Crash

Almost forty eight hours without proper and long sleep. Another exhausting day taking care of mum's funeral arrangements after her passing. So many traditions to abide by, so Manu customs to adhere to. Even now we cannot say for certain when the cremation will be and when mum will be interred at her final resting place (they are two separate events...). It all depends on what is a "good" day for mum to be cremated and interred, and what is "good" depends on mum's zodiac sign, day and time of passing, and the alignment of the heavens. It is a lot to consider, a lot to be aware of, a lot of taboos to avoid. As if losing a loved one is not already burdensome enough.

Have been too tired to feel sad or really mourn. Though, today while sitting in the car heading to the funeral home with my brother, it moved me so close to tears to see him suddenly just shed tears. He said he was missing mum, and it feels like she's just gone to sleep and will wake up soon. He said it's so strange how these past three months he was constantly by her side, and how this three weeks or so he would visit her daily at the hospital. Now it's all over... Now she's no longer at the hospital or in her bedroom. It is as if we half expect her to be lying there resting, as she did for much of the past two months in bed...

"Looking out the car widow," brother said, his cheeks had the markings of two wet streaks, "Taipei feels so empty. There is nothing here for us anymore..." It was only when he said it out that I realised the same. This is my birth-town and was my childhood hometown. It was a place I would return to every single year almost because my parents were here. Now both dad and mum have moved on, so what is left here? An empty home full of things and belongings of two people who have already gone, an empty home full of memories of what once was but is no more. What else is there here for me, for us?

Brother asked me whether I'm sad and why don't look too sad. "I think it's because I know we have done everything we could. Nothing more could have been asked of us. And it all come to a beautiful end..."

Those are true and real reasons, but was I just comforting myself and trying to be unnecessarily brave? Brave for who's sake? My own sake, because I have no shoulder to lean on and no one I can really cry to? Brave so that other people will not hurt if I don't cry?

Mum is back home now. A temporary altar has been erected in her honour in the dining room. There is a giant portrait of mum on the altar, and before the portrait of mum's smiling picture. Mum told me once, a few months ago when I commented how beautiful the picture on her national health insurance card is, that she wants to use that particular picture for her funeral. And I've fulfilled her wish.

Seeing mum smile back at us is not at all scary. In a way comforting to know mum's spirit is back home and with us (at least that is the local belief...). From today till the day of the funeral, we will just do as she used to do before: get up, wash, have breakfast and dinner, and wash again before "bed". We will have to offer her water to wash herself with, offer her favourite foods and drinks and fresh fruits. It is as if she were still with us, and we can bow to her, talk to her as we wish to. Relatives and friends have the opportunity to come to our home and pay respects to her altar by offering incense or white envelops containing money (another tradition).

We'll make the altar beautiful and dignified so that when people come, they can see what a wonderful life mum has had, and that her passing need not be overly sad...

The Falls

I began howling, but the sound of water falling drowning my sorrow and pain. I cried tears long overdue, sobbed and shook energy that had long been suppressed and unreleased. I broke down, the first time since the start of mum's gradual deterioration of health.

It was seeing the falls. Even at night, even in the darkness, it was so powerful, so awing, so persisting. It was nature inspiring and goading broken and disappointed souls to safety and to comfort. The rush of the water was nature's way of dispelling all doubts and all fears. How can anything else really matter in the world compared to the immensity and sheer brute force of the water falling at such rapid speeds and with so much momentum?

What made me cry so much? The sounds, the deafening, constant sound of the water falling in the middle of the night. Falling into complete darkness, originating from complete darkness. The incessant sounds, incessant flow of water gushing and rushing over the precipice and naturally, fearlessly falling into the unknown.

What made me cry so much? The memories... memories of how eighteen years ago my entire family, my dad, mum, brother and I, stood (admittedly on the other, American, side of the falls) here and admired the water together. How much has changed throughout those seemingly carefree days... Who have I lost, and who am I about to lose? A heart-wrenching sense of loneliness choked my breath, and my breathing was made harder by my uncontrollable sobbing. All alone... All alone, standing there, crying. My ex gave me some space and walked away to lie down  a little in the distance. Even he did not notice me howling and sobbing like I have rarely done. To think, that many years ago we were all together, and now I am here by myself...



There was some solace to be found in the fact that I managed to build up a life in the country I thought was so mysterious and foreign back then when I was just ten. Now, that great vast nation across the Niagara River is my home, and I made it (more or less) on my own. I made a whole new start after losing dad, and now on the verge of losing mum, I am consolidating my presence in Canada by submitting my application for Permanent Residence.


But the thought of building a home in Canada all own my own drowned me again in sadness and pain. I so wanted to share with dad the excitement I felt discovering this country... I so wanted mum to experience the beautiful scenery and bountiful berries and good quality of life after she retired. I know I am fortunate to have traveled with her extensively around this amazing country... But I so wanted her to come again, to visit again, to see me walk down the podium as I collect my degree in two weeks' time. I so much wanted mum to be proud of me, to see me thrive and be successful... to see me happy and settled...

The waters did not stop falling all the time these and so many other  thoughts flooded my mind and erupted out of my eyes in the form of tears. I looked into the distance, at the colossal columns of water pouring down... and I felt so small, so insignificant. I could jump across the barrier and just vanish, and all my pains and sorrows would vanish too. I would never do that, of course, because how could I just give up my life when mum is struggling to hold onto hers? But the thought did cross my mind.

I began to walk off in a hurried pace. I was drunk from crying and stumbled. The tears clouded my vision and made me so dizzy. I stopped again on the side of the cliff and sat down on the rocky barrier. My ex followed me and was trying to comfort me. But I found little solace in my ex's arms, even though he tried hard to get me into them. Those arms belong to another, I can no longer find comfort and security in them, however sincere he offers them to me.

I took out my phone and began to dial home. I needed to speak to mum.

"Can you hear the waterfalls, mama?" I asked. I tried so hard to suppress the tears, I tried so hard not to whimper and not to let my voice betray my heavy tears and sobbing. Mum said she heard it.

"It's good you're taking time to travel. Relax, enjoy yourself. You have gone through so much..."

Those words drew out more tears, and I felt my face contort in pain. My voice was so powerless. I was unable to speak. "Remember... eighteen years ago we were all here... I miss you [all]. I miss you [all]..."

Mum said she was at this very place back in 2008, and that she stayed in a "tall tower". Was it the same hotel I was staying in? The knowledge that mum was there, that mum only recently also saw what I was seeing, was comforting and yet heart-wrenching. I felt the sprays of water cleanse my tired eyes and refresh my face.

And I stopped crying.

I cried what I needed to. The sorrow, the pent-up emotions, the pain, terrible pain of watching mum suffer and suffer even more all flooded out of me. And I felt lighter, more at ease, and the pain did not feel so painful after all...

I was numb. The water continuously fell, the sound of the water falling did not cease for a single moment. Nature seems to have such inspiring and invisible strength that last forever and forever.
But my emotions were temporary, like a summer storm  that brews and brews until it is eventually released.

And afterwards the skies clear up again...

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.

Slowing down

Walking slowly with mum in the rain, in silence, something crossed my mind...

I looked at mum from a few steps away, and noticed how frail mum has become, how much older and more fragile than I have ever since her before... Sometimes she closes her eyes, and I know because there is a shooting, sharp pain, most likely from her surgical wound. Sometimes she crumples her face in great, great discomfort, and I know it is because she really is hurting from just standing up and walking... I know mum is suffering, and yet I cannot do anything to help her...

Every step she takes seems to take great effort and strain. Every move so slow, so painstakingly slow. I know it frustrates her greatly, but she cannot fully express it. Her voice is too broken to say much, so much of the time we are silent nowadays. I know her current condition frustrates her greatly, for on occasion she lies in bed and tells me how much she wants it to be all over. Really over...

Being around mum, it is hard to stay positive, hard to keep on smiling and keep in being strong. I look at myself in the mirror and feel as if I have aged greatly over the past month, feel like my life, my youth, has been caught up in a relentless spiral that is pulling me back. How very selfish of me to think like that, I know, I know...

but part of me so much wants to hide... Hide far, far away, so I do not have to deal with all this... Hide in my sleep, so I do not have to feel... Hide in temporary moments of euphoric release and self-gratification, so I can drown out the pain... Anything else, anywhere else away from this place, this moment...

In calm I will find strength...
In myself, and from noone else, I must rediscover what it means to care, to be patient and to love...