Past midnight

It's just past midnight. One of those moments I should be going to bed, but not quite
ready yet... one of those moments I could finish off a paper I'm writing, but not quite got the braincells to read anything else any more... so I guess I'll just write about my day.

Went to bed pretty late/early last night, at around 2am, working on the paper due next week. I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing, but once I get started doing research, I just read on and on and on, and don't feel like stopping. And for a short paper of 2000 words in length, I've got some 70 footnotes that total to around 3500 words alone! And I'm not even finished yet. I guess I have what is called 'footnote fetish'... almost every single sentence I qualify my arguments or refer to similar and contrasting arguments with a footnote. So a typical example would be this:

It is such a perspective of a “millenist, triumphalist, upbeat”[1] liberal international society that echoes concerns of a return of standards of civilisation under the liberal label.[2] Indeed, a “facile universalism”[3] of standards in the international system would overshadow the political, economic, social and historical idiosyncrasies of our “multicultural (as opposed to cosmopolitan)” international society".[4]

Too pedantic? Too detailed? Too much fine print dealing with something that says very little? Not sure, but it's 'lawyer-ly', and I do enjoy writing like this, because it makes me feel... smart!

Anyways, I only managed a few hours of sleep before I had to get up just before eight to go to work. I had to turn back home almost immediately after leaving home because somehow the circular lock on my bike came off and started to make embarrasingly loud noises against the wheel as I cycled.

I was somewhat sleepy, but the sun was out and shining wonderfully like an early day in spring. And somehow I always feel so 'energetic' and excited about going to work, even if it's just one day in the week.

As I arrived, a couple of boxes were spread over the floor, and my colleague excitedly told me about the 'goodies' and books that a number of sponsors have sent us. About time, since for the last couple of months we've be trying to solicit ('beg') for sponsorship and for whatever people can spare to support the event on HIV/AIDS we're organising. Luckily, we got a positive response from UNESCO, which sent us two big boxes of information packages. My colleague nonchalantly opened one, and started to show me the wonderful things that were inside the info packs... Between it all was a little foil package, and I curiously removed it.

My colleague saw the expression on my face, like the expressions of so many other people who realised what it was that I was holding, and burst out laughing. It was a condom, not just any condom, but a female condom, with on the back vivid pictures and careful instructions showing how to put it on (or in?). The rest of my co-workers came, and each were equally surprised and burst into laughs as I was. So now together with the latest collection of contraceptives, we also a bunch of red ribbons, a number of lollies with 'Safe Sex' printed on them. And still to come is another big batch of condoms. We have so much that my boss asked whether we'd like to take some home with us... without thinking too much, I said no. Well... I guess taking them home will be a waste, since the chances of them being used in the near future is... (lower than) slim : /

Come mid-April, when our guests start to arrive from all over Europe, we'll be standing at the door welcoming them with our huge supply of condoms and other 'accessories', and say: "Welcome to Holland"!

---

[1] José E. Alvarez, ‘Do Liberal States Behave Better? A Critique of Slaughter's Liberal Theory’, 12 European Journal of International Law 183 (2001), 189. At 192 Alvarez talks of the “oppressive voice of neo-liberal hegemony”. Much of this ”liberal triumphalism” can be traced back to Francis Fukuyama’s seminal declaration that “with the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government” history was at an end: Gerry Simpson, ‘Two Liberalisms’, 12 European Journal of International Law 537 (2001), 539; and also Susan Marks, ‘The End of History? Reflections on Some International Legal Theses’, 3 European Journal of International Law 449 (1997) and Gerry Simpson, ‘Democratic Liberalism in International Legal Theory’, 15 Australian Yearbook of International Law 103 (1994). See also Alex Mills and Tim Stephens, ‘Challenging the Role of Judges in Slaughter’s Liberal Theory of International Law’, 18 Leiden Journal of International Law 1 (2005), 29. Patrick Capps, warns that liberalism seems to justify “unilateral interpretations” by the Kantian proposition of a ‘league’ powerful states “of what objective morality requires when applied to a highly complex world”: ‘The Kantian Project in Modern International Legal Theory’, 12 European Journal of International Law 1003 (2001), 1020. Euan MacDonald cautions against “neo-liberal imperialism”, the foundations of which “rest on an incoherent mixture of selective positivistic analysis, highly contestable political science, and the essentially uncritical acceptance of a 200 year-old political theory”: ‘International Law, Democratic Governance and September the 11^th’, 3 German Law Journal (2002), available online at: .

[2] Fidler (1984) speaks of “the standard of civilization [having been] reincarnated n the standard of liberal, globalized civilization”: 411. Anghie (1999), similarly writes that “the civilizing mission may be reconstructed in the contemporary vocabulary of human rights, governance and economic liberalization” (80). Simpson (2001) distinguishes between ‘classical Charter liberalism’ which emphasises “tolerance diversity and openness together with an agnosticism about moral truth” (539), and ‘liberal anti-pluralism’, which is a profound form of “illiberal conformitarianism” that views original Charter conceptions of sovereign equality as “an absurdity” (541). Koskenniemi (2002), 54-67, outlines that the origins of the ‘liberal project’, with human rights as “the fundamental objects of protection by international law”, took root at around the same time as European expansion in the late 19^th Century.

[3] Thomas Carothers, ‘Empirical Perspectives on the Emerging Norm of Democracy in International Law’, 86 American Society of International Law Proceedings 261 (1992), 262-264.

[4] Gong (1984), 244.

Monday morning

Woke up at 8.08am this morning. In order to get on the train and be in class at 9, I usually have to leave at 8.10.

"Oh, sh*t!" I thought to myself as I read my watch. The sun was already up and bright, but I was feeling pretty miserable for having such a wonderful start to Monday morning. Within 10 minutes, I washed my face, brushed my teeth, tried to get my hair in order ( realising again that it was a bad idea to shower and then go to bed...), got dressed, and got on my bike. I cycled as fast as I could, but it was exactly those moments when you're in a hurry things get in the way to slow you even more. Traffic lights, slow cyclists, cars...

I missed my regular train, but thankfully there was a slow train a couple of minutes afterwards, which would get me into Leiden (where I study) a little before 9. I ran and skipped through the streets, and managed to complete a walk that would normally take 20 minutes in around 10. Sweaty, hungry, out of breath I got into class, ten past nine. We have this unspoken rule at the university, the so-called 'Leiden quarter' (Leids kwartier)... usually classes don't officially start until a quarter past the hour, so I was technically still on time.

It was a slow and boring class, even more so because the weather, in what seemed like the first day of spring, was so lovely outside. The lecturer asked questions from the 150+pages of readings we had to read to prepare for class, but nobody seemed to have read anything... because frankly the text is so tedious and technical that you'd have to read two, three times to understand. A grueling two hours, and class was finally dismissed.

Almost the rest of the day I spent in the library, working on this paper due for next week. The topic is up to us to decide, as long as it's related to a theme of international law. In my undergrad studies I had come across criticism of international law as Eurocentric and as something simply forced upon the rest of the world. And more recently I came across literature about how international law was used in the 19th Century to justify colonisation and imperialism under the banner of 'humanity' and 'civilisation'... so obvious, with my flair and attraction for the critical, this was what I chose my topic to write about. There's more and more talk of liberalism's virtues of human rights, democratic governance, rule of law, and more and more you see certain states preaching these idea(l)s, or even setting these conditions for other states if they want to be accepted as a member of the (so-called) 'international community'. Well, it occured to me that perhaps today we are not that far away from the slogans of 'humanity' and 'civilisation' as we presume to be... that perhaps today international law is not something that can be applied universally because it appears to be so neutral and so accepted by all. So in my paper I'm going to try to draw the links between 'civilisation' then, and liberalism now, and how through time and different contexts, the (neo)colonial tendencies and inequalities of the international system have not shifted away from the hegemony of the few over the many. Fascinating, mind-boggling stuff... at least I find! :)

Anyways, after sitting in the library reading (and getting distracted by cute people walking around...), I took a break and went to see an old colleague of mine. We've not seen each other for almost a whole year, since she's been on fieldtrip to a far, far away land called Angola. It was like old times, we sat down to dinner, and two hours later were still sitting there, leaving only because the waitresses were wiping the tables around us in a subtle sign telling us to go. She's one of the few close friends with whom I can talk to about anything and everything. We chatted,I told her about my (love-less) life, family, studies, my disgust of bourgeois pretences like the gala I attended sometime ago... and she told me about her adventures in the 'bushes', about being phone-tapped (possibly followed), and the extremes of poverty and super-rich-dom in Angola.

I cycled home, not in a hurry like I was while leaving home his morning, and admired the beautiful stars on this wonderful, calm evening.

Nightmare

I was awaken by the intensity of the dream. So real... so frighteningly real. Under my blankets I crunched into a human ball. I knew I was awake, but I didn't open my eyes, fearing perhaps tears would burst out. I was in pain.

Went to sleep last night, with my head buzzing slightly from the alcohol. It was cold outside, but inside I felt warm. I haven't dreamt in a while, and last night was horrible...

I saw myself kneeling on the ground, head hanging low, completely distraught and in tears, and my hands together in prayer. I lifted my head, and in front of me was my dad. He was in pain, his body writhing the way fish do when they are out of water. I can't remember if he said anything, but he seemed to be moaning and his face was crumpled together, in obvious pain. His hands reached out to mine, but didn't touch, perhaps beacuse he was took weak to touch. And he kept on moaning and groaning, obviously suffering terrible physical and mental pain.

It was a horrible sight, and I saw myself in the dream pleading and begging with my hands together. I can't remember what I said exactly, but it was something along the lines of praying that my dad's pain would go away, and that he would pass on peacefully. I think it was pretty clear it was his final moments, and he was in complete anguish...

On his contorted face was a scared look.. a look of someone who seems to be carrying the sorrows and burdens of a lifetime, and is seeing his life flash back before his very eyes. There seemed to be a look of guilt too, or perhaps of shame and of regret... or of all these terrible things that come back to you at that moment when you yourself know time is really ticking away...

I knelt before him, feeling the intensity of the suffering consume me. I repeatedly sent him prayers and kind thoughts, and wishing that he would feel no pain, feel no more suffering. But as much as I prayed for dad's bliss and for his wellbeing, his writhing body told me othewise. His stomach was bulging-- a phenomenon I had previously seen as a child in the final days of my grandma, before she was taken away by her failing liver. They say liver disease, cancer included, is one of the most painful experience of all... and that toward the end you cannot eat or drink, but then your stomach is so inflated it feels like it's about to burst open...

And that was what I saw in the dream... dad, lying there, suffering and in pain, his hands trying to reach out, but failing... his body trying to stabilise and calm down, but moving around frantically, as if in a last attempt tp gain control, to fight against disease and suffering, but also... failing.

I knelt there, crying, praying, and begging for mercy as life came and took life away...

Party

2am. Tipsy.

Just managed to travel one hour on the train and cycle home without having an accident. When you're under the influence of alcohol everything seems to be happening so fast, but your reaction slows. I'm one of these people who can drink and drink, but never feel sick or throw up. And I'm one of these people who drinks, gets tipsy, and a little quiet... perhaps even philosophical.

It was a birthday part I just attended... actually birthday celebration for three people who had their birthdays one after another recently. So in fact, the three of them and me are all the same starsign. And coincidentally one of them is born on the exact same day, month and year as me.
Never ever met anyone before who has the same birthday... so it was quite something.

But then we're so different people. He's more outgoing, and looks more mature and seems so together, whereas I'm so shy, a little naive, and so full of doubts and uncertainties and insecurities. I mean at the party there were around twenty people or so, but even so I felt somewhat lonely. Not that I didn't talk to anyone, but even when you talk to someone and meet new people, there's still this feeling of loneliness inside, which is so contradictory of all the noise and all the chattering and laughter on the outside.

I left a little earlier, perhaps even the first to leave. But early was already 1am, and I had to rush to the station to catch the train home, or else must be stuck at the station for one whole hour. As I walked out the door, into the cold, clear night with stars shining brightly in the sky above, I felt a little relieved.

In the distance the sound of people's voices and music continued, as I cycled into the silence and dark of the night.

Values and interests

They say there is law that applies everywhere, because the law is the law, and is supposed to mean the same to everyone, no matter where. The law is certain, black and white, and protects the weak against the strong.

And there are values... idea(l)s, perhaps, that certain people (or states) cherish that should be protected and developed because it is seen as necessarily 'good', indisputably 'moral' and 'just'. Contrast this with interests... a self-motivation which everyone (and every state) tries to pursue so that they benefit most, and mostly at the expense of others. It is these values and interests which often makes the law appear more like a tool for those who are willing and able to (ab)use it to their own ends.

In the last couple of days I've come across two things that have made me, more than ever, more skeptical about the 'nieceties' of law, especially the interantional kind, which we lone human beings are almost powerless to influence, yet which affects us all in so many, many ways. One was some of the readings I've had to read about the so-called 'universal' human rights, and the other was a lecture I attended last night, given by an influential (and refreshingly critical) international lawyer from the University of London.

Why is international law so influential? Because through the countless number of international, multinational, bilateral and multilateral treaties and agreements there are, our lives are being regulated, to a large extent also protected, but to some extent also limited. Our fundamental rights and freedoms to life, to speech, to work and to found a family are subscribed by international law... as are our responsibilities should we commit certain heinous crimes like torture or genoicide. The environment, and how to save it from further deterioation and certain extinction, is governed by numerous agreements to cut greenhouse gases, to stop mining, overfishing, and to promote so-called 'sustainable development'. The global economic and capitalist network composed of markets, media and coporations is held in place by a complex regime of free trade and flow of goods and people. And international law regulates war and peace, it says that certain behaviour like aggression will not be tolerated, and international law has set in place security arrangements to ensure that 'aggressors' are dealt with under the banner of 'collective peace and security'. And if there is to be war and conflict, international law underwrites the standards of what you can and cannot do in armed conflict, and provides the bare minimum amount of protection for civilians and property.

Yet... international law is made predominantly by states, and the skeptic, like me, would say mostly by states which are big and powerful. How fair is it that certain states are able to sit in the Security Council just because they were 'winners' from a world war sixty years ago and wield almost unchecked authority over world affairs, and be armed with the veto power if certain events or decisions don't suit their interests? How just is it that certain states are able to wage war against whomever they see fit, supposedly in the name of promoting freedom and democracy, but actually pursuing and protecting their economic and geopolitical interests? How is it that certain states claim the right to preach and champion certain values, and if necessary take action to 'intervene' to make all other states a mould of themselves? And how can transnational corporations, many as influential and affluent as states, control and monopolise so much of the world's wealth and production, while so many countless are left out of the most basic resources for survival, let alone the benefits of the supposed progress and comforts that the age of post-modernity is to usher in?

There is much talk of principles and idea(l)s like the "international community", "democracy", "perpetual peace", "global prosperity"... but in truth the world is any thing but a community, anything but democratic, while peace and prosperity are reserved for the few lucky enough
to have been born in the Western/Northern hemisphere. True, much progress has been made because of an ever closer cooperation between states and peoples the world over, in the area of combating disease, scientific advancements, cultural exchange and political goodwill. Yet, behind these apparent successes lie the reality that the international system as a whole, and the international legal order in particular, is appalingly predjudiced and shockingly fragile to the manipulation by the few at the expense of the many.

I don't want to pinpoint certain states and people for all the faults...I don't want to criticise for the sake of criticising, but in truth, from a historical point of view, the 'west', embodied firstly by Europe alone, later by the United States together with Europe, and now more or less by the US alone, has been most focal in championing the concept of 'the international'. The ages of discovery, empires, slavery and trade, and the late age of colonialisation led to the expansion of 'western' ideas and influences to those places and people deemed savage and god-less. Religion, under Christianity, was used as a 'civilising' mechanism to convert natives into subjects sharing similar, if not same, ideologies, while trade, under trading companies, was used as a 'marketising' tool to transform natives into consumers to satisfy the unsatiable market of production and consumption. And laws, exported and implemented wholesale, were used to legitimise imperial rule, to justify territorial acquisitions and defend against local rebellions. The international was thus first a result of the European (and later America) going beyond their own continents; a direct result of the 'west's' infusion of markets, power, culture and guns into the rest of the world's territories and populations.

Thus we have the idea of the 'civilised nations', originally coined in the age of colonisation, as a way to distinguish European states and peoples from the 'rest'. The idea developed into 'international community', through the League of Nations and United Nations frameworks, under which supposedly all states enjoy sovereign equality and dignity. Though the decolonisation of the 1960s and 1970s changed the balance of power, as well as voting behaviour and direction of the 'international community', the established order of powerful (winner) states is still unbroken. 'Civilisation' turned into something home-grown and cultivated as a result of the 'west's' shared history of ideological, social, economic and political developments from the age of Enlightenment to the liberitarian and Industrial Revolutions. Today, talk of 'civilisation' is frowned upon, and mention of its clash is discredited. Yet, other slogans and notions are used in its stead, notions like 'democracy', 'human rights', 'rule of law', and 'good governance'.

As virtuous as desirable as they are, and I do agree they are the next best alternative to the worst excesses of tyranny, these idea(l)s are far from being neutral and universal. If anything, 'democracy' and all the other catch phrases, are being used as yardsticks by the 'west' to measure other states against, as a means to classify, justify, divide and rule the world, as they did centuries ago. Speak of alternatives, act in the alternative, and the policing actions of sanctions, isolation, and worse, military force, strike down hard on any one or any state that dares to differ. 'Good' and 'evil', 'us' and 'them', 'friend' and 'foe'... all so simple, simplified and all so black and white. Either you are for, or against the new world order. For there is no other alternative, no middle way.

It makes someone like me, who has been studying and working and hoping for a better world in a better tomorrow, disappointed. Really, really disappointed.

I was falling alseep in class today, trying to keep my eyes open and look like I'm awake. I don't know why I'm so tired, even though I slept pretty ok last night in my own bed for the first time in two weeks.

Originally I had planned to stay the whole day in the library to finish off the paper due tomorrow, but I just couldn't. So I grabbed my bag and headed home, all along the way, looking forward to that moment I jump under the blankets and take a good, relaxing sleep.

Almost three hours I slept... not completely sound, as I kept on having these short and intense dreams... one with me floating and drifting over a beach, one of me at a party and not enjoying myself at all... the others I can't remember, but they weren't really that pleasant...

And now dozens of articles to read and a paper to write...

Sunday evening before school

Just getting ready to crawl into my own bed again. I've been sleeping on the floor in the last two weeks or so and letting my dad sleep in my room. I don't mind at all, but sleeping with my cat who seems to get more and more active every night, spending time with my parents and studying late at night made me so exhausted.

In a way I'm sort of relieved that my parents are away. Life can slowly get back to normal again, without me having to wake up with the fear of when the next confrontation or argument will take place. It's comforting not having to walk around the house and trying to be on the look out for potential situations or words that can turn into a source of conflict. That constant shadow of unpleasantness and tension was tiring to live with.

Then again, I miss them both already, and I must admit, mum more than dad. They must be still on the plane, with another few hours to go until they land. Throughout the day, at times when I was sitting still, I'd wonder how they're doing, what they're doing sitting in separate seats on the same plane. The suitcases they have with them are pretty heavy, and I wish I could go along with them, if only just to lighten their load on the journey home.

Perhaps I miss the fact that while they were here, both of them gave me, in their own different ways, a feeling that I belong, a feeling of care and warmth that I need so much. I dread having to come home to an empty home, and with no one to look forward to.... I'm afraid that as the days and weeks go by, I'll again become the lonely and sighing boy, longing for that very simple and very little bit of human warmth and closeness that can make the bad thoughts and worries all go away.

There were many moments throughout today that I shed a tear or two asI recalled moments and images of them in the past two weeks here. And with the work I have still to do, the dealines approaching fast, I'll probably soon forget all the troubles and noises.

Life must go on.

Departing

I clenched my jaws and bit on the inside of my cheeks. The pain directed attention away from the pain of parting. It helped, because I didn't cry.

We stood in front of the passport control. We shuffled slowly forward, as one by one loved ones are separated by the glass wall. When it was their turn, I looked up at their faces. Dad was a little expressionless, but mum's eyes were wavering in tears. I tightened my teeth together, and tried to be a strong boy.

"Take care. You take care of yourselves..." I said, as I patted dad on his back and left my hand there a couple of moments before letting go. In those moments, I wished I could have the ability to reach inside of him, and heal his pain and illnesses... I turned to mum, and closed my arms around her. I held onto her tightly, hoping I wouldn't have to let go, hoping I could shelter her from her physicaly and mental pains. As I leaned in close to her ear, I whispered: "Take care of yourself. Live happy, live well..." Behind me I heard a sniff, perhaps coming from my brother.

My parents inched closer toward the passpart control desk, and further away from me. I looked at their backs, and silently sent them silent wishes and prayers... "May they be happy... May they be well... May they be healthy... May they be free from suffering." Then and there, I wondered when I would be able to see them again. I got flashbacks from the past... those partings that were always so difficult to bear, and all too easy to come.

Dad was through the control desk first, and he walked off without turning to look back. He swayed a little under the load of the handluggage he had strapped over his shoulders. He stopped, and I thought he would turn to look back, but instead he looked left and right, as if confused and wondering where to go next...

Mum stood before the passport control person, and as soon as she was ready, she turned to wave. I waved back. She waved back some more and motioned me to go, to go eat because we hadn't eaten yet. I nodded and faintly flashed her and smile, and mouthed "take care" through the glass barrier separating us. She walked on, turning back one more time to wave goodbye. I felt no sadness, no regret... in my mind I only wished that for the coming time when I am unable to see and be with them, they both have the courage and the strength to go on, to go on living happily and well... I watched as the back of mum's figure disappeared into the sea of people...

I stood there for a few moments, hoping and expecting to catch a glimpse of either mum or dad. Through a narrow slit in the glass barrier I could see people passing, people coming and going. But my parents had disappeared.

Slowly I left where I had stood for a short while... but I kept turning back, half expecting to see them, and half expecting to wave goodbye one more time.

Eclipse of the moon

It's not often that the moon eclipses, and even rarer that for a few moments in a couple of years the moon is completely aligned with the planet and the sun. There's a beautiful song about eclipses and the rising and waning of the moon, and how it seems to resemble the people you meet and leave in life... there's a time when the moon is bright and full, and when it shies away into the darkness... just as there is a time of meeting, there is a time of parting.

Dad was already home and packing his bags when we arrived at close to midnight. Our day to Belgium, and tour of the picturesque 'medieveal' city of Gent went so smoothly that even the weather cleared the moment we arrived and as we wandered the cobbled streets aligned with history and culture.


As soon as we paid and got out of the parking garage, we realised there was a big problem. The automatic window on the driver's side didn't want to go back up... and though it was sunny outside, nobody felt like driving two and a half hours at over 120km/hr on the highway in freezing temperature. So we called the car rental... and got referred to the car manufacturer... and were referred to an insurance company... then got referred to the Dutch Automobile Association... after an hour or so on the phone (with ridiculously high international roaming tariff!) we finally then got transferred to the Belgium Automobile Association. A repair man was promised within thirty minutes.

But it turned out to be another two hours before the window was fixed, and before we could leave the city. Perhaps the city didn't want us to leave, or at least, our memories of our mini adventure in Gent would never leave us.

I walked up to dad as soon as I came home, as I hadn't seen him for a day. We chatted a bit, connecting like we should have but never had much chance in the last two weeks because he was almost never at home. But I guess better late than never. How frail and thin he looked, the gray hairs on his head catching the light of my bedroom ceiling light. We chitchatted as he packed his bags. To be honest he has very little with him, and very little to take with him... and often when he picks up something he would then say I probably need it much more, and stuff it into my hand. It's typical of him, being so thrifty and stingy toward himself, but so giving and kind to me (especially).

A couple of moments our fingers touched. I felt the roughness of his darkened fingers, dark from years of smoking and years of work. It was an emotional touch, one that was accentuated by the fact that as he packed his bags he began the 'pre-departure' talk on how I should take care of myself, how I should eat well and mind my health, and that if there's anything I ever need, he'll support me to the end...

These kind of 'pre-departure' talks always seem to make my heart waver and eyes go moist. It's in those words of reminder and in the 'take cares' that reveal that despite dad not daring or not wanting to say it, he does care about us... or, perhaps, at least about me. I replied in a way I have often done, and out of my heart. Like so many times in the past, I told him that he is one to take good, good care of himself, to mind his health and to be happy. I told him he can enjoy his retirement without a care or worry in the world, and that nobody else is able to guarantee his own health and happiness than himself. Dad listened and looked down. He didn't say anything, but I believe in the eyes that avoided me temporarily, there was a shimmer from the way words you hear seem to touch you deeply.

Mum was next door in her room and she too was packing her bags. She and I still have to have our 'take care' talk, but for the most of the last two weeks, I've been with her and telling her that she too needs to live well, live happily and be free from misery and confrontations. I'm sure she knows how I feel, and there's nothing I've not already said.

I stood in the corridor in a position from which I could see both my dad and my mum in their separate rooms, separated by walls, busy packing their separate bags and lives. In truth, deep down I still had that sliver of hope I had been holding onto since childhood that they would be happy and loving together... but at that moment, though not a new moment of suddenly realising something for the first time, as I stood between the two of them, each in their own rooms and in their own separate lives, I knew it was for the best. It was, and is, meant to be. This way noone gets hurt...

I watched the both of them doing their own thing, ironically their backs were facing one another. Both middle aged, and aging more. Both my parents, and forever more. My mind flashed back to the arguments and 'cold wars' they've had since I was a child, to the arguments and 'cold wars' they had in the past two weeks... silently I said to myself I have done more than enough... I have said more than enough, and I must let go again, let go and let them just be. As I walked downstairs, I looked back at both of them again, wondering the next time will be when I will get to say good night and sleep well to them both. Silently, I wished them both good health and happiness.

In a couple of hours, it is time to say goodbye.

Talk with dad...

"To put it in a way that sounds terrible to hear, when I'm gone I couldn't care less what happens to this all."

Dad said that a few moments ago, and I was again taken aback.

It's rare that I talk to dad, and even rarer for a long time. When he came home late tonight, I walked up to him and tried to start a conversation. Who would have known that lasted two hours. Except the two nights he spent at home and had dinner with us, this was the longest time dad and I sat together in the living room in the past two weeks.

It started slowly, and mildly, small chit-chat about what we both did today, and where we went. I said I went to see a friend of my mum's, who took care of me and treated me like her own son in those years in high school when I lived completely by myself. It's been over five years since I last saw this dear friend, and I told dad how surprised I was at how people age and grow old. In a way, I was hinting at my dad, and made it more plainly so when I said to dad that even though that friend has grown old and looks somewhat tired, she still lives happily from day to day enjoying life, and enjoying the company of her husband in their house in the middle of the woods. Dad merely scoffed and wondered aloud what boring lives these people must lead.

It always seems to be like this when I talk to dad... you tell him one thing, and he comes up with negative things and complaints to say about that something or someone. And it's worse when it comes to any subject remotely related to either mum or brother... then it sometimes frightens me how much of that deep seated hatred and misunderstanding arises and bursts out, as talk clenches his teeth and gathers this tense, angry look in his eyes. Then, there were also moments when we connected, as we recalled moments in the past, moments growing up and when I was young. It seems like just yesterday when I first set steps in Europe, and now I've lived here almost 16years. All the ups and downs, the falls and climbing-back-ups. The sweet, bitter memories...

Since tomorrow is the last day of his stay here, dad told me what he thought about the past two weeks. He said he needed to explain why he reacted in the way he did. I sat and listened, nodding at times to show that I am listening and that I understand, as he talked about how he needs to protect his self-interests against "certain people", to guard against "other people" who might infringe against his rights and squander all his money, and about how he needs to be able to know that he can be in control of his money and assets. He ranted on about how the "other people" have treated him so unkindly and rudely, how they have shown him only a long and unwelcome face. Dad ranted on about how angry and disappointment, more than any other time he can remember in his whole life, of the "worthless dog" he raised. These 'other' or 'certain' people were no other than my brother... and to some extent my mum...

Angry, hurtful words... I sat and listened and nodded in understanding, but deep down inside I searched (hopelessly) for any show of emotions and love that may or may not be hiding behind dad's attachment to money and assets and profit. Perhaps it's years of working in a bank, or perhaps because he had a poor and deprived childhood growing up with five other children in poverty, but to him money and how to make or own more seems to be the most important thing in life. He even said it himself, much to my disappointment, that a house is nothing more than an investment. I said that a house is a place where you go back to to feel safe and sheltered from the outside world, but dad insisted it's nothing more than a "commodity" on a market in the capitalist world to invest in and to sell for profit...


At one point I asked him what he plans to do in the future, and how things should go between him and mum. Dad said he lives his life and doesn't want any one to bother him or interfere with how he lives, and started to berate mum for caring about what he eats and what he does all day. Taking this opportunity, I asked him why they don't simply live separately, or better still, divorce all together. I explained that, like I told them , and so many, many times in the past, I really don't want to see them live unhappy lives and have to suffer because they don't want to be with or see each other. I said, like I said so many times already, both of them are already so ill, and both need a calm and peaceful environment of living that is free from agitation and frustration, and living together is simply not helping anyone. Dad hesitated a little, and finally admitted: "To put it in an ugly way, I don't want to divorce because then mum will get half of everything."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry... all he cares about is money, money, money... I was surprised myself, but I asked a question I didn't know I could ask: "What if she divorces without having any of your money...?"

There was no hesitation, and in a loud, firm voice, dad said: "OK! I agree."

I was saddened, and a tingly feeling went up my spine...

Dad, where is the dad I used to know?

Dad, who have you become?

Colours of the Rainbow

It started with a new belt I bought last week, one with the patterns of the rainbow flag on.
Of course, it must have started much earlier, as mums have a sort of intuition for the 'ins and (very much) outs' of their own sons.

As I was putting on the belt this morning before going out, mum commented that she didn't really like the belt, and suggested I put on something else. I said I really like this belt, and she responded by asking what's so nice and special about it. I replied that it's the pattern, and sneakishly added that the pattern "says a lot".

Before my parents arrived, I sort of had this urge to 'come out' clean to them about my sexuality, and have been really searching for an appropiate moment to do so that wouldn't be so... dramatic. We've had enough drama already in the last few days. I more or less knew that mum would be the one I'd tell first, and dad would have to wait, if ever!, since he's more 'old fashioned and traditional'.

There was a chance last week, when I went to attend that posh event at the Peace Palace wearing a pink tie. Dad said that it looked "gay", but because the day earlier the others had just had a great big confrontation, I didn't make too much of it. I only replied: "So what if it looks gay? Gays are people too."

This morning, it was just my mum and me, so I pushed my chances a little more. After my sneaky comment that the belt "says a lot", my mum sighed a little, and said: "That's what I'm afraid of. I know it's a rainbow flag."

"Oh... does that matter?"

"I'm afraid you have that tendency. And you have that Brokeback Mountain poster in you room, I'm really afraid you have those feelings."

"HA! Tendency, smendency!" I scoffed.

"Well, you sort of told me sometime ago, and it made me really worry about you."

"What's there to worry about? I'm fine! There's nothing wrong with me at all!"

"But you have that tendency, and I'm afraid you are."

"It's not a tendency. It's natural. It's nature, it's nurture, it's everything and nobody knows how to explain it. I'm just who I am," I said firmly.

"I'm afraid you've fallen into that 'trap'." By now we were on our way to a park for a walk since the weather was so fine.

"Trap! I'm already so deep in there's no escape," I joked, thinking what a ridiculous use of word it was, and laughing inside.

"I really don't wish you'll be like that."

"Why? What if I am already?"

"Why, you ask? Because I'll be disappointed. I'll be very, very upset." Mum shook her head a little and looked into the distance.

"But what can I do about it? I am who I am, there's nothing wrong with me." I looked at her, and nudged her a little on the shoulder. "I mean see it from a Buddhist perspective. Who knows what or who I was in my past life, and this is just who I am now. I can't change it."

"Those sunglasses I gave you [a few days ago], I think I should take them back. I think over the years I've given you things to use and wear that are feminine, and so that may be the reason."

I laughed a little. "This has nothing to do with that! Fine, you can take back the sunglasses, but I'll still be who I am. There are a lot of reasons, like I said, and it has nothing to do with clothing"

"You know I've always wanted you to find someone and be happy with. To have someone to share life with..." she said quietly.

"And I can! And I want to, with someone I care about and love. A person I want to be with."

"Do you have someone now?"

"No... who do I have in my life? Noone. But I really want one," I said, looking around at the empty park I often go alone on my own, "I come here often and feel so very lonely. You know, I'm so 'old' already, and I shouldn't have to worry about how you and dad are getting along, I shouldn't have to be in the middle of brother and his girlfriend's relationship. I could just go and get a life of my own with someone, but no... I care too much about you people, and care too little for what I want..."

Mum didn't say much after that. We sat on a bench in the park, bare rose bushes and green, green grass and an expanse of water waving in the wind stretched before us. Seagulls flew overhead, as crows fluttered their wings. There was a light breeze in the air, and the sun shone on our faces. "I want everyone to be happy... but I need to be happy too."


We didn't touch upon the subject any more after that, and mum didn't react angrily or become more distant toward me. Like I said, she suspected already, and there have been hints here and there I've been throwing at her over the years, and now it's finally (come) out into the open. For the rest of the day we talked and walked around like the close mum and son we are, admiring the little spring crocuses that dotted the grass fields, even in the hustle and bustle of the city centre.


Little spring crocuses that were so colourful, beautiful and free with their buds freshly opened.

Reaching out

Dad came home a little bit earlier tonight, and I was still in my room trying to finish the readings for class tomorrow. I was a little surprised to see him, and the first thing he said was how windy it was this afternoon that he could hardly stand straight. As usual, I smiled and asked him what he did and where he went today. And, as usual, he replied “just here and there”... which mostly likely meant the same old place where he usually goes. I packed up my books and went into the living room to study further.

Soon he came down after me, and sat down on the sofa behind me. He continued talking about the weather today, and how it has so suddenly changed so dramatically and unpredictably. True, this morning it was wonderfully sunny and bright, and suddenly it poured with rain and a storm started to blow, but at times I wasn’t sure whether dad was still just referring to the weather, or unconsciously talking about something else... May be just my over- associative and imaginative mind at work.

We actually sat down and had a good half hour or so of solid conversation. Nothing deep, nothing groundbreaking in our relationship, and certainly nothing about the events of the past few days. But it was at least conversation, and more moments of bonding, even though it was mostly about things like how ridiculously prices have risen since the Euro, or how so many things have changed since the last time he visited, or how the weather is so different from before. We did talk somewhat about my future, and in his mind, he still insists that I must go on to get a ‘permanent head damage’ (PhD), because frankly to him all my other accomplishments mean nothing. Besides that, the short time we spent talking and bonding were so very precious... When he finished, he slowly walked upstairs, and as usual before leaving my sight, he turned to say: “Don’t go to sleep too late, ok?”

And as usual, I said to him: “OK, you go sleep first, and sleep well.”

Earlier in the day, I spoke to a good friend, who happens to be a professional psychiatrist, and who has for a long time been really caring and concerned about the wellbeing of me and my family. I had told her about the recent events at home, and dad’s sudden dramatic and unpredictable changes of ‘weather’. There were things that my friend mentioned that really struck me... at this point in life, my dad is really reacting and acting in a way a small child would, trying to test the limits of other people’s tolerance and love, by ‘crying’ and ‘screaming’. In truth, it’s a desperate cry for help, and however much the anger and outrage is, the pain and suffering inside is much, much deeper and more extensive. Perhaps, dad is not aware of how he is hurting people by what he says and does, but he must be very, very afraid and uncertain because, in all honesty, everything and everyone seems to be slipping away... his health, his job (now that he’s retired), even his family, and most of all, his life... everything and everything seems to be beyond his control, and it’s a normal reaction to want to cling onto something like money, or even find ‘refuge’ in an addiction like his gambling habit, in order to escape.

The more I thought about it, the more I realised the meaning of what my Buddhist spiritual guide once told me... nobody is ever ‘wrong’, just ignorant. Ignorant of the degree of pain, greed and suffering he is undergoing, and the degree of the pain, greed and suffering he is causing others. It doesn’t make you ‘bad’ or ‘worse’ as a person, because as human beings we are all so fragile in our emotions and beings... It’s pointless to react with anger and frustration and agitate someone who is already so angry, frustrated and agitated. Just accept, just acknowledge his pain, suffering and illness. Just accept him as he is, and send him compassion and understanding.

Because deep inside is a scared little child, trapped in an old and dying person, wanting and longing to reach out.

"No..."

I suspected as much, but I asked anyway.

Like routine dad returned home late, and I was sitting at the dinning room table and doing my homework. He came in quietly, and like always, diverted attention away from the fact he came home late (and from you-know-where) by starting with a flurry of questions. I had told him last night that I got accepted on this selective internship programme of my law department, and the first thing dad asked me just now was how it all went, what the process was, what I still need to do, etc, etc. I answered his questions politely. I looked at him, his eyes were bloodshot, his face tired and haggered, and in the pockets of his trousers his fingers played with coins that made that irritating clinking sounds of metal. Dad... what are you doing to yourself?

Seizing the opportunity to see and finally talk to my dad for the first time today, I told him that tomorrow the rest of us are having dinner together with some friends and colleagues of my brother. Well, brother never had the intention of asking dad to go, and I knew almost completely for sure that dad would never go, but I asked him anyway. Of course, as expected, dad's answer was a definite "no". But I asked, because I really don't want to give the impression that we're neglecting dad and leaving him out of everything. I guess perhaps I'm 'protecting' myself, guarding my own skin, in the sense that I'm deliberately pushing the ball into dad's court, when I know very well he wouldn't want to spend time with us. Probably I want to feel less guilty, and am trying to shift the 'blame' for dad's isolation to himself.

But I did ask, and he said no. And a no is a no.

Life goes on

Life goes on, even when it's not going too well.

The fighting has 'stopped', at least in the past few days, and now it's just another spell of 'cold war', which basically comes down to a total absence of communications between certain people in the family, and not even seeing one another. Even though my parents are only here for two weeks, we've sort of developed this routine, which seems to maintain the peace, and keep everyone more or less out of someone else's way, and so avoid confrontation. Again, I am the only one in the family everyone can and is willing to talk to, and the only one everyone talks to.

Basically brother goes off to work in the morning, whereas I go to uni or work, and mum goes out on her own to places she likes to (re)visit. Dad we practically never sees, since he stays in his (actually my) room and only comes down when everyone else is out of the house. And by the time I come home in the afternoon, my dad has also disappeared, off to his beloved gambling den, and won't be back until around midnight. He'd come home while I'm sitting in the dinning room and doing my work... walk up to me and in a hushed and almost apologetic tone ask what I'm studying... We'd converse a little bit, but soon enough the conversation would die down, and he'd head upstairs to bed.

So I've been spending most of my free time with my mum, even missing a few lectures and missing work, and catching up on the reading and homework in the evenings. It's tiring, but do-able, and I'd rather be tired during the day than let these precious moments of being together with mum go by... because, well, you never know.

We've been out and about, trying to retrace the times and places we once were, going to a few museums and visiting some old friends of hers, and even doing some shopping. It's nice, just the two of us, free and happy to do whatever and go wherever we'd like, without having to think about or take dad's odd temperments into account. And already it's almost the end of the visit, and at times when I'm enjoying myself with mum, in the back of my mind I'd uncontrollably sigh a little and think: " How much longer can I enjoy this before she leaves...?" I dread to think of the parting moment at the airport come Sunday...

Despite being occupied with family most the time, there's some good news with my studies and work. Honestly I haven;t been putting too much effort into my studies lately, and just rush through the readings and papers we have to hand in...but even so, I'm still getting really high grades :) And just yesterday, I was told by my professor that I'm "one of the select few" which the law department will 'officially endorse' for a number of prestigeous internship programmes at the tribunals and institutes here in The Hague. I was pretty surprised to be chosen, since even friends of mine I consider to be much 'better' than me were selected... So, maybe in the coming months I could have something waiting for me when I graduate in the summer; something other than unemployment.

As for work, a colleague of mine and I went to see a potential sponsor this morning with hopes that they will support us in a big party we're organising in April. It's with Dance4Life, an international camapaign originally started here in The Netherlands to raise awareness of HIV/AIDS among youngsters (see right banner!). Like the name suggests, the organisation organises dance events, getting volunteer DJs like the famous and amazing Tiesto to play at the events, in order to raise money for supporting organisations that combat HIV/AIDS around the world. After a good talk with the organisation, we were promised some promotional goodies, CDs, and even a DJ to play at the party! If all goes well and according to plan, it'll be quite a big hit of a party~

So... despite the string of horrible arguments and the difficult task of 'peacekeeping', there are still some things that are going right.

No Pok!

A little humour adds a little miracle to life.

February 28 1947

To those who died and were murdered due to intolerance and ignorance...

May such cruelties of man toward man never take place again in Taiwan, and beyond.

Flower on a Rainy Night
-------------------------

A flower on a rainy night
A flower on a rainy night
Fell on the ground in wind and rain
Out of everyone's sight
It sighs day and night
It has fallen not to return again.

A flower on the ground
A flower on the ground
Who pays attention to it?
Merciless rain, merciless rain
It has no concern for our future
It is not mindful for our frailty
Covering our destiny with darkness
Causing us to fall from the branch
Out of everyone's sight

Raindrops, raindrops
Lead us into the pool of suffering
Not mindful of our frailty
Covering our destiny with darkness
Causing us to fall from the branch
Out of everyone's sight

This moment...

Remember this moment... this moment at ten to one in the morning, when dad is sitting behind me watching TV, while I'm reading and preparing for my classes for the coming week.

Moments before, dad had returned from his daily visit to the casino, and like always when he comes home so late, he comes up to me in an almost apologetic and guilty manner. Usually he'd say something like: "Oh, you're not asleep yet?" I guess it's a show of concern, a sign that he cares, or at the very least his way of reaching out and trying to make amends after the tantrums in the morning.... or perhaps a way to divert attention from the fact that he came back so late and was out gambling again...

I don't harbour hatred toward him, because there's really no reason to. As usual, I'd ask him whether he's hungry, or whether he wants to have something to drink, and he'd then politely decline, but then go make himself tea or something in the kitchen. I'd ask how his day was, and what he ate for dinner, out of concern, but perhaps also as a way of reaching out to him and trying to tell and show him that whatever happened happened, and that I really don't have any animosity toward him.

I'd be working on the computer, like I am doing now, and he'd then be zapping through the channels on TV in the living room, like he is doing now.

This is a moment to remember, for some reason... a moment when dad and I are together in one room, within a few metres of one another. A moment when we are so close, but, oh, so far apart. A moment when we are breathing the same air, when we are together, and in a sense, 'sharing' and 'bonding'. Perhaps only in silence, but then perhaps this is how dad communicates best.

The moment would soon be over, like so many moments to remember. He'd turn off the TV, and walk slowly upstairs. Before leaving the room, he'd quietly tell me: "Don't go to sleep too late..."
To that, I'd then reply, "OK, I'll just finish this off, and go to bed. You go to bed too, and sleep well." Dad would then retired upstairs in my bedroom, where he's sleeping for the time of his visit, while I sleep on the floor in the living room.

Simple words, short sentences. But they seem to mean so much for some reason.

It's a moment, a moment to remember.

Like the one that just passed.

In tears

Again woke up to dad's terrible tantrums and abuse. Now he wants to sell the house we're living in, divorce, and cut off all relations with everyone in the family. He says we're all worthless and "vermin"... even me.

I quietly sat there at the breakfast table and listened to him throw a(nother) tantrum, feeling another day ruined, and my heart break again and again. I simply replied that he can do what he wants, do what he feels like... he can disown me and divorce mum, but he will be an old, bitterly lonely man... he can have his money, he can have his houses, but he will have nobody in this great big world, not even the family he rejects... he can have his anger, he can have his hatred and misunderstandings and he can feel like everyone has done him so much wrong... but he will still be ill and suffer for as long as he lives.

I said those words not out of hatred, but out of hurt and disappointment. I know that perhaps all what he said and ranted and raved about were words that just came up in the heat of the moment...I know that because he is physically very ill and suffering, he cannot but lash out verbally... And I know that he will be gone next week, and things will go back to normal again I emphasise with him, because when you are frail and terminally ill, you become scared and will see everything and everone as wrong and as the cause of your pains... Perhaps I should hav kept my thoughts to myself, and just let my dad rant and rave like a mad man... but, wrongly or not, I felt he needed to hear the 'truth', and needed to hear that he is hurting everyone, and most of all, he is hurting himself.

So I told him, calmly and very frankly, that I pity him. I pity him because he is so terminally sick in terms of his health and state of mind that he cannot let go of all this anger and hatred and suffering that makes him even more ill than he already is. I told him I have compassion for him, because he is so frail and weak already, but pretends that he knows everything and doesn't need anyone else, because everyone is wrong, and everyone is doing wrong to him. He threw up his arms in a sign of victory, and said he is very happy and is better off without the rest of us "worthless vermine".

But I know... I know deep down inside, he is hurting, he is a child crying and so scared of death and illness... I know deep down inside he is suffering, forever dwelling anger, deceit, lies and greed... I know he must be in so much pain, but is in constant denial, which hurts even more...

I grabbed my schoolbag and left the house.

Moments later I was again in tears.

Quiet evening at home

I was shivering and close to tears as I slowly cycled home. I never realised or expected that it would come to this... that I'd be dreading to go home and see my own family.

The four hours or so at uni seemed much too short. Again, woke up this morning to heated exchanges and arguments. To be honest, my dad is terribly ill, not only physically but also mentally. And when he feels like it, he just shouts abuse and threatens to do this and that. This morning it was about my brother's girlfriend, and the fact that she's living at our place without contributing anything. And because she comes from China, my dad has this strong stereotype and deep suspicion that she is like all Chinese people he knows and hears about in the media: theiving, coniving and good-for-nothings.

The funny thing is, a few days ago my dad and the girlfriend were getting alone fine, and he even gave her some money for new year's (a tradition with us). And suddenly she's the "enemy", she's a "Commie", and she's supposed to be trying to "take over" the house. Screaming, shouting, ranting about all these far-fetched conclusions and conspiracy theories, just like a naive child who knows so little about the world, but doesn't want to know any more than what he sees and believes as true. A twisted, conceited and bitter old man, who is so ill physically and mentally he doesn't seem to realise it, but goes from day to day driven by anger and frustrations and sorry addictions.

I was in the middle of it all, trying to talk some sense into my dad. I said time and again, you can't equate Chinese people with the Chinese government; it's racism, pure and simple. Besides, you don't have the right to come between two people in love. I told my dad, he doesn't need to approve of anything, but he doesn't have to treat people like dirt and scum even though they have done nothing wrong to him. And really, my brother's girlfriend has done nothing to my dad, but my dad just goes on ranting and raving about conspiracy theories and Commies. I try and try, trying to make him open his eyes, open his mind, but he serious is too blind and narrowminded beyond hope. In the end, I contacted the girlfriend and told her it's best not to be here for the next week or so while my dad is around. By midday, she moved her things out.

Dad thinks he won, but in fact he lost much more. He dares not to go up to my brother and the girlfriend to confront them about all this, and thinks just by treating people like dirt they'll cave in and move away. Of course, my brother got furious and left with his girlfriend. Later in the afternoon, my brother called me while I was studying. One of the first things he said was to warn me of a "confrontation". In the half an hour or so we spoke, he told me several times he has reached the end of his "tolerance level", and will "soon enough" confront dad if dad "goes too far".

I stood outside the library, and shook and felt my heart sink and sigh, as I heard my brother rant and rave about my dad, and warning of the "havoc to come"... I could have burst into tears again there and then. I pleaded to my brother, trying to calm his temper and tried to explain why dad is so angry and upset. All the years of no contact and no communication resulted in a lot of misunderstanding and distrust, and suddenly put two equally subborn, and equally short-tempered people who are so much alike in so many ways together, it's a war waiting to break out. Again, I was in the middle of it all, pleading, putting in a good word for the other person, while trying to appeal to reason and understanding. I tried to appeal to compassion, hoping that my brother could see two sides of the story instead of just the side tainted with hatred and anger. I reminded him that though dad is a terrible dad and has hurt us so many times, he did provide us with a good education and a good life. And, though I hate to say or think it, I told my brother that the way my dad goes on living like this, living in utter denial, shrouded in deep suffering and greed, he wouldn't have much longer... I pleaded for mercy, begged my brother to think of other people, to think of mum's fragile health that cannot stand to bear more screaming and fighting... I told him I could wish for nothing else but that everyone live in peace and happiness. In the end, my brother just said he couldn't promise anything. If confrontation comes, it will come.

I dragged myself home, dreading to face my family, and wishing I could go somewhere else, and be with people who don't shout and harbour so much hatred and anger...

The house was empty and darkening when I arrived around six. I set out to make dinner, thinking they'd all come home to eat. Half an hour later, mum rang the doorbell, and she was the only one who came home. Brother definitely won't come home after what happened this morning, and dad made the lame excuse that he doesn't want to be around this "mess", so disappeared off to his beloved casino again.

Mum and I sat down together to have dinner... no fighting, no anger, no hatred. Just my mum and me (and the sleeping cat), sharing, telling stories, and trying to re-capture all the happy and sad things that have happened in each other's lives in the last year or so while apart.

I listened to her attentively, pouring the occassional tea into her cup whenever it was empty. She talked about living with dad, about how they live such estranged and separate lives, about how they don't talk much, about dad's selfishness and greed, about dad's ailing health, and about how dad would suddenly throw tantrum over the smallest and most trivial things... More and more I was reminded of my life here with my brother, and more and more I was reminded of the saying "like father, like son".

I sat listening to my mum, allowing her to pour out the emotions and bottled up frustrations and hoping by 'emptying' on me, she would feel better, lighter and happier. She deserves to be happy, to be free from a raving mad man, and deserves the peace and quiet to recover from her illness... She told me in detail about the operations she had undergone, about those painful chemo-treatments, about the loneliness she feels at times because I'm so far, far away... I watched her closely, noticing the wrinkles that have formed on her face, around her eyes and on her hands, noticing how the hairlets around her ears have turned gray....

Emotional moments of bonding and sharing, just between my mum and me. Smiles, little tears, laughs and sighs we shared, and like so many times before we connected so deeply I could feel the mutual caring and love all around us. A far, far world away from the shouting and confrontations, and vain attempts to appeal to peace and understanding.

But deep down, I fear that that world far, far away may only be too near...

Fight...

Fight, fight, fight...
Constant war, constant anger, constant ill feelings towards one another.

I am silently and lonelily crying inside....

Longing...

I sit and stare out the window. I should be doing work, should be trying to finish off my deadlines, but I can’t. I can’t concentrate and can’t read anything without the angry voices and disgusted faces echoing in my mind.
Once again, I feel so lost, such disappointment and disbelief at the surrealness of it all, the best way to describe it is feeling ‘numb’. They say if you get hurt time and time again, you become numb. Maybe this is what I’m feeling now.

The family you grew up with, the family you had hoped and prayed and wished at every single birthday would one day be peaceful and happy, fighting and breaking again and again before your eyes… Love, understanding, compassion and respect… so little there is to speak of. Instead, anger, suspicion, soiled memories and ill-wishes seem to dominate and triumph. I sit here, defeated and beaten, exhausted and dreading to fight another battle against the uneasiness and fakeness of it all.

I sit here and stare out the window, wondering whether and when I can love, and be loved back…

A gamble

Almost 1am, and like usual trying to recollect my thoughts and experiences of the day just before going to sleep. Dad came through the door, back from his nightly visit to the casino.

It’s one of his terrible habits, a thing I absolutely loathe about him. In all the years he was working here since I was around 8 or so, he probably spent more time at Black Jack tables than at home. I remember one scene very vividly many many years back… My dad had come home for dinner, and after dinner rushed me upstairs to do my homework. But I heard the car door slam shut moments later. I ran toward the window, and saw the car pull away… Another time, I was perhaps just ten or so, he came home at two or three in the morning with the taxi. He had no money to pay for it, and rang the doorbell. I was the only one to go open it, because mum was of course upset… I was the one who dug into the piggy bank to pay for the taxi fare…

I got extremely upset a few years ago when he came to visit me while I was still in high school, and sarcastically I asked him: "Are you here to see me, or see the people at the casino?" He didn’t say anything. But after that he never visited for several years.

That was a few years ago. And though people change, circumstances change, old habits die hard. Before he arrived, I had the feeling that he would soon get back into his old habit again, but I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But like always, dad only disappointments. After arriving a few days ago, the very next day he just disappeared again. At least it was better than the last time he visited, when he ‘disappeared’ within hours of arriving.

Of course everyone knows where he goes. But like always he’d come home late with stupid excuses like he didn’t bring his glasses and so caught the wrong bus. I’d always ask him how his day has been and where he’d been when he comes home, and every time it’s vague answers like "just here and there" or "just out and about". Two days ago he made the most lamest lie that he went to Amsterdam to see his old office. But the public transport ticket he put on the table clearly revealed where he did go, and it was no where near Amsterdam, but more like Casinoland. Even on my birthday, after a quick lunch which seemed more like a formality than a real desire to be there, he stretched his arms and said he’d like to ‘go walk around a bit’ to walk off the full stomach. The rest of us wanted to go into the countryside, but dad said we could just drop him off in front of the casino. That night, he didn’t even come home for dinner, and wasn’t even there when I blew out the candles on my cake… Disappointment and hurting, time and again.

I think the lies and attempts to ‘cover up’ his trail hurts most. If he wants to go, just say so, but why hide and lie and pretend as if nobody knows and as if nobody should know, when in fact everyone knows!? It’s an addiction, and he doesn’t realise it. Worse still, I am concerned for his health and wellbeing when he spends all this time there. In his very fragile state of health, he really can’t get too tired and have too little sleep… but he doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t seem to give a damn about himself or what other people think.

He is a good dad, in the sense he provided and continues to provide me (us) with everything I (we) could ever need, and more. He never hit me, or overly scolded me or got angry at me, at least not compared to the clashes he and my brother have been having since as long as I can remember. But dad is a lousy father-figure, and even worse of a husband, for he is never around and knows only to share his presence and concern for the rest of the family with money and more money. Dad doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to care about the details of our lives, much less about how we feel and how we’ve been hurt so often by his lies and absence. And in the last few years he has become more and more distant, like a stranger who just happens to live at home, but gets into arguments with almost everyone about the most trivial and petty things. I am the only one he can talk to, and I am the only one who listens, and who he listens to… but more and more I feel this unbearable strain on my mind when I have to try placate his temperaments and distrust toward the rest of us, and try to step in every single time when an argument is about to explode.

I’m not sure how much longer I can take this, before I explode.

Family matters

Like a strange, foreign dream... one you could be shocked and disappointed to wake from at anytime.

I woke up this morning, to that disappointment and shock. One day after my birthday. Just one day... Like I feared, the peace and reconciliation made in the last few days were a sham, fragile and easily broken into thousands of pieces that can cut people deeply and hurt so bad.

Only last night, we were sitting around and talking in a calm manner about the future of this family. Dad promised that he would pass the deeds of the house we’re living in to me and my brother. We had all sat down together with financial advisers and notaries to draft up the plans in a way that would save a lot of taxes, and place the burden of the mortgage on my brother, so that my parents could focus on their pension plans.

Suddenly this morning, dad woke up in a terrible mood and began lashing out at everyone. Such hatred, such anger! Such intolerance and suspicion of everyone and every thing! Now he wants to have nothing to do with what we had talked about, saying that he trusts no one, and believes we’re all involved in a conspiracy against him. Most of all, he despises the fact that my brother’s girlfriend is living with us, and has this deep-seated and twisted idea that she is out to benefit from our assets. A ‘thieving rat’ he called her. Money, money, money… that’s what it’s all about. Money and how to get more of it, and how to protect it as much as possible so you can accumulate more and more. Nothing else seems to matter, especially not how other people feel, or the promises made or false hopes worked up. The fact that my brother and girlfriend have been together for almost two years and have plans to settle down together doesn’t matter. She’s conniving and plotting, eating and living for free, so she must be terrible. What a simple and tainted mind my dad has!

It’s all about money, all about property, all about distrust and conspiracies and misunderstandings. That’s all dad sees. He doesn’t see things as they are, just how it will benefit him or hurt him, and in his mind he thinks we’re all trying to cheat him. And he blames everyone, accuses everyone of the most ridiculous things.

He called me ‘soft’, and has this fear I would just give away my share of the house to my brother’s girlfriend for no reason. Earlier I told him about my plans to move out of the house as soon as I’m financially independent, and dad interpreted it to be me thoughtlessly abandoning my rights at home. I tried to explain to him that I can’t possibly live at home all my life, but he called me stupid and accused me of being blind of certain people trying to take advantage of me. Even the fact that I help my single-mum friend now and then came up in his tirade, because helping a single mother and baby “has no benefit”. Suddenly, being kind and being honest and treating everyone with courtesy and respect is a sin. I really can’t understand what kind of twisted world and sick ideas go around in his head…

I told him many, many times when he was diagnosed with liver cancer that sometimes in life it’s best to live happily and live well, and that everything else doesn’t really matter much when you leave this world. But he doesn’t listen, and still clings onto his ideas and misconceptions, anger and deep distrust of people like they matter more than anything else in the world. It’s been a year since I last saw him, and I was surprised how he has aged. His hair has drastically whitened on his head, his face become so haggered and wrinkled. Walking just a little bit makes him exhausted, and every few hours he needs medication to control his blood sugar levels. When you come to this stage in life, when you don’t know when you will ‘go’, why not live everyday with hope and with a light heart of compassion and kindness? Why go on being angry, having all this distrust and hatred bottled up deep inside, and cling onto money, money, money? How ill my dad is, how cold and heartless he is, that giving others the benefit of the doubt is such is not even possible any more… everything tainted with thoughts of money, money, money, benefit, profit and for me, me, me!

Whatever I try to say to him, however I try to smooth things out between people, however I try to appeal to common sense and emotions, it’s like he is resistant to my words. To me, it’s not really the money or the rights to the house that I care about. Of course dad has the right to decided where and to who his money goes… but why tear down the trust and good-will that has built over the past few days over nothing? Such a petty mind, a mind full of bad thoughts and bad karma…

I told him all I wanted is for people to get along peacefully and live happily without anger, without hatred. I told him how he has hurt and disappointed me, time and time again. He just walked away and closed the door behind him. As if closing the door can shut away all the trouble and grief he’s caused me by his sudden change of mind. As if closing the door can shut away the pain he has caused by his angry words and terrible temper…

I sat at the breakfast table, wondering what happened overnight that changed everything. I felt so bitter…so frustrated… I’m not angry at him, but just very, very disappointed. How can someone who is supposed to be so close be so distant? How can a loved one, your own dad, hurt and disappoint you time and time again?

What happened to my birthday wishes for everyone to get along peacefully and happily as I blew out the candles on the cake last night? What happened to those illusory hopes and promises of a better future together as a family and all those moments of sharing and bonding in the past few days?

Dead dreams. Broken hopes.

I buried my face in my hands, rubbed my sore eyes and aching head. Why…why this nightmare…?

Birthday

I received a lot of calls, and messages, and emails and ecards from friends and colleagues. It was touching to receive so many expressions and wishes. To be honest, at times I felt a little flustered and wondered what I ever did to deserve the wishes and gestures from so many people.

Actually, nobody in the family remembered it was my birthday, until my mum saw the date this morning and realised what day it was. It’s not that I love to be noticed and to be the centre of attention, but it’s nice to feel just a little special, and as if you could do anything you want because it's your birthday, if only for one day in a year. After realising it was my birthday, they secretly bought a cake while I was out, and hid it until late in the evening.

I laughed the moment I saw the big ‘24’ candles on the cake, and joked that they were really planning ahead. To me it didn’t really matter that they didn’t remember or got the year wrong, but, as they say, it’s really the thought that counts.

To everyone who wrote to me offering support when I was upset, and offering me the best of wishes for my birthday, thank you.

I’m sorry that I can’t write back personally to thank you at the moment… trying to spend as much time as possible with my parents while they’re still here, tonnes of school work to be done and with the part time job(s), I really don’t have much time to answer emails.

But I want you to know, I really appreciate every single word and the time everyone one of you took to remember me, and make me feel special.

Thank you! :)

21 February 1984

I was born.

After fighting, there is peace.

Or at least a period of peace.

It's been four days since that big outburst of emotions last Friday, and overall it's been relatively calm. New year's eve (Saturday) we managed to sit down at the table as a family and share a proper meal together. There was good food, wine and conversation. No finger pointing, no swearing, no shouting. Mum said how happy she was that we could finally sit down together and have a proper meal together. Dad, in a rare expression of his feelings, told us how proud he was of us (the children) and our achievements. Brother talked together, mostly about the car that he wanted, spurred by my dad, who promised to cover half of the costs. Between the clinking of our glasses, we wished each other success and wellbeing. I silently wished everyone peace and happiness.

We even managed to talk about some more 'sensitive' issues... like the uncertain future, and how to deal with the certain property and assets, especially due to the ill-health of both my parents. Before, dad would always stubbornly refuse to touch on the subject, but this time he softened, and we all managed to sit down with a family lawyer just yesterday and discuss things in a civilised manner. All this talk of money and property seems so cold and so 'de-personalising', but it's something that needs to be done sooner or later.

And for the first time in a long time, we took a trip together into the countryside the other day, smiling, laughing and sharing. Precious times, priceless times. Of course it wasn't all easy, and at times I needed to jump in and 'direct' the conversation to avoid confrontations and outbursts. Overall, everyone seems happy, and this seems like the beginning of something new, something beautiful, something I had longed for for so long.

Yet, beneath the smiles, the nice exchange of words and well-meaningness of it all, I feel like it's all so surreal. Still numb from the explosive exchange of words a few days ago, it's as if a part of me is half expecting something to go wrong, or perhaps even hoping that something would go wrong just to prove right that this family is indeed hopeless. And all the time I feel so tired, so exhausted from just being around them and having to 'intervene' and reconcile potential words that might just break everything down again.

Like a strange, foreign dream... one you could be shocked and disappointed to wake from at anytime.