Order

"She wants drunken chicken..." brother said over the phone.

"Drunken chicken?" I asked. I know the dish well. It's chicken soaked in aged wine to give it a cool and refreshing taste. "That's what she would like?"

"Yes, drunken chicken and some stir fried vegetables."

I did not ask further. It is not a time to ask questions. As the doctor said repeatedly, give her what she likes to eat, give her what she thinks of eating. Let her eat as little or as much as she would like.

I had a place in mind where I could get these two dishes. It's restaurant we have frequented since we were children. I ordered the dishes mum wanted, and two more dishes. A spicy dish of Sichuan origin, containing aping onions, pigs blood and intestines (definitely not kosher or for the faint of heart...). Mum, my brother and I love that dish. And I also ordered some steamed "spiral buns"-- a sweet pastry that is light and easily to chew and digest. And I just spend two hours ( or actually, the rice cooker...) brewing a pungent chicken soup filled with five different kinds of mushroom.

It'll be a feast tonight in Room 20!

Wishing well

I'm so terribly distraught right now, a push, a slight impact can trigger the tears I'm holding back so forcefully. It's not a pretty sight to cry in broad public, right inside a museum...

I saw a wishing well, and normally I don't do it, but right now anything, any semblance of comfort or hope or blind faith seems to offer a temporary taste of refuge from the broken and fragile state of my mind and wrenching heart.

I threw in two coins... One wishing I can successfully return to mum's side at this critical juncture of her life... Two wishing I can leave the country without problems or complications, for I really need to have the freedom to develop and thrive and find myself after all that I'm going through and about to go through. The prospect of military service will crush my soul and break me mentally... And I am not sure I will recover again...

May my wishes come true.

Rising hopes

In the afternoon, my uncle (mum's second brother) called and asked if I wanted to go out tonight. "Want to go light sky lanterns," he asked excited. He had talked about it last week when I met him and his family for lunch one day. And I didn't think he meant it, or that we would go  so soon. So I said yes, and mum too wanted to come along.

Nobody knew it was my birthday, but that didn't matter. We had a wonderful and relaxed time, and I was glad mum managed to come along. We had a nice seafood dinner, and then a soak in the hot spring, which really soothed my mind and eased  a  lot of tension in my muscles. The water was so clear, and bubbled upward from beneath the ground at 50C. In no time, my feet and hands were red like the lobster we ate...

Then came the highlight. We drove to the coastline, and climbed onto a dike. I could not see the sea, but I could hear it very clearly. The Pacific, the vast, vast Pacific Ocean spread out so tranquilly before us. The sky was almost completely clear, almost completely still, and there were so many stars out. My uncle and his friends took out skylantern, and pieces of paper soaked in oil. The tradition is to make a wish quietly as you light lantern, and then release the lantern one by one. The last time I did it was four years ago, right after my dad passed away, and also on my birthday that year. So it was very meaningful to be doing it again this year.

I set up skylanterns with mum, and we both held one side of the lantern. For one lantern I wished that mum would be free from pain, free from suffering. I watched mum close her eyes and deep in thought. Did she wish something for herself? It was a white sky lantern, used to wish for good health or success in you career. Did she wish something for herself, or reserve her wish, and her hopes for me?

My aunt handed me  another skylantern. A pink one this time. "For love!" she said, "Wish something quick!" I smiled, and held the skylantern by the side. It is rare that I wish something for myself, but this time I did have one. "May I find someone whom I love, and who loves me in return." Loves me without conditions, loves me without reservations, loves me truly, deeply, and madly, just as I do him. I smiled again at the thought, and let the skylantern go... Sometimes you just have to let go of everything  before you find something you really want.

I climbed onto the dike, and lay on my back for a few moments, watching the dozen skylanterns lift up higher and higher and higher into the heavens. Mesmerising. Beautiful... So tranquil... "May you carry all our hopes and dreams to far away places... May the world share in the peace, happiness, joy and freedom that these lanterns bring..."

I watched as the skylanterns joined the stars, and dimmed into the darkness. How beautiful and memorable that moment.  Even more so because I spent it with mum...

Today's the day

 I lay next to mum on her bed. I could feel the warmth of her body, hear her breathe softly. The meditation music I put on in the background sent her off to sleep. I closed my eyes and meditated for a few moments...

"Peace, happiness, freedom from suffering... Peace, happiness, freedom from suffering..."

A last hour of my twenty-seventh year, and I was lucky to spend it lying next to mum. To think, so many, many years ago, I was still inside of her, I was still so very small, so innocent, so ignorant of the ways of the world. To think, so many, many years ago, mum was younger, stronger, and healthier. A simple cough would not make her vomit. She could go to work during the day, come home to cook, and take care of a husband and two children. She could go anywhere, do anything she wanted to at will. Now things are all different... I have grown up, I am for the most bit away from her, and she has grown old, grown ill, and slowly, slowly is losing control of the movement of her hands. Much of mum's waking moments are coping with pain, bearing the sores of her aged and ill body...

I opened my eyes and looked at mum's face.. how wrinkled it is, how much sweat and tears that face has shed over the years, and never for a moment did she complain anything was too hard, too unbearable. Instinctively, I reached over and stroked mum's hand... how wrinkled it felt, how much those fingers have worked and toiled over these two, three decades from the day I was born, to provide for me, to care for me, to love me in so many different, different ways...

"I have burdened you..." Perhaps my touch had woken her up. The meditation music reached a crescendo.

I closed my eyes and turned away. "Don't say that!" Mum perhaps does not realise how painful it is to hear that... Even if at times, I feel it, even at times I feel like my life has not been going anywhere because of the circumstances she is facing, it still is very painful to hear mum say that. I know being by her  side for so long has greatly tested my patience, and there are moments I have been impatient, I have been rude to her, I have been frustrated and angry at her, I have perhaps made her disappointed and feel pressured to "get better" when she is not getting better... Even so, I am just trying, trying to cope, trying to do the best I can and with what I know. Even if mum were a "burden", what  am I supposed to do? Just leave her on her own when she cannot even properly use utensils, let alone cook for herself? Just leave her when she has so little will to go outdoors, and everyday looks so sad and depressed? "You are my mother! How can you say that?" I closed my eyes even tighter.

I can only do what I can do. And nowadays it feels like I am able to do so helplessly little, which pains me, which frustrates me greatly. For growing up, mum could always make me feel safe... growing up, mum could always heal my wounds, and make me feel better again. And yet now, I am unable to do the same for her. I cannot make her feel better. I cannot make her better, whatever I do.

"I'm worried..." mum said faintly, and coughed. Her closed eyes squinted, a sign she was in pain.

"Worried about what?" I played with the heat packs I had just removed from boiling water. The packs are supposed to ease the soreness around mum's shoulders and neck, and are supposed to help her  sleep easier.

"About you. Brother is already married, but you..." she strained to speak. The four sessions of CyberKnife treatment, though swift and seemingly painless, have as expected damaged her throat even further. Her throat has become swollen, and when she coughs, there is yellow phlegm.

I closed my eyes, as if in closing them, the lingering sadness can be shut aside. If not, at least the tears that threatened to seep out could be shut inside.  Mothers worry about their children, that cannot be changed, and especially Asian mothers worry about their children's marriage. Even in her state of discomfort and pain, or perhaps exactly because of that, mum's mind is still preoccupied with me and my life.

"I cannot control love or who loves me..." I said, "However much I wish to have someone in my life, I have no influence over that..." I was again reminded of  the conversation mum and I shared on my 'real' birthday, the one my parents remember mainly, two weeks ago. Mum asked about my ex, but I did not want to go into details. All I said was that I have not spoken to him much for two months, and that I hope he is happy.

"Why don't you think of yourself? I am still young, I have a life ahead of me. But what about you? Why spend you time worrying about me, worrying things I have no say or influence over, when you could spend time thinking about what you want to do with your life?" I held mum's hand. I have said this to her so many times, and I know deep down she too wants to plan her life after retirement, I know deep down she too wants to enjoy her life as best as she can. But the physical is a huge obstacle standing in the way, and nobody can really understand how much she hurts, how much she is so weakened and so burdened by her deteriorating health and having to hear again and again that the cancer is spreading... As she said to me once or twice, "You're not the one with cancer..."

We were silent for a few moments. Mum closed her eyes. The music continued playing. I looked at her, at her aged faced, at her wild, uncombed grey hair. I looked at her nose, her lips, her chin, her cheeks ever so closely... Have you ever really looked at someone you love and care about from so close? Have you ever looked at your own dear mother from so close?

I see my dear, brave mother, see her age, I see her slowly grow weaker and more ill by the day. How far we have come together all these years... how much longer and further can we journey together in this life?

Can I again take her traveling and can I again show her the world and its many beauties? Can I fulfill her dream of finding a partner with whom I can settle down for life, so that she may leave this world at ease? I stroked her hand, softer and gentler this time, for fear of waking her again, like I did before.

Just as I thought she was already asleep, "Thank you for everything..."




What’s the trouble on your mind? 你在煩惱什麼
(translation mine)
There is no flower that will not wilt,
There is no tide that will not retreat,
There is no light that will not darken,
What’s the trouble on your mind?

There is no scar that will not fade,
There is no wound that will not heal,
There is no despair that will not stop,
What are you being melancholic about?

Time will never reply,
Life will never make a turmoil,
Even if there is only one moment,
I am not afraid,
It is that one moment that makes up forever…

A quiet moment

A quiet day today. In the morning we went to the sports park for a breath of fresh air, for the weather was unusually clear and bright for this city at this time of the year. That clear spell lasted only an hour or so, then it became gloomy and grey again.

Mum kept on insisting that we go out for a big meal to celebrate, but I didn't want to. The last time we went for a meal, we had to pack everything up half-way through the meal because mum was gagging and about to vomit. While fixing dinner, mum said I should eat long noodles, like I did last year, for the longer the noodles, the longer your life is said will be.

"I don't want a long life," I said, "Just a happy one". What's the point of a long life if you're miserable and suffering, whether physical pain or emotional torment? All I could hope for is a happy life, filled with love and care and kindness. Of course that all depends how I live my life, and how I choose to perceive life. Maybe a nice warm home, and a devoted, loving, caring person to go back home to every day. But that is perhaps asking too much. Just a happy life is enough.



I went to the bookstore after dinner to pick up new books to read. Reading is perhaps the one thing I can really concentrate on doing here, the one thing I can do relatively well amid the turbulent and upsetting circumstances surrounding mum's health condition nowadays. While browsing, I spotted a book that might prove useful for a personal challenge that I'm planning in the coming period-- if mum's condition permits me to go ahead.

When I got home, mum was getting ready for bed. On the nurse's recommendation, I warmed up some heat packs and placed them on her bed, for they are supposed to aid sleep. I lay down next to her, and she stroked my head a bit. Mum's hair has greyed plenty since the surgery. Her hands have somehow become very wrinkled and dry, her fingers trembling slightly. The coarseness of mum's voice still reminds me much of an old witch...

She began telling me about a conversation she had with my brother earlier. "It's good to see him happily married, and to have a new family to care for him." I had an idea where this was going. And I was right.

"I only wish you had someone too," she said quietly, straining a little as her voice is still very coarse and fragile, "When I am gone, I hope you will have a new mum and dad to care for you..." I closed my eyes, and imagined what they would look like... "They would be lucky to have a son like you..." I closed my eyes also to stop the tears from escaping.

Mum continued. "I am so fortunate. The surgery saved me in time, or otherwise I would have become paralysed for life. That is perhaps worse than death..." She recounted how waking up for the first time after the anesthetic wore off on 28 December she was so relieved she could feel and move her legs and arms. "It was like I was born again..." I was not there to witness that, to see the expression on her face when she came to and realised that she can move her body at will. I only managed to arrive a couple of hours later.

I lay next to mum and buried my head face down on a pillow. I said nothing as she continued. "If I think about it, I have no regrets..." It was not the first time mum said this, but it was the first time after her major surgery. The first time after many references to wanting to end her life because the soreness and pains after the surgery is tormenting her body and mind, and keeping her awake at night. "Dad was so thrift and hard on himself, and he left me with money for treatment," she said, sniffing, "And I am so lucky to have a son who cares so much." I closed my eyes even tighter. "Which boy would rush home and take care of his mother like you do?"

"I just want you to be well," I managed to say, "As the doctor said, it's the quality of life that matters..." Yes, why would you want to live on and on and live a life full of regrets, full of waking fears and dormant feelings of guilt and "what ifs", full of physical pain and discomfort? And like that couple in the movie we watched earlier together, when there is limited time and space to live, live and do pursuing a dream, living a dream. All the rest matters so very little. So very, very little.

I do not know how long mum will be around... I cannot guarantee that I can have success in my career or have the wonderful partner and caring in-laws that she would like me to have when she is no longer around. But here and now, I can try, and try, and try again to do everything I can to make her feel comfortable, to make her feel loved. There is nothing else I would do less, there is nothing more I could do less than be by her side as long as I can as she takes this slow, slow journey to recover her strength and 'old' self. Perhaps she may never recover, never be her old self, the strong, brave woman, mother and wife I now she once was. But in my mind, she will always be my dear, brave mother.

My dear, brave mother who gave birth to me twenty eight years ago.

Turning 27

I do not have any particular wish on my birthday. Not even long life, despite mum asking me to eat long noodles for dinner today (a symbol of long life...)

I do not need much in my life at this moment in my life. I have my health, I can walk, I can see, I can think. I can do whatever I want with what I have, and I can go anywhere I want whenever I want. Being alive and healthy is a gift, a precious one I value more and more every day, and every time I see someone weakened and pained by illness, or taken away by death...

I have a family, a mother who loves me deeply, who cares about me, accepts me for who I am, and worries about me, even when I tell her not to. I have a brother, a sister-in-law, and a whole bunch of relatives who will always welcome me into their homes. And I have a father, who though already departed, still smiles down at me whenever I look up at the sky.

And I have great friends, a loving cat waiting patiently for my return (and another cat elsewhere...). And for the first time in a long, long time (or perhaps, ever...), a loving and caring partner who makes me feel loved, makes me feel special and warm inside.

I may not have a job or a clue what I want to do with my life. But I know somehow, and sometime soon, I will eventually find my way in the world.

I have also the teachings of the Buddha, which allows me to see 'through' life, to see 'through' the ways of the world and all its discontents, providing me with the ability to live more peacefully and be more at ease, with the world, and with myself.

I do not wish for much on this day... just that I hope the world, and all its beings may be well, happy, and free from suffering.