agitated by fears of slowly losing my good/best friend, my ex...

I know, Christmas is a time for counting your blessing, for being thankful of all the people in your life, for having hope and dreams and wishes... And I am truly blessed in many ways, in more ways I care to remind myself of, in more ways I really actually notice living from day to day...

But this year, it just feels so dull (so far... It could all change in the coming days...). Is it because this year I completely did not spend any time or effort writing dozens of cards for friends and family around the world? Or is it because I just am so tired to get caught up buying and giving gifts?

Christmas... aside from the commercial aspects, aside from the religious roots, it's a wonderfully warm and magical season of the year. But I'm not feeling it at all this year...

Cruise

Cycling home, close to one in the morning. Air was nipy, but fresh. I sped along the cyclepath which skirted on the edge of the forest. The famous Hague Forest (Haagse Bos), where the Queen lives...
and where the 'queens' cruise.

I have no problem with people having fun between the trees in the pitch dark. But as I cycled past, two men appeared from the bushes and turned to look at me. Smiling. Smirking. Winking.
One was pretty butch, had a bolding head, and thick mustache, and must have been wearing leathery pants and an army uniform jacket. The other was shorter, and thinner, but had this drunk lusty look on his face.

I qucikly turned away, and cycled faster, thinking I should have taken the longer route, instead of gone 'cruising' along the more scenic route home. Trees flashed by quickly as my feet peddled and peddled. In the darkness and between the trees there suddenly seemed to be monsters lurking around, and I got a little frightened. There was noone around, and I felt a shiver, and I knew it wasn't because of the cold.

Change

(Beethoven's Piano Concerto nr 5 (Kaiser), Second Movement...
the slow music is so moving, and the light tapping of the piano in the middle echoes a sense of desperation and longing...)

Yeah, I've not been feeling too well lately.

Started around a few months ago, first with lots of naps and chocolate eating. It got a bit better, only to get even worse, and to be 'cured' with more naps and frustrations. At first I thought it was the weather, but the weather was just a part of it. Each time it got a bit better, it was just about to get even worse.

Honestly I can't ever remember a time like this. Stressed from my studies, and depressed with my life. It's like there's nothing that can cheer me up, no one I can share with. Even the walks on the beach are just temporary cures, before I again plunge into the sea of confusion.

On the phone I spoke to a friend. I guess she noticed what I've been feeling and the conversation turned to me. At first, like often, I was a bit reluctant... but she spoke as if she knew what I was feeling, as if she could see me and what sorry state I am in at the moment. And having just talked to her, it was as if a heavy, heavy weight was lifted off of my shoulder... and for that I'm very grateful.

I notice for the last few months I've been getting out this teddy bear and just holding it while I sleep at night. It's been so many years since I last did that... since I needed that 'someone' to hold onto, 'someone' to make me not feel so lonely, that 'someone' to touch, even though it could never touch back. A small substitute for many things that are missing in my life. A substitute for the intimacy, for the closeness, companionship, and feeling of being 'loved' and loving in return. I know it's just a stuffed animal, just cotton and strings, and probably has lots of my drool and who knows what kind of germs on it, but it helps. If only a little. And in many ways it shows how bad it's gotten...

And often I play with Kitty, hold her close to her, pet her and stroke her softly while she sits on my lap. I fill with such strong feelings when I hear her purr, and when she turns to look me in the eyes and squint from pleasure. But then she'd run away after a while, and continue her own life, while leaving me feeling empty inside...

I mean for much too long I've had to go through life completely alone... Recently I realised that it's been more than ten years since I separated from my parents. I was just a teen then, but I had to live on my own and do everything myself. Nobody took care of me... nobody. I survived... I did well, I achieved a lot, got through university.... but all throughout the years I did it all without much encouragement and love. Two very simple things... but two difficult things to get, two very precious things I long for.

And all the while I give people so much without thinking much about myself. Not that I'm a saint or martyr... but it seems like I've been taking care of all these people around me, like friends and family, but I've been forgetting the most important person of all: me! To be neglected by others is bad enough, but to neglect yourself makes it a whole lot worse...

Really, the root of the problem is I'm not 'happy' with myself. I don't really accept myself as I am, and even when people say that I amaze them with the things I do and have experienced, deep down inside I reject those praises and think I don't deserve any of that. Such low self-esteem, perhaps even self-loathing... how can I ever attract love when I do not give it to myself?

At the same time, the nightmares of the past that have made me feel so poor about myself continue to be there. All the while, I continue to be living with my brother who is/was the source of a lot of the misery and pain in my childhood... I want to escape, I want to get away,
which explains maybe my constant urge to go to the beach and watch the sea. Watching all that roaring rage of nature seems to be calming, if only for a moment. But nothing compares to the emotional tsunamis wreaking chaos inside my mind and body...

Perhaps I'm a masochist, wanting to punish myself, even though I don't enjoy it at all. And I realise that I'm continuously hurting myself and limiting myself every single moment I'm stuck with the past. And I'm terribly unhappy stuck living with my brother and the girlfriend. I'm wanting for anything to escape this prison... waiting for opportunities to start my own life fresh and anew, and to cut off all of this excess baggage that's been pulling my life down and down.

And it's hard... again, going back to that self-esteem problem, I feel like I don't know what I want to do. Everywhere I look for jobs, I feel like I'm not suitable or qualified enough... why would they want me, when everyone seems to be better? If I can't even convince myself that I'm better, how can I convince an employer? I did apply to this 'dream job', which would give me the money and ability to get away from this loveless home and start life fresh in another country... but the I've not heard anything from them, and it looks like it's a lost cause.....

So I'm back to this moment, in the here and now. Unhappy, confused, constantly complaining and feeling the frustration and lost feelings boiling inside of me... And I'm stuck here... hopeless and tired. Wondering, wondering and dreaming and sleeping... while the days go by...

But my friend was right though... sometimes you just need to get very low before you go up again. It's a cycle... dip before a rise, just like everything else in life. Just ride it, just go with it, and 'enjoy' the depression.

It will pass...
It will pass...
It will pass...

Thank you, dear friend.

Day out

We stood, braving the waves. Water swashed around us, and we were knee deep. I shivered, but it was too precious a moment to leave. The wind howled. We stood there, watching the roaring waves lounge toward us, in awe and admiration of what the forces of nature could do, and felt the white foamy water sizzle around our feet. The sun had set, but the last light of dusk dimmed in a reddish glow behind clouds.

The day had gone by so quickly, but I felt so alive and energetic from the deep talks we had, together. Heart to heart, eye to eye, hearing one another out, and just listening, relating, empathising. Sharing our pasts, talking about deep, deep feelings, bonding over a lovely dinner and with our mutual fears and dreams. It was as if layer by layer the skin and masks we wear to be able to live in this world were slowly shed. And it was comfortable to be just who we are, to be just honest, to be just human.

Wind blew in our faces, and made our hair wild. An empty beach, just the two of us it seemed, standing there dangerously where the sand merges into the sea, as we felt the ground beneath sink and suck from under our feet, the same feet that stood on this wide, wide world that lay before us. The seagulls teased the air, as dark clouds gathered in the distance far, far away.

We have both come a long way, and found this precious refuge in ourselves, and in each other. The waves roared and splashed, as the wind blow harder and colder. At times I was somewhat afraid, scared by the waves that ripped across the troubled surface of the sea and that were crashing onto shore. I guess I was concerned about the fact that my jeans were soaked and how difficult it would to get the sand out once we get home.

"Sometimes you have to live on the edge a little."

And my friend was right. Seeing her silhouette against the dimming horizon I admired her silently, and the way she stood her ground, and let the elements wash and blow over her, the way as if she was tempting life and nature and not afraid to loose. A flash of giddiness and enthusiasm took over her, different from the sort of calm that open and raw nature invokes from deep within me. Even so, we stood there, perhaps both treasuring the moment, and thinking how special it was to be sharing it together with each other.

The stars appeared, winking at the world and flirting with the the gulls that flew so low. The world seemed so much smaller, so much warmer. It's wonderful to talk, to share, to bond... to have a real friend.

Gay visit

I bid farewell to the 'couple', wishing them all the best and safe journeys. It's funny how you can grow attach to people within just three days. A part of me was sad to see them go, disappointed and unwilling. It's been a short three days, but at the same time long and memorable.

It's really been a while since I've seen 'him', a gay friend I got to know through someone else, and one of the few gays I know. When I was wandering around Asia last year, he was so generous to let me stay at his place for a long time. We've been traveling together before, and it's always such a wild and fun time together, so when he said he's coming to Europe for a visit, I of course was more than happy to make sure he stopped by.


And this time he didn't come alone. 'She' is a colleague of his, and is the first lesbian I've ever met in my whole life. Butch, short-hair, tom-boy with attitude was what I was expecting. Stereotypes, of course. Instead she was extremely friendly and warm person with whom I soon hit it off.

We cycled, we laughed, joked, as we toured the cities and countryside and cruised the beach. There's plenty to see and do, and we made full use of the time together, rushing from place to place, clicking with our cameras at the strange and unique moments and sights. This was the first time I took people around who were gay, and I could so freely take them wander the streets and alleys of gay areas of A(mster)dam. Normally, I'd be so frightened to go into a gay bar by myself, but with them I felt more at ease. And we sat on the terrace during happy hour and watched people go by. And a visit to A'dam could not be complete without visiting the rich cultural educational heritage that the city's many sex shops had to offer. So we ventured into countless shops, next to window-girls in the famous Red Light District, and amazed ourselves with the bizarre and outrageous things that were for sale... Dildo's, whips, different types of fetishes, different ways of sex, from orgy to donkey, bi to pie, from piss to vomit... You name it, it was there. There were even cabins for rent, for those in need of instant... relief.

Exhausted, bedazzled and shivering from the cold and rain, we'd drag ourselves home. But the night never ended so early. We enjoyed a ritual of watching porn passionate adult entertainment on TV. Adult entertainment here is not for the faint-hearted. It's hardcore, fully exposed and 'anything-goes' and no taboos. We giggled ourselves silly lounging in the livingroom in the early hours of the morning, remote control at the ready, watching the people in action, while constantly adjusting the volume, afraid that the high-pitched groaning and moaning would wake up people sleeping upstairs and excite the cat. Satisfied, we'd retire to bed and sleep, while it clapped with thunder and echoed with rain.



Of course, amid all the madness and fun, there were precious little moments for heart-to-heart talks. About life, about work, about future... and about love. Being older, and wiser, they had much I could learn from, much I could cherish, much that could calm my restless mind. He and she has been/is in relationships. I could not but tell them how much I envied them, and how much I miss what they have. But they reassured me, told me what I often try to tell myself...

... love will come, love will come. No need to seek it, it will come for those willing and able to wait. It's a miraculous thing, and even more so how the universe works. No need to crave for things, just think of it, and forget that longing. Somehow, with positive thoughts and a positive mind, what you want will come to one, one way or another. Just do your best, live life to the fullest, and give. And you will be given.

I hugged and kissed the 'couple' goodbye at the airport terminal, and watched them slowly move on and away. We'll see one another someday, that's for sure. Until then, I can treasure the precious memories of our times together. Until then, I have the wise words they shared to take me forward.

Festival Classique

The sky blushed, orange and red, shy perhaps from the way silky white clouds caressed its face gently. Music, pianos, harp and chello seranading in the air, in perfect harmony, while the voice of the choir sang in celebrated low and high tones to perform Rossini's 'Petite Messe Solonelle'. The wavy image of the ancient parliament buildings wavered in the water.


There's something magically romantic about an open-air classical music concert, especially when set against old buildings which slowly donned on their night orangy glow and accentuated shadows as the flood-lights came. In the distance, the Hofvijver fountain sprayed, silently spewing white water into the air, only to fall and echo the way the music silently and dramaticall rose and fell. It made me sigh inside.

Next to the Hofvijver I stood, mesmerised by the combination of the beauty of the sky, music and water flowing and flying around me. A crowd had gathered around me,standing still to admire the music and the beautiful setting. It was part of the Festival Classique series of concerts that started off today, and actually it was a paying performance. Those who did pay got seats in front of a floating stage where the Residentie Kamerkoor (Hague Chamberchoir) performed their art. The rest, free-riders like me, stood around the stage, but could still pretty much see and enjoy the whole performance. Which makes you wonder why pay. A mother duck and her duckling swam around, their movements sending out ripples across the water surface, seemingly matching the ripples that musical notes made in the evening air. Perhaps mother and duckling were the only ones that weren't really enjoying the evening, for they were trapped by the stage.



But that did not stop the moving music. Or the ever-changing display of lights and palette across the dusk sky.

At the post office

"What are you getting your dad for Father's Day?"

I typed in my bank-code to pay, and was not expecting the question at all. I thought it was a sales strategy, an attempt to get me to buy more things. I knew the Dutch TNT was cutting down on staff to save costs... but didn't realise they had become so desparate that they were promoting all sorts of gifts and goodies whenever you go to the post office to mail something. I hesistated and thought a little.

"A book. He likes to read." A little lie. I didn't know what I wanted to get for him... not yet.

"Hm, that's nice", the lady said, looking into the distance, looking puzzled, "I don't know what I'm going to get my dad." She turned to me, looking for contact.

"What does he like then?"

She thought a little. "Rabbits. He likes rabbits."

"Does he already have rabbits?" I went on, still a little curious where the conversation was going.

"Like around 30!" she answered, smiling. "Maybe some rabbit food. Carrots... or maybe hay?"
The receipt was printing slowly, and making a hushed rustling sound.

I was surprised by the number of rabbits he already had, and thought to myself maybe another rabbit wouldn't hurt. But instead I said, lightheartedly, remembering pictures of the little mascot I had just seen at the local supermarket: "What about a hamster?"

She laughed, and handed me the receipt. "Hm, that's a good idea. A hamster..." She looked on, puzzled, and and lost in thought.

"Bye-bye. Have a nice weekend." I turned to go, but then a part of me inside made me turn back to her again, "And good luck finding a gift!"

Final exam

Everyone looked so defeated and sad after the three hours. In everyone's eyes was the hazy look you get when you don't sleep enough (if at all!) We stood in the hollow hallway of the biggest church, and to my dread some started to talk and ask about what the answer was to this or that question. Probably the last thing I want to think about after a long and tiring exam.

Only managed to sleep one hour last night, the rest of the time I was sick and still trying to study, hoping to jam whatever information I can into my already overloaded and depressed memory bank. The more I studied, the more upset and desparate I got, and started getting really moody, as if everything was so wrong. Felt really terrible...

Glad that all that is over. But it didn't end with the exam. Straight after I had to rush to work, and finish off some chores before I take a small break away from life and everything tomorrow. Hundreds of mailing had to be posted, and I spent a good hour or so stamping and sticking and running up and down to the post office. As if I wasn't exhausted enough already.

Also had to do some last minute shopping, especially for decorations for my godson's first birthday party. So spent some time wandering around the stores searching for the perfect card and lovely balloons and strings to hang. Things that could go wrong seemed to, and when you're already cranky from lack of sleep and so exhausted the world seemed to just now cooperate. Almost go ran over by a cyclist speeding on the pavement... missed the bus, so had to walk and wait for almost half an hour... nearly tripped and crashed into a shelf full of porcelain... hurt myself on the knee with a low bookshelf, which is still hurting... I must have had the most disgusted and horrible look on my face today.

It's been a long, long few months... with mostly downs and so many frustrations surrounding work and studies. In the beginning you think to yourself that things will get better, but the downward spiral of depression catches you and pulls you in. Binge eating and over-sleeping are the symptoms... lack of enthousiasm and this indescribably sense of longing for something (but not sure what) are almost a constant... my career prospects don't seem to have any prospects at all.... And added to this I feel more and more irritated about having to share a house with people who dump everything everywhere.

So I really need, and to some extend perhaps even deserve, a break. Break from it all, break from life, work, and home. A change of scenery always helps to lift the spirit and mind. And most of all, I'll see my special little baby boy again, the baby boy who is turning one, the baby boy who has so often given me so many smiles and heart-warmth just by being who he is.

All change.

Baby toys

Went to the baby store today, since I'll be visiting a classmate who recently gave birth, and also next week I'm going to see my godson who's going to celebrate his first birthday.

I stood there in the huge store selling all sorts of things for the baby... from clothes to prams, from car chairs to burn-prevention unit you put on the stove. And of course there are toys... soft toys, stuffed toys, wooden toys, colourful toys, toys that make lots of noise, and toys that put the baby to sleep in a soft soft lullaby. Must have stood there for a long time, wondering what I could buy for the two babies... I wanted to buy everything, to make the babies as happy as possible. They say the first few months and years of your life really shapes you, and especially the things that you come into contact and play with. I felt like whatever I buy will have an impact on the child, so it must be a careful and meaningful choice. It seemed like price wasn't important any more, as long as I could get something that will be in the child's life and memories...

Around me were couples also shopping for toys. Some of the ladies had huge bellies, others had young toddlers wobbling around them.

I stood there, looking at all these wonderful and colourful play things. How lucky babies are to be showered with love.

The way...

I wish I could capture in words the way the fading light of day was set across the horizon in a display of neon glow of orange, red, purple and blue... the way the slight sliver of the rising moon cut a slit in the darkening evening sky... the way the the wind blew whispers into my ears, while the waves roared as they hit the beach... the way sand steadily flowed across my feet like I was standing in a giant sandglass and watching time go by... or the way seashells crumbled and crunched with every step I took...



I wish I could capture it all in words.

Drizzle

It seemed like it was going to rain today. And it eventually did, as night fell and the winds started to blow. I stood in the drizzle, felt the refreshing droplets of rain fall, feel them tinkle and splash on my cheeks, nose and cling onto my lashes. Slowly raindrops slid down my glasses, and the world fogged and blurried. But it was a pleasant kind of bluriness, because you know when you wipe your glasses the blurriness would all go away. Unlike the other night.

Felt still a little bit dazed today, so plans to study and get some work done amounted to no more than 3 pages or so of reading. Somehow I felt really sleepy, even though I had been sleeping for eight hours or so, which was the amount I try to get nightly. Sleep wasn't really so smooth, and I definitely know I had dreams, which was pretty unsual, some of which were pretty intense, as if I was there again. Like little images and memories playing and replaying themselves in my subconsciousness, because of the lingering effects of the experience. But nothing that really kept me awake. I had a little bucket next to my bed... just to be on the safe side.

Last night I went home and took a long, hot shower, one that symbolised the washing away all the dirt and grime of the previous forty-eight hours. Now and then, I'd still have these moments when I wasn't fully aware of whether I was 'here', or whether I was at another moment in time. So I was still a little disorientated and bedazzled, but even in that state, I managed to fix a proper and healthy meal for the three of us, and clean up the kitchen after me, like I'd normally do. An amazing feat, seeing that I wasn't really 'myself' then. Nobody at home noticed there was nothing wrong with me. Either that shows how 'normal' I seemed or had acted, or how little they care.

I was a bit afraid to eat too much, fearing I'd throw up again. After some experience like that, I felt like I had to be careful with everything I did, as if I was exploring life and all the things I did before for the very first time. So all I had was a light meal of tofu with some stir-fry vegetable mix and olives, and a cup of orange juice. I felt full after that, and was really afraid I'd start throwing up again. I really didn't feel like doing that at home, especially when it'd arouse suspicions about what I've been up to. I remember when I was so out of myself that night, I was still somehow consciously telling myself that whatever happens, the last person I'd call is my brother.

So luckily, feeling full after dinner was just a normal reaction. I somehow managed to write that entry before... it was like the words and thoughts were flowing out of me, and I had to try to capture them before they slipped away from my fingers. At times, just trying to retrace those moments and thoughts made me dizzy and my mind spin, and I felt like I was about to have another fit of anxiety attack. But luckily, I guess it was just the intensity of the experience, like an extreme form of trauma being recalled, that temporarily caused the dizziness and spinning.

It was getting dark when I finished writing. But I felt like going out. I felt I wanted to be free... strange, because I had just experienced the 'ultimate' form of freedom. Somehow, even the looming clouds and dying light of day had their charms, and soon I was on my bike and cycling toward the beach. The wind in my hair, the low hum of the wheels, and slight metalic clink-clank from the vibrating bike-frame... they seemed like music.

On I cycled, and I never stopped... save for the occasional red traffic light. Past the empty and drearily gray beach, past darkened forests and shadows that danced in the dark, past countless houses filled with light and warmth.... On I cycled, feeling and absorbing that sense of freedom I relish whenever I'm on my bike, the feeling you get when you're in control of the direction and speed you are moving in. I felt no tiredness, but a rush. To go faster and further, and to be free.

And I was.

Ego and id

I'm not sure whether what I'm going to write will make sense. I'm not sure if anything makes sense now. But I feel like I must write, write so as not to forget, not to forget what happened yesterday and today.

It was a normal start to the day, just work as usual. I left home thinking I'll be home again by the end of the day, that it would be just work and nothing more.

But how wrong I was. An innocent home baked brownie turned not so innocent. We ate, and ate. Though there was a pecculiar aftertaste, we felt nothing. Nothing. The dark, dark brownie lay before us, beckoning to be eaten. And we ate some more, but nothing. Nothing at all.



All hype perhaps. The world didn't suddenly start to turn funny, I wasn't seeing circles, I wasn't feeling ill. But the worst was to come. It was still to come.

It kicked in as the alcohol mingled with the brownies in an untested brew of chemicals, hallucinents and fine African herbs. It was slow to start... but we started to realise what was happening to us. Flashes... flashes... things happening so quickly... but, but at the same time happening so slowly, so strangely. Time had no meaning... time and space lost their grip on my life. It was like someone had gotten ahold of my remote control and continuously pressed 'play' and 'stop', 'play' and 'stop' again and again. I remember one moment trying to put into words what I was saying, and the next moment seeing the characters in the documentary we were watching burst into applause. I saw myself, sitting there one moment... and the next feeling miserable and ill.

The nausea didn't come much later. I closed my eyes, realising I was slowly losing it, losing it all. But even though I knew my eyes were closed, I could still see... everything spinning, turning, twisting and twirling around like a slow tornado getting stronger, and stronger. An overpowering storm within me, churning everything in its path, and pulling me deeper and deeper in. I closed my eys, but I could still see... the world, in bright colours, like a kaleidoscope in yellow, purple, red... and there were eyes, following me, watching me... warning me: "You have gone too far... you have gone too far".

Putting it all into words feels dizzying now... perhaps such an experience should never be put into words, was not meant to be put into words... but a writer must write, for he must get those images and feelings out, or else they will consume him, and he will die.

And it was like that yesterday... All those images, all those colours... too confusing to capture, too overpowering to master. The more you tried to control your thoughts, the more you tried to stable yourself, the more and more intense the slow, luring dance of some unknown spirit twirled around you, dancing, dancing, and dancing, waiting for the perfect moment to prowl.. the moment when you are vulnerable. And weak. Now, then, here, there... it all meant nothing. Nothing.

And that moment came. Nausea, pain, furstration, that deep, deep sense of loss and loss of control gripped my body and insides like a monster with sharp claws clinging onto its pray. I felt air within me, poisonous gas that needed to come up, but couldn't because they were trapped in the depths of my bowles, and ferventing even more poison and pain within me. I swallowed deeply, hoping my own saliva would drown away the flood of indescribable unease and physical sickness I was feeling then... but the more I swallowed, the more I felt the flood was flowing up, up, and up... I swallowed, and felt like I was forcing crass and hard wheels down my own throat... There were bubbles, there were air bubbles and water bubbles. I closed my eyes, again and again, thinking with eyes closed everything would stop, everything would be OK again... but no... The world spun, the world danced, and it stormed all around me. It had to come out... it all had to come out.

Arched over the black bin, I felt the sickness pour out. Not once, not twice... but countless times, each one more intense, more dizzying, yet at the same time more relieving and necessary than the last. My stomach growled, and my eyes teared. Streaks of warm tears flowed down my cheeks, as wave after wave of vomit poured out of my mouth and nostrils. "What shame! What embarrasement!" I thought to myself... and out loud I continuously apologised to dear friends who were around me, who were with me all the time, and who watched over me, took care of me, took ahold of me... and who had had a evening of innocent fun twistedly turned into a haunting nightmare they were probably going to remember for a long, long time.



But the vomitting was necessary. The sick had been collecting within me, had piled up over the years, and they had to come out. All had to come out. All the frustrations, the swallowed tears, the surpressed memories, the images of people and places... they appeared before me seemingly simultaneously like a slow slide show. Some were shocking, some were kind, some were loving, some were as horrible as the nightmares and pains of childhood... I continued to throw up, getting rid of not just the bits of food I had consumed earlier that day, but also foul, foul fluids and snot that were choking me, choking my insides, and stopping the beauties of life from flourishing in the dark, dark hollow chambre of my insides. My friends kept on handing me tissues, patting me, holding onto my shoulders, and whispering to me... their touch and whispers were the only things that told me where I had to be... their touch and whispers were like welcome road signs in a dense and dark forest of utter confusion...

I remember apologising profusely. And thanking them again and again. It was a strange mixture, of guilt and pain, struggling and trying to triumph over elation and bliss. On the one hand, I was held hostage by the illussions of hallucination, I was captured and losing every bit of sanity and control over mind and body. And that made me frightened, so very afraid that I would die, just die and disappear into an abyss never to wake up again, and forever in pain and suffering... Yet, on the other hand, I felt such strange bliss, and I remember myself laughing, chuckling and realising that the whole experience would do me much good. I needed the cleansing, I needed the hallucinations, even if they brought back much pain and trauma. I needed them to be sane again, to go on in life and realise that everything is so relative... to realise that everything is so trivial. For when you are out of it, when you are standing out of your body and watching yourself twitch and shiver like a lost, lost and bitter child, you realise that it can all be different. Life can be different, and life can be pretty. I was laughing and remind myself of the possibilities, of the so many beauties that this world has to offer... the beauties and the good that I realised were such a contrast, and such a far, far world away from the darkness and confusion I was feeling then. "Nirvana... Nirvana...the light side, the light side..."


I saw myself, legs crossed and hands resting on one another in front of my stomach. I saw myself in a tranquil and strangely attractive posture, the way you position yourself for meditation. And I sat like that for hours, how many I do not know. In the darkness and confusion, in the world of mind-numbing yellow hexagons and circles, it was as if I knew the way to escape. And that was to meditate... to collect myself, to observe my anxieties and observe my fears... to watch my breath as it went in and out, in and out. And I remembered all those weeks and months in the forests of Burma, in the mountains of Taiwan... I remembered the lessons I learnt about mindfulness and self-observation. I remembered I needed to watch, watch, watch... not to feel aversion or attraction... not to want to get away from fear, not to want to want to cling onto bliss... just watch, watch, watch. Watch the breath as it went in and out, in and out... watch the mind as it wandered and lost itself in confusion. Just watch...

I remember thinking to myself as I sat there in that tranquil and meditative pose, that never have I felt such elation... all those hours of meditation, of trying to calm my own mind and body, nothing could compare to the strange, strange sense of clarity and lightness I felt. It was like I was floating, flying, free. A spiritual experience... of pleasure and pain, of tears and laughters, of love and hatred, of evil and good... a spiritual struggle, manifested in the strong shivers, in the sick that from time to time flooded out of my bowls. In the ramblings and repetitions of perhaps senseless nonsense, which at the time seemed so wise and so true. I remember thinking to myself that I had found the 'Way', the way to salvation, the path to freedom, and that the world could learn from all this I was experiencing. I remember the bloodshed and pains of the world, and felt them on my shoulders... there were moments when I felt that I had found a solution to the world's problems, that somehow I could unite the world and humanity, and that there would be such a beautiful eternal peace and bliss... 'An die Freude' I sang... that piercing piece of poetry and moving music that so truly and deeply symbolises the union of man and woman all over the world. I was moved. The world was moved.

I remember telling my friends, who by then were panic-stricken and frantically trying to figure out whether (and who!) to call for help, that they should watch me and learn from me. I wanted to creep away and die slowly, I wanted my friends not to be bothered by me, and to just let me be. But they couldn't do that. And actually I needed them more than anything else... I needed help, and I had to ask for it. I had to reach out, to touch others, so that I could be touched. "Help me... help me... scared, scared..." I whimpered like a small puppy that had just been kicked and abandoned. And they were there... they were always there.

The unfinished piece of brownie lay on the floor. Someone joked that we should finish it... but hearing the name brownie made me sick. It was as if once I heard it the image of that dark, brown cake which seemed to represent evil at its purest stayed smothered in my vision. "Don't eat it... don't mention it..." I rambled on and on, even fearing that they would feed it to the ducks and geese. But I felt indignant and upset at that possibility. Even in my state of stonedness I knew what was wrong and right. I kept on repeating that the remaining piece of brownie should not be fed, should not be eaten. It was like I had to defend the whole world from everything that was bad and evil, and that all that bad and evil were churning and turning in my insides, making me sick, high, delusion, but at the same time passionate, kind and caring as I thought of wanting to protect the world from everything that was bad and evil.

After that, I threw up again and again, throwing up until there was nothing else to throw up, until all there was was clear stomach fluid that hung from my trembling lips. What a sorry state I have been in... what horrors my friends had to witness and clean up after me... Yet after each burst of vomit, after each ejection of the rubbish that had been piling and stinking up my insides, I felt I was slowly regaining control, regaining consciousness. I was coming to, and I felt powerful, I felt strong. The world spun more slower, and the yellow colours, and spinning hexagons and circles slowed, and slowed, slowed and slowed. I sat there, still in that meditative trance, reasling and rejoicing at the fact that deep inside that the 'good' was triumphing... and that once more I would regain control again of my body and mind. It was like before I had been naked, exposed... all the traumas and the pains were flung open for the rest of the world to see. When darkness took control, when I let go and let life drain away there was the 'real me', shivering and suffering, frustrated and angry. Yet... yet after that nakedness and exposure, it was safe to clothe myself again... it was safe and necessary to wrap myself, to hold onto myself.

"Back, back, back..." I chanted. "Here and now, here and now..." I muttered. Back to reality, back to the here and now, back to consciousness, back to the world as it is, and away from the confused world in its countless guises, delusions and dimensions.

Amid my repeated apologies and gratitude, I felt closer to life and death than I could ever imagine. Closer to life and death than I could ever imagine.

Mother's Day

The other day I lost my scarf. It was a grey one, and a warm one, one that my mum gave me for Christmas one year, some years ago. Being careless I forgot it while attending a lecture. It was only stepping into the pouring rain and the cold North Sea wind did I realise what I had lost something so precious.

Luckily, I found it again the next day. I put it around me as soon as I saw it, and I felt so warm again. I am lucky, because I have a mum who cares. And sometimes I forget that, the way like I forgot to take my scarf with me. But then I find that care and warmth, and realise how precious it all is.

I spoke to mum just now, like we would do every Sunday. She would tell me about her week, and I would tell her mine. In the half an hour or so on the phone, we would bond and bridge the distance and time separating us.

Sadly, the main thing we talked about this week was about... money. More specifically, money for my brother. He's been wanting to buy a flashy new car for sometime now, and recently managed to get a loan from the bank. But the problem is it's not enough... Actually it's more than enough, but it's not enough because the car he wants has a bigger engine, and of course the bigger the engine the more expensive it is. The main difference between a car with a 1.4 litre engine and a 1.8 litre engine is that when you press the gas pedal, the car with the bigger engine accelerates faster. Faster, by perhaps a few seconds or so... but for those few seconds, the price difference is around 3000 Euros.

So the other day he called my mum and asked her to borrow some money. I was very upset when I heard he had done that. For the last couple of months I had told him very clearly and time and again, if he wants to buy a car, use whatever money he has and buy one that he can actually afford. I laid it all out before him: he's been working for less than two years, yet already now he wants to buy a car that's going to be more than his annual salary! I reminded him what little our mum has at the moment, and of all the mortgage burdens she has to shoulder every month... Why do you need a car that can accelerate faster by a few seconds if all you're be doing is using it to get to work and back? Why buy such a new and good car now, when you're just starting out careerwise? And I even asked him: do you really need a bigger car, or do you actually want a bigger car? He admitted that he only wants one.

But, like so many times, my advice and words vanished in the wind, and he went to ask money from my mum despite of all the reasons I mentioned not to. And like the mum who would do anything to please her child, the money was transfered immediately.

I was hurt when she told me about it all just now. For a long time I said nothing. She continued to say, in ways and words of a caring and understanding mum, how much she understands my brother, and how tenacious he can be once he sets his eyes and mind on something he really wants... I asked her why, and she told me how she would do anything to make him happy, and that everything else is not that important... She'll get by somehow, spend less here and there, and she'll get by somehow. True words. Painful words.

At the end of our conversation, I softly said to her: "Happy Mother's Day..."

She thanked me, and told me to take good care of myself. I said the same back, almost inaudibly...

All I could think of was how bizarre it is that on this day when children of the world are thanking for their mum's hardwork and love, my mum would be the one to be giving a gift.

'Interview with God'

Something to watch and think about...