Israel: The Background

ERETZ-ISRAELwas the birthplace of the Jewish people. Here their spiritual, religious and political identity was shaped. Here they first attained to statehood, created cultural values of national and universal significance and gave to the world the eternal Book of Books.
(From Israeli Declaration of Independence)

To Jews all over the world, 15 May 1948 is the Israeli Day of Independence. To the Palestinians, it is the Day of Catastrophe (Nakba). The State of Israeli was born, realising the Zionist dream of a national home for the Jewish people in Land of Palestine, the Promised Land, the "Land flowing with milk and honey" (Exodus 33:3), the land that God had assigned for the Israelites. Though sporadic immigration of Jews to Palestine had begun in the late 19th Century, the Balfour Declaration of 1917 signalled the that the British:

" favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by Jews in any other country".

Diaspora Jewish communities sent large amounts of money and resources in preparation of the establishment of a Jewish State, as more and more immigrants returned to the Promised Land of their forefathers (and foremothers). On the same small stretch of land claimed by the Jewish people, Arabs made their home there for already centuries. At the first the influx of Jewish settlers caused sporadic tensions between the new immigrants and resident Arabs, and this cumulated in serious incidents of violence between the two communities, who contended for the land and valuable water and other resources. The situation was further exacerbated with influx of refugees as a result of the "Calamity" (Shoah, or Holocaust) in Europe.

As with so many other post-colonial tragedies, the ailing British Empire crumbled and simply departed, leaving the the aftermaths for the nascent UN to deal with. The solution, or to some the cause of the problems today, was the Partition Plan for Palestine (UNGA resolution 181), which effectively allocated merely 43% of the Mandated Palestine to the creation of an Arab State, though Arab Palestinians comprised some two-thirds of the population at the time, while the one-third of Jews would be allocated some 56% of the territory for the creation of a Jewish State. The area of Greater Jerusalem would become an international zone (see Report of UN Special Commission on Palestine (UNSCOP 1947)).

This was the plan strongly opposed by Arab states, which were wary of some 33% of Arabs inside the Jewish state. But on the very day that the Partition Plan would go into effect, the State of Israel proclaimed its independence. As recognition trickled in, the Arab States of Egypt, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon and Iraq invaded the new state and started the War of Independence. The Israeli Defence Forces fought back the invading armies, and actually expanded its territory to beyond the Partition Plan. The Armistice Agreements of 1949 gave the new Israel a disproportionate portion of Mandatory Palestine, some 78%. Arabs living in now Israeli controlled territory left, while others were expelled, fuelling what would now be called the Palestinian refugee situation, which would worsen with each successive conflict between Israel and its Arab neighbourg.

The Six Day War in 1967 was when Israel struck to pre-emptively disable Egyptian preparations for another plan to destroy Israel. Again, Israel's territory expanded greatly, reaching the Sinai Desert, the whole of the West Bank and Gaza. The Yom Kippur War in 1973 provided the impetus for Israel to agree to a ceasefire with Egypt and Jordan, and eventually paved the way for peace, with the pre-1967 borders as the prerequisite for peace.

Throughout all this, the Arab Palestinians found themselves increasingly isolated within their homes, and abandoned by some of their Arab neighbours. With a large refugee population in neighbouring Jordan, Syria and Lebanon, pan-Arabism rallied under the (supposed) united flag of the Palestinian Liberation Organisation in the 1960s. Through what some would term as terror tactics, the PLO championed the cause and plight of the Palestinians, and eventually gained international recognition as the Palestinian Authorities responsible for administering the West Bank and Gaza. Even so, there are political elements within and without Palestine which advocate a extremist approach to dealing with Israel in the face of what is commonly viewed as the oppression and occupation of the Palestinian people. The First Intifada (Uprising, 1987-1993), gave expression to the frustration and anger of Palestinians in the light of continuing demolition of homes to make way for Jewish settlements within Palestinian territories, as well as continuing deportations, extra-judicial killings and restrictions on basic daily needs. The proclamation of Palestinian Independence in 1988 achieved little to quell this popular “War of Stones”, as the Palestinian Authorities did not have any effective control over the territories it claimed to govern.

A Second Intifada, starting in 2000, began with protests and strikes, and cumulated in increasing suicide bombings and launching of Qassam rockets into Israeli areas by the likes of extremist organisations as Hamas, and Hezbollah in Lebanon. To stifle the waves of violence, Israel in return erected checkpoints and barriers to hem in and hinder the free movement and activities of Palestinians in their own territories. The construction of a 'Security Barrier' around the West Bank, which is now approximately 60% complete and is supposed to prevent terrorist attacks, and cordons off Palestinians in their own lands. This Wall (for lack of a better term) effectively cut the West Bank into sniplets of Palestinian-controlled enclaves, which are like artificial islands surrounded by Israeli territory and controls.

Who would have thought that of all people, we would be 'privileged' enough to see former US-President Jimmy Carter deliver a press conference on his recent visits and talks with Syrian officials and Hamas. It was his labouring efforts that gave birth to the Camp David Accords in 1973. He recently aroused controversy with his new book "Palestine: Peace not Apartheid", which premises the root of the inability to reach a breakthrough in the current conflict on two origins:

- Some Israelis believe they have the right to confiscate and colonize Palestinian land and try to justify the sustained subjugation and persecution of increasingly hopeless and aggravated Palestinians; and

- Some Palestinians react by honoring suicide bombers as martyrs to be rewarded in heaven and consider the killing of Israelis as victories.

Though not officially endorsed by the Bush administration or by Israel, Carter's 'mission' to meet with players in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has aroused suspicion. Though claiming not to shoulder the responsibility (or burden) of the "mediator", his city-hopping in the Middle East aimed to bridge dialogue and communication on different sides of the divide has brought criticism, especially as he is probably the first high-profile American to speak with the leader of Hamas, which the US and EU have branded as a terrorist organisation. Carter spoke so hopefully of "peace in our time", and spoke of Hamas' aspirations to "live as a neighbour next door in peace" with Israel. Yet, in typically politician-speak, Carter seemed to forget the continuing use of terrorist tactics by Hamas and continuing intimidation of the Israeli as well as dissenting Palestinian public. Listening to him speak of his tour of the Middle East, talk about plans for prisoner exchange, about how difficult the situation is, and how much need there is for dialogue, you cannot but feel like such words as "peace" and "dialogue" have been too often repeated and regurgitated, but to the detriment of any real progress in true peace and dialogue. The applause seemed luke-warm, and within minutes of the press conference ending, the horde of reporters and swarm of cameras that had gathered in the back of the hall at King David Hotel had disappeared. And so had Carter.

But the conflict, non-recognition and tensions rage on and on, as they have for decades, and as they will continue to do so for the foreseeable future to come.

Israel: Desert and Dead Sea

We drove across in a narrow, winding valley toward the West Bank. Having only arrived merely six hours earlier at 2am, I was surprisingly awake. The excitement of being in a completely new country, and the adrenaline rushing from the sights and things never before seen, and waiting to be seen, drained away the sleepiness.

The skyline of modern Tel Aviv faded behind us, and vast fields gradually opened up around us.
Not the usual kind of green grass fields familiar to the Netherlands, as the ground was more arid, and the vegetation sparse. And the more we drove eastward, the drier, and therefore less green and grown the land would become. Along the roads were tall big billboards, but they were covered with black cloth, shielding whatever sign of capitalism lurked beneath. The locals had protested the erection of advertising billboards along Israel's highways, as they complained that valuable open spaces and beauty were being taken away from these signs, which formed an eyesore. A court ruling found in favour of an environmentalist group, and hence the Knesset (parliament) will be waiting to see what law can be passed regarding these now covered billboards.



For the first time, I saw date trees tower over the land, grown in neatly cultivated rows and columns, looking like palm trees, only with much bushier treetops. Somehow, this tropical looking tree reminded me of Asia, but then again the strange combination of pines, olive groves, and eucalyptuses and tall needle-like cypresses crowded in the same land. Of the latter, Israeli children are brought up with stories of these dark, thin and versatile trees that stand so tall and so strong, and that bend and swagger with the wind, yet do not fall. It is a symbolic metaphor for the spirit and strong will of a people that has throughout history endured much persecution and resistance to their existence, yet have continued to stand tall and not falter or fall.

The road soon wound up and around hills of the Judean Mountains, and as we neared Jerusalem, more and more the tops of those hills were covered with neatly zoned houses overlooking the land below. We skirted around Jerusalem, in search of the road that would bring us deeper into the desert beyond the mountains. Instead, the mistaken road led us deeper and deeper into the Orthodox territory of the Holy City.

Soon, men with huge hats and clad in dark, long clothes walked on the roads around us. They were Hasidic Jews, originating from Eastern Europe, and believed to be the sect that most clings onto the traditions of the Tora and most conservative of all, with regards to values of family, work and the status of women. They had long payots ('sides') hanging around their ears below their fur hats, and even in the 25C+ heat, they wore thick, long jackets that covered till beneath their knees. Driving carefully, we avoided the groups of men, with the women and girls trailing behind, who wandered the roads as if there were no traffic lights. To them, that day was the start of Pesach, which commemorates the exodus of Jews from Egypt, and the freeing of the Jewish people from slavery, and is commonly considered one of the, if not most, sacred holiday in the Jewish calendar. One "Pinguins Jew", as some refer to them because of the way they dress, closed in on us and started to shout. Apparently he was offended that we were driving through their part of town, and perhaps even by the fact that my friend was uncovered and scantily dressed in a very revealing top. Thank goodness they did not start to spit or throw rocks at us, as some have been reported to do at trespassers.



The position of these Orthodox Jews is contradictory. On the one hand, they view themselves as the most representative and embodying of the State which is the Jewish Homeland. Yet, their religious devotion prohibits, and acts as an excuse, for them to be exempted from military service, which all Israeli men and women must complete upon reaching the age of majority, and which lasts around 3 years. The devotion, and at times, extremism, of the Orthodox Jews can be said to be on par with Muslim extremists, as some would not even flinch to kill to defend their faith (witness the assasination of Yitzhak Rabin in 1995).

Moments later, we found our way out of "the hood", and breathed a sigh of relief as the landscape around us gradually became desert. Beyond the Judean Mountains lay the Judean Desert, parts of which form the lowest point on Earth, falling to a depth of some 400m below sea level. This unique landscape consists of a series of steppes and hills that is layer upon layer of rock and limestone that has accumulated over the millennia due to tectonic shifts and subsiding water levels. Most well-known is the remnant of a great big lake that is now commonly referred to as the Dead Sea, which would later surprise me with its hidden secrets.

Land spread before us, like a suddenly spread open sheet of light brown, sweltering and swooning in the heat and in the distance. The car raced downhill, past signs carved into the limestone rocks that indicated we were moving rapidly further and further below the sea level. Never in my whole life have I seen a desert, and there and then, I was surrounded by the aridness and barreness of it all. The stuff of documentaries, of awe-inspiring still photographs, and now it was all before my eyes. Deep ravines, barren hills like columns next to one another stretching for as far as the eye could see, toward the Dead Sea in the distance. Cactuses, dry shrubs and metal shacks of nomad Bedouines dotted the landscape, together with wandering goats, and the occasional camel and its master that waited on the roadside like a taxi waiting to be hailed.

Eventually, we reached the shoreline of the legendary Dead Sea. The salt content of the Dead Sea is concentrated, so dense, that rocks of pure salt form at the bottom of what in actual fact is a lake. But the water is dwindling, and fast, due to overuse of the water that flows into the Dead Sea from the River Jordan. This means, some hundred years ago, when the British were there, the water levels have been dropping by 1m per year. The difference is clearly visible, as all along the road that winds along the coast of the Dead Sea are signs that warn visitors of the danger of swimming and of falling into fragile salty flats that treacherously hide deadly ravines that fall tens of metres into the earth are today far, far away from where the shoreline is. By the way the water is evaporating, and leaving behind large tracts of land and salt layers, the entire Dead Sea phenomenon may disappear within the next decade or so. Which is why the World Bank is very supportive of an initiative to link the Dead Sea and Red Sea together, so that water levels in the latter can be replenished, slowly, and also maintain the natural salt contents which it has.

First, we stopped at the Ein Gedi oasis, which was literally an oasis in the middle of the desert. Amid the barren, dry and dusty landscape, was a sudden and unexpected patch of green, of date plantations and of green grass. The reason for this was a water source that sprang from the earth, and gave life to an (aptly) named "Wadi David" (Arabic for a riverbed that is usually a place of human settlement). There, a small creek flowed, giving life to the plantations below, and also to life to a Kibbutz nearby.

At first, hiking upstream toward the source of the creek was a disappointment, not just because of how small the creek was, but also by the frail streak of water that was David's Fall. Then, we ventured higher and higher up the mountain, trekking in the blaring heat of the desert sun, at times with me wondering whether I would just faint with the little water I had taken with me, and finished even before we were half way up the mountain. The landscape was again the same arid and barrenness defining of a desert, with the exception that close by the streak of flowing, shallow water, a few shrubs and trees grew. Ibexes (mountain wild goats) and a rock hyrax (cony) accompanied us along the way.

But then, as we neared the source of the river, and as we got further from the hordes of tourists and children, we found peace, and coolness, in inviting ponds of clear water. There were pools here and there, some the size of a jacuzzi out in the open sun, others tucked away behind giant boulders, with its beauty and serenity well hidden from sight. We climbed down a rock face, and splashed around a pool of still water with a constant stream of water falling from the cliff above. The water was cool, and I was refreshed, not just by the water I was submerged in, but also by the sweet tasting and uncontaminated water that I could just drink from all around me. Uncontaminated, that is, if no wild animal had urinated in it further up stream. I swam in the pool, glad I made the trip and extra effort up the mountain, and rewarded with such a heavenly experience, shared in my memories and with two great friends.

We travelled onward, in search of a place with few people to park ourselves in the waters of the Dead Sea before the sun set. But before that we swung by a mystical fortress called Masada, which to Jewish people is the site of a ritual suicide in the face of an invading Roman legionthat embodies the spirit of defiance and courage of the Jewish nation. Today, the ruins of this ancient fort is where recruits of the Israeli Defence Forces complete their basic training with the words "Masada shall never fall again". Unfortunately, the gates of the ruins fell that day when we arrived, and I could only admire the row of Israeli flags flying in the wind of dying light, and admire the fortress perched atop the impressive mountain above. I could only imagine, and that enough was awe-striking, the events and the histories that took place in this sanctified fortress.



I carefully walked into the water, wary of the sharp salt rocks beneath my feet that seemed to cut. My friends had eased themselves into the 'sofa' of sea water, and were leisurely floating on the surface. But I was a little hesitant, and a lot curious. I walked deeper into the water, crouched, and leaned back. I burst out laughing, as I floated up on the surface, salty water splashing around me. I tasted some water, and it was the most salty substance I had ever put into my mouth. I quickly spat it out, and burst out laughing again, at this strange and unexplainable sensation of floating on water, of defying science as I had known it. Until this moment, floating like an inflated dingy on the calm, calm surface of the Dead Sea. I peddled my feet, and stroked my arms, but it was hard to move around. Water seeped into my eyes, and it burned them like acid, and I had to quickly wash them clean with showers on the beach. Other tourists floated around me, and even big ones did not sink, but just floated away on the surface. I tried to "jump" in the water, but whatever I did, I just bopped up and down like a buoy at sea. An excited boy out at sea.



Then I stated to feel... feel the cuts, bruises, wounds and scratches all over my body, even in places I did not know I had injured myself before. The salt clenched to my body, cleansing it with the magical healing powers that it is famed for, but at the same time, also teasing my skin in slight, tingling pain. The scratch from my cat, the scrape on my knee from hours earlier, and the little wound from stubbing my toe on the hike up the mountain. I felt it all, but at the same time, felt the water disinfect every crack and wound. I collected some salt rocks, wishing to bring them home to my mum to share with her this miraculous healing water. In the distance, a small stretch of land protruded out of the water, the surface of which glistened white in the setting dusk sun. The temperature dropped rapidly, but with my body half submerged in the water, I could still feel the warm of day stored in the molecules of water and salt that surrounded me.

Night fell, and the full moon rose. The moonlight cast a long ray of light across the surface of the Dead Sea, as gradually towns and villages on the other side of shore lit up, revealing how close Jordan lay beyond these waters.

Israel: between security and beauty

"What are you doing here? What flight are you taking, and where are you going?"

"I was told to come here at least three hours before my flight. I will be flying Turkish Airlines, first to Istanbul, then to Amsterdam."

"Why were you in Israel?"

" To travel. As a tourist."

"Where have you been?"

"Jerusalem, the Dead Sea, Tel Aviv, and Nahariya," I recounted, but deliberately leaving aside a single detail so as to avoid another barrage of questions. Jericho, I was in Jericho. But the security officer did not have to know I was in the Palestinian Territories. It was not lying. Just withholding information. For my sake.



"How long did you stay?"

"Four, five days in total."

"Where did you stay?"

"With a friend, who is Israeli. He lives in Tel Aviv."

"How do you know him, and how long have you known him."

" I met him in the Netherlands, and we know each other a few months."

"Did you pack your bags yourself? Did anyone give you anything to take with you," the lady asked, this time with a smile, " We ask this because before a tourist was given something to carry, and it turned out to be a bomb."

"I packed my bags myself, and I did not take anything from anyone. I only have clothes, and some souvenirs," I said, and as if to make sure she understood and believed me, I shook my head. My luggage was stickered as the lady scribbled a number of things on the security tag, before it was hauled onto the biggest X-Ray machine I have ever seen at any airport. I smiled politely, and went my way, but unaware that this was one of only five security checks before I could board my flight out of Israel.

It was half past two in the morning when I arrived at Ben Gurion Airport. Even before entering the new and modern Terminal 3 building, a plain clothed security guard stopped me and asked me a series of questions about my reason for being at the airport. My luggage was opened, and two ladies took around 10 minutes to sweep my bag with a piece of cloth, which they then put through a scanner used to detect ion particles and explosives. I was cleared, but my smelly clothes, socks and underwear, Birkenstocks, Lonely Planet, and camera recharger had been exposed to the public. Embarrassed, I quickly packed my luggage again, and proceeded to the check-in.

The lady at the passport control sipped her warm drink before browsing through my passport and stamping hard in the pages. Another security check fondled through my carry-on luggage, and again took me aside to check every single item for potential explosives. Perhaps I was lucky, as the man before me had be taken aside and told to take off his shoes and shirt. I could see the tempers rise, but security takes priority over the privacy of passengers, and rightly so, especially flying out of a country under an almost constant state of alertness.


This was the country that I had visited for the past number of days. A country of contrasts, of overlapping cultures, histories, religions, and overlapping peoples that in places share the same crowded spaces, but in other places are segregated in scenes and ways that to some appear to be the equivalent of despicable and unjustifiable Apartheid.

But this was a country that had left a deep impression on me, even before my visit. So imagine what impression it has had on me during and thereafter.

One hears much about Israel in the news... about the suicide bomb explosions, the unrests in Gaza, the bulldozing of (illegal) settlements, about the scuffles between feisty journalists with Israeli soldiers, and about the difficulties experienced by Palestinians in gaining access to the most basic medical care and food sources. But one does not much see or hear about the reasons and causes behind all this negative press... nor does one often realise the wild, raw beauty and legends and history that is shrouded in the dust of the desert.



Without being an apologist or tacitly endorsing the policies and actions of the Israeli government within the country and in the Occupied Palestinian Territories, without downplaying the sufferings and man-made and man-maintained humanitarian disaster in the enclaves carved by the internationally condemned Wall, which the International Court of Justice has pronounced as illegal, the following will be a recount of my experiences and memories of Israel.

It is my hope that my account will bring a little (personal) insight to a place often disputed, and perhaps more often misunderstood. The politics, religions and policies of this, perhaps most, volatile piece of land on Earth, has been recounted again and again and occupies the fascination, disgust or reverence of whoever receives it.

And here is my own.

Go Israel

Been looking forward to this trip for a number of weeks, and finally: the land of Israel awaits!

I wonder what awaits me there, in this troubled land of world religions and of intermingling peoples and cultures.

What strange sights, what beauties, what shocks and awes to clean the mind of stereotypes and open up eyes to a whole new world, situated in the cradle of the old.

Legalisation Politics

So I finally received the documents that I have been waiting for for over a month. The legalised death certificate of my dad, and proof that I am indeed his son.

Internationalist have to deal with private international law when it comes to matters like death and inheritance, and in order for a document issued by the authorities of one State to be recognised by another State, you need to go through a procedure called legalisation. So I started this whole process back in March, and took all these official documents, first, to the district court to get it officially notarised, and then to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to get it official certified. Then, I had to take it to the Dutch embassy in Taiwan to get the document legalised.

And this is where the problem comes. There is no Dutch embassy in Taiwan, because there are no official diplomatic relations between the two States (due to China's protests and bullying). There is however a bureau called the "Netherlands Trade and Investment Office", which actually does much more than just point investors in the right direction. This is actually the place you go to apply for visas, for consular assistance, and everything else that you may think is associated with the work of an embassy. The only difference is that it is NOT called an embassy.

I opened the letter from the "Netherlands Trade and Investment Office" just now, and to my surprise was the accompanying letter, signed and stamped by the "Head of Administration and Consular Affairs":


"Legalisation of Taiwanese documents is unfortunately not possible. Due to the lack of diplomatic relations between the Netherlands and Taiwan, there is also a lack of possibility to authenticate the formal competence and signature/stamp of the Taiwanese authorities through the means of legalisation.

The Authority which has issued the accompanying piece (of document) is known to the Netherlands Trade and Investment Office in Taipei."



So what does this mean? To be honest, I do not know.

It is a gray area of international law that I have yet to come across, but it is no less fascinating. Partly because it is an affront to be told, directly and indirectly, that I come from a country that has no status whatsoever in the so-called international community. It makes you wonder what credentials and what privileges new States such as Kosovo have in order to become part of this community.

It is also fascinating, partly because by implication, the lack of diplomatic relations between my two home States may mean that my existence and birth in Taiwan is implicitly denied outright. Does this mean that I am "illegal", in the sense that I do not exist in law? If I do not legally exist, does this mean I have no rights (and rights to claim) at all? Thank you, China, for pressuring the international community to sever all sorts of diplomatic links with Taiwan so that I, and many millions, have to face this kind of difficulties in claiming my inherent right to existence. But ironically, I as a Taiwanese citizen have more freedom to travel anywhere in the world than the ordinary Chinese. The world of diplomacy and politics works in mysterious ways.

Of course I am sure that I am not the first Taiwanese to be faced with this problem, especially given that out of some 198 States in the world, only 25 officially recognise Taiwan and has diplomatic relations with this international pariah. But I am curious how the Dutch authorities will deal with this issue, and whether they will recognise my relations with my dad as "legitimate".

Trip

I am quitting my job! In fact I told my workplace already a number of weeks ago that I do not plan to stay on until the very end of my contract, which is end of July. I just do not see any need to, and to be honest my work organising the competition has been done, and done very successfully. And so I can leave this job, and be glad I did a great job that people are going to remember. Whatever happens after me, or how my employer deals with finding a replacement is no longer my concern.

To be honest, I am quite disappointed and bitter about my workplace. Not the work that I do, not because I have to put in so many extra hours and even weekends to make sure that the event last week was a huge success. It is just that the workplace is stuffy with people who care more about image and money than really what you are doing... and the recognition I get is close to minimal. I had an appointment with the personnel secretary to discuss the days I had saved up for leave. Since I started last August, I did not take a single holiday... instead I was working overtime, more than double the laughable 22.6hours that I am officially employed for. I asked whether the overtime that I worked every single day could be turned into my leave days... and the reply was no. At least, not that simple. To qualify for overtime-turned-days-off, I must first 'apply' for it every time I work extra. Which means, every single day since I started working I must go tell my superior after 5pm that I will be working extra. And only then can they calculate my overtime, and turn that into days off.

I explained to the lady that my job is impossible to accomplish with just 22.6hours a week. How can a function that used to employ two people working close to 40hours a week in total be accomplished in just a little more than half the amount of time? And how do you expect people to work motivatedly by slashing people's salary? Outrageous. Then the lady said I should talk to my superiors and arrange something. But she was the one in charge of personnel...

Anyways, this is just the kind of rubbish I have to face at work, and the more I see it, the more I scoff at the kind of disorganisation and bureaucracy that is my workplace. How can a university that loves to pride itself on its (self-trumpeted) reputation and (false) high quality of education be so rotten and exploitative of its employees?

So I will in three weeks time leave this workplace and be glad I am able to get away. Others are not so lucky.

Kicking the bucket

Imagine if you only had a few months to live. How would you live? Most importantly, "Have you found joy in your life and have you given joy to other people?" These are wonderful questions that are asked in the movie The Bucket List.

My brother had recommended the movie to me back in February, but because of all the personal issues happening then, I avoided watching anything which I thought might make me even more emotional. Indeed, as predicted, the movie made me cry. Not just a tear out of the corner of my eyes. But really cry, as in, tears flowing down my cheeks, and my heart filled with such heart-wrenching sourness and pain from having been so touched and moved by the lines and the interactions between the characters.

The fate of two dying men portrayed by Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholaso are brought together when they go into hospital to be diagnosed with incurable cancer. One is from a simple family, filled with love and happiness, and clings onto hope and faith. The other is a bitter and successful millionaire who has little love and boundless amounts of money, but is an utter cynic and has no faith. Their last days are intertwined as they make a list of things they wish to fulfil in their last days. Not just fun and excitement, but also reconciliation and making contact and peace with lost loved ones. Because there is no greater pain than dying with regret.

Seeing the two lie in bed, with tubes connected to their bodies, I cannot but think back to the image of my own dad lying in bed, silent and dying... He did not speak. He did not struggle, and now and then he opened his eyes to look at me. I smiled back, and still he did not speak. He could not speak. But what was going through his mind? What did he want to say? What wishes did he want to fulfil?

The thought of this made me cry... the thought of my hands cupped around his, that feeling of his skin against mine, that warmth of his cheeks clinging onto mine... I miss that. How I so miss that.

Renewed freedom

Suddenly, a deep sadness overcame me. It was dark, time unknown, and I started to weep. Thoughts of the absence of my dad, images of the audience before me applauding in a standing ovation, echoes of the countless words of success and congratulations, the sight of my mum in hospital. It was just too much to bear, too much to handle.

I hugged the blanket that dad had given me last time he came to see me. He said the blanket would keep me warm, and I especially needed it last night. The days of the Competition has finally come to an end. What a relief it was. I stepped out of the Peace Palace grounds, saw the sun, felt the light Spring breeze, and felt a heavy, heavy weight lift. The past few weeks have been such a tension to carry, the past few days such a ride between ups and downs, disappointments and embrassments. All I needed was a break, and sleep, to recover from the emotionally draining and physically abusive experiences.

I slept, but I know that my memories and dreams were filled with flashbacks of the events in the last few days. The embarrassment of humiliating a number of special guests, the discomfort of having to deal with unpleasant bickering between my own assistants, the unease I felt when people wanted me to pose take pictures with them, as if I were some kind of hero and idol... But on the other hand, there were the genuine kindness and assitance of strangers and dear ones, the genuine, warm words of gratitude and congratulations, and the hugs that I received from total strangers who were so appreciative of and impressed with the organisation.

I stood on that stage, people applauding before me, giving me nods of approval, smiles of appreciation and respect. I blushed, and smiled, nodding back, my heart silently calling out to them and thanking them for their kindness and for their recognition. But at the same time, a nagging thought pestered me and faught against the sense of personal achievement and success... what of all these things that went horribly wrong? What of all these failings like the incident of a collapsing colleague, the chaotic and confused award ceremony? What of the disappointed and humiliated looks of the sponsors who had come from so far away?

And, as the crowd applauded, I could not but think of and thank my mum, my dad... They could not be there, they could not see this impressive hall, this impressive crowd, and they could not feel or begin to imagine the overwhelming sense of pride and triumph that overcame me and swept me so suddenly away... I missed my mum, my dad... I missed them terribly, and wished they could be there to see it all, to feel it all, to hear all the words of congratulations and gratitude that showered over me again and again. But dad has sadly gone... mum is sadly missing.... and left behind is an emptiness that echoed again and echoed in my heart as the sound of applause echoed again and again in my ears...

The pain, the pride, the sadness and the smiles of joy. Mingled together like a poisonous mixture that drained me so like a trauma. Time flew by, people passed me by, hands gripped mine, and hugs embraced me. And inside is an emptiness that I cannot express.

An emptiness that expressed itself in the tears that fell as I suddenly awoke in the middle of the night, and cried.

Competition day II

I'm exhausted... drained, physically and mentally from the confusion, stress, insecurities and praises of the past two days. Finally, the Finals are upon us, and the Teldersdays are almost over. Today at the closing party, I was not very happy... distraught, dazzed, tired and drunk with some kind of deep, deep sadness I cannot explain... And all these people congratulating me, all these people applauding like I have never seen or heard before.... honoured and at the same time feeling defeated because I feel empty inside against the full onslaught of tiredness....

Too tired... too tired...

Competition day I

Tired, but still buzzing, partly from the excitement, partly from the ride of emotions throughout today. The Competition I have been planning together with my team started today. Three court sessions, nine courts, and two hundred guests. It's not easy, and this morning I had a stressful few hours when a number of things didn't go according to plan.

Stress, relief, gratitude, and worry... a mixture of emotions. And finally this day is over. Guests thank me, with such praise and gratitude, and I cannot but be appreciative and touched by their kind words and gestures. It moves me to tears, almost, the way they describe my hardwork and dedication. It's all come together, and all thanks to so many who have been there to support me, thanks to so many who have been there to help and extend a hand, or an ear.

I just came home, walking past the woods of Clingendael. Wearing the suit I wore to dad's funeral... I really wish dad could be here to see all this. I really wish mum could be

Exhausted

Two days before the start of the Competition, and I am so frustrated. Last night, I lay in bed but could not sleep, even though I was so physically tired. My mind was awake, and racing with thoughts. Even trying to watch my breath or meditate did not help, and I just got more and more tense until I was so tired I fell asleep.

The last three weeks have been like this... a constant routine between work and sleep, work and sleep, and still there seems to be much to be done at work. Pressures from above telling me to cut down costs and bring in more money... and pressure of trying to make sure all two hundred or so students and guests from all over the world will enjoy a competition they will remember. And together with colleagues who really are sometimes not as enthusiastic as I want them to be, I feel kind of impatient that things are moving at such a slow pace.

I do not like to 'hide' behind my victim role, but sometimes I just wish people would be more appreciative of what I have been through and work with me more. I have just gone through a great loss, and my mum has to go into hospital for treatment every other week... these are really not easy burdens to combine with the work of mine as the coordinator of this event. A lot of work could have been done a long time ago, but still now we are just starting it seems... Frustrating... and I see myself getting somewhat short-fused about it. Not that I start shouting or screaming, but the work atmosphere is somewhat tense because there is so much pressure, from time and from the amount of work waiting to be done...

And suddenly, just now I got a call from a colleague. He spoke about the very things that had been bothering me, and he told me to look at the bright side of things. I had gone through so much, and the event is going stronger and stronger and coming together as we speak. Guests will be applauding for all the hard work I have done, despite all the odds. Just a few months ago, people wanted to pull the plug on this event, but I managed to revive it and bring it even more glory and fame... all these are not little achievements, and of course if there were a more cohesive team, then it would be easier, but things are still going well.

Tears oozed out of my eyes as he said all those things.... all this hard work, all this time at the office, and working evenings and weekends, and indeed everything is coming together. All I can think of is imagine how my parents would be so proud of me if they could see me, a few days from now, in the Great Hall of Justice, with over 200 people applauding at the work that I (and with the help of so many, many others) have accomplished...

How proud my dad would be... because all that I have been working for, is for him to see, and for him to be proud of me.

Work, work

I cried at the office today. It was while speaking to a friend I had promised to meet for a long time. I had to call and cancel our appointment, because I was just overwhelmed with work and did not have time to even go out of the office. It has been like this ever since I got back from my leave two weeks ago.

She is a really sweet person, and just last year became a mother to a healthy and beautiful baby. I have seen the baby twice, and held her in my arms. When I see the baby's eyes, I feel how lucky she will be her whole life, because she has such a caring and loving mother that is my friend.

I am not sure what it is about my friend, but everytime I speak to her, she brings out the 'child' in me. Her voice is so soothing, her words so comforting. Just after I retired from Taiwan, I called her to tell her I had come back. The way she told me everything would be alright made my voice waver. It was as if she could feel my pain, as if she could reach inside and touch me, even though we were just on the phone. The motherliness of my friend is so powerful.

And again today, the same happened. I felt really bad having to cancel our appointment, but she was very understanding, and supportive. She told me to take it easy, and said we could meet when I am less busy. I thought of the many many days that have gone by since I returned to work, I thought of the days that I went to the office and just sat down without getting up until it was already night time.

At that point my eyes started to water again, and as if she could hear my tears, she told me to hang on there, to be strong, to go on despite the odds. That made me just feel even more touched.

I sat down at my desk, full of things to do, full of papers to be looked at and emails to be answered. I shut my eyes tightly and wiped my tears away. It was then that she said to me something that was so touching...

"...my parents passed away when I was just twelve, and I know how hard it is. When I feel sad or when I want to have my parents around, I would pinch myself. When I feel the pain, I know I am half my mother, and half my father. So you hang on there. Take a deep breath, make yourself a nice cup of tea, and just sit down for a few moments..."

And for those brief, few moments thereafter, the pressures from above, the bickering, the work politics, the money problems I have had to be faced with ever since the very moment I returned to work barely two weeks ago just disappeared.

Disappeared... like the clouds that would float on high and disappear the next time you look up.

2am

Close to 2am. Taiwan time, close to 8am.
Mum is in hospital again for her bi-weekly chemo therapy. It is going well she says, and most likely she can go home tomorrow later afternoon. My auntie is there, sleeping in that narrow couch-bed I used to sleep in, and as I called she was out to buy breakfast. Mum says she still has the appetite to eat, so she wanted this oat meal mix and some fried rice and cereals. “Just like what you bought me when I was in hospital,” she said.

Yes, just as I had bought her back in February because I thought that was the most healthy and nutricious that I could bring her while she lies confined in that hospital bed for those days.

“Have the doctors come yet?” I asked. Because they usually come check up on the patients a little after eight. Not yet, but they will come, mum reassured me. And today she will find out whether after all these treatments the cancer index has diminished. In other words, whether all those grueling and tiredsome days spent at the hospital, whether all those spasms of nausea and all that exhaustion has all been worth it.

“Take care,” I said, and I thought of her face, her eyes, and that dazzling, natural smile of hers that I had captured in a shot just after the doctor told her she could go home again. How I wish I could see her so happy, see her be so healthy. How I wish I could see her.

Easter snow

It snowed on Easter Sunday, and it snowed today. In fact, I think outside it is still drizzling with snow. No white Christmas, as it should be, but a white Easter, as it unexpectedly is.

Over the long Easter weekend I finally had the time to rest and catch up on my sleep. Ever since I got back to the Netherlands, I have been working almost non-stop every single day. I did not even have the time to unpack my suitcase, and I was off to work again. So what a relief that I could have a few days to sleep in and slowly get accustomed to the time difference.

People ask me how I am feeling, and to be honest I am not sure. I am... content. I am just moving from moment to moment and still carrying on with life doing the best that I can with what I have. Nothing less. Nothing more. Work really is taking a lot of my time. Today, for example, I went in at around nine in the morning, sat down, and worked and worked till eight in the evening. No time to eat, no time to go out for a breath of fresh air... just work, work, work... answering emails, making phone calls, writing letters, stuffing envelops, planning events... Thank goodness my colleagues and assistants were there, or else I would have lost it.

So I come home every day, feeling already very tired that the only thing I want to do is lie down and sleep. And the next day again, work, work, work, as surely as the sun rises at dawn, and falls at dusk. Though, in the weekend, when I was unpacking my suitcase and cleaning my room, there were a few moments I felt sadness creep up...

Perhaps it was the snow drifting outside... The beauty of it, the serenity that made me think to myself what a shame it is that my dad can no longer enjoy it... A slight, fleeting moment of sadness and remorse... until I blink away the thought and go back to whatever I was doing then.

The other day I went for a walk in the slight snow, and eventually my footsteps took me to the forest nearby. As I approached the pond, there was a whole crowd of daffodils "tossing their heads in sprightly dance" as the light snowflakes, drifted, danced and fell so softly on the grass and vanished as suddenly as it appeared... Nobody would have known the snowflake was there, or ever existed. A father took his young son by the hand, son who was perhaps just learning to walk. He wobbled, and the father looked on smilingly, tugging at his arm in those moments just as the son looked like he was about to fall. The son giggled, and splashed in the puddles. The daffodils danced a bit more. I looked away, but the effects of that scene lingered, just as the memories of my dad still lingers on within.

Work is good. It keeps people occupied, it keeps people full and fills them with a purpose. But when does work become merely a distraction... or even an escape?

So when people ask me how I am feeling, to be honest I am still not sure.

Free Tibet!

Cartoon by Jeff Stahler at Cagle.com

“Due to security reasons the name of the author is omitted”

This line appeared in the Dutch Volkskrant under a report on the recent protests in and around Tibet. In all my years of reading the news, I have yet to see simply the words “From a correspondent” underneath the headline with no mention of the correspondent’s name. But in the climate of the ongoing crackdown by soldiers and security forces, together with reports of censorship and of deportations of international journalists by the Chinese government, this is the reality.

Another reality is that eight years ago, a regime that could never have been too proud of its human rights record and democratic credentials was to the surprise of many awarded with the honour of hosting the 2008 Olympics. How Beijing has rejoiced since, and how Beijing is doing all it can to ensure that this will be the Olympics to overshadow all others in history, as a homage to China’s “peaceful rise” to becoming a world power. Continuously the International Olympic Committee shrugged off critics of Beijing Games by reiterating that sports has nothing to do with politics. In the words of IOC President Jacque Rogge, the “IOC is a catalyst for change in China but it is not a panacea, […] It is a sporting, non-political organization and we cannot solve the problems of the world."

The tanks and machine guns are rolling into Tibet. Over 100 protesters, or perhaps even more, are dead, some due to the Chinese government, which itself has admitted to firing upon civilians. The IOC can at least try harder than merely congratulate China on improving its air quality ahead of the Games. Indeed, as the coordinating body of world’s foremost sporting event, it has great influence and leverage over the host states. While martial law falls on Tibet, there is not a mention of the unrests and crackdown by the Chinese authorities on the website of the IOC. Whatever happened to the promises China made upon winning the Olympic bid to make significant improvements in its human rights situation?

Wei Jingsheng, a Chinese winner of several human rights and democracy awards who spent over 15 years in prison for his pro-democracy activities, wrote in the International Herald Tribune:

The IOC's unwillingness to pressure Beijing at this moment is tragic because these Olympics are a turning point in modern Chinese history.

By acting as host to the Olympics, the Communist Party's rulers have turned their palace into a global glass house. They can no longer show the smiling face of the "peaceful rise" of China to the world and the stern face of brutal suppression at home.

The Olympics will force China to show its true face. Only international pressure, by the IOC and others, will make sure it is the face we all want to see.

Due to China’s continual inaction over the continuing bloodshed in Darfur, Oscar-winning director Steven Spielberg (rightfully) resigned back in February, after mounting pressures calling for his disengagement from what has been deemed the “Genocide Olympics”. With the deteriorating situation in Tibet, the Dalai Lama has repeatedly warned of a China’s active engagement in a “cultural genocide”, that has in the past half a century threatened to wipe out all remnants of Tibetan language, religion and culture. What pride the Olympics dream is, to be hosted by a country now coupled closely with two of the most severe atrocities in modern history! So much for the ideals of “peace and progress, harmonious development, living in amity, cooperation and mutual benefit” that the official organisers of the Games trump on their website.

Of course, as with everything and anything related with 3 Taboos (Tiananmen, Tibet or Taiwan), the Chinese government’s propaganda machine has ensured any sensitive news is moulded to reflect the great visions and twisted lies of the Chinese Communist Party. Thus, ordinary people and anti-government dissidents are not being rounded up or placed under constant house arrest in order to preserve Beijing’s image of a peaceful and clean city… the unrests in Tibet were caused by unruly Tibetans under the instigation and control of the Dalai Lama, and only 13 people have died, all caused by mob anger… and there are no free and fair presidential elections in Taiwan this Saturday.

Cartoon by Jeff Koterba, at Cagle.com

A commentary in the Chinese government’s mouthpiece, Xinhua, ran the following tirade against the internationally acclaimed His Holiness the Dalai Lama:

“…the monk in a crimson cassock has many tools for disguise to survive the international criticism against violence and terror: his preaching of peace, tolerance and benevolence to the Nobel honor and U.S. medal which added to his undeserved aura.

Make no mistake people, we have all been fooled by this conniving two-faced monk, who is the equivalent of the Catholic Pope in Tibetan Buddhism! The Chinese government went as far as to insinuate that the Dalai Lama’s eye for terrorism comes from having been educated by an old-Nazi. The slur against the latest winner of the US Congressional Gold Medal continues:

“this impudent politician did not show any sign of shame when he disassociated himself from the conspiracy as an innocent monk, leaving his followers standing as cat's paws by persuading them, in a canting manner, "not to resort to violence" reportedly in a statement after the serene abode of the gods was disturbed.

What flowerly language. Similar sentiments are echoed by an irrate and finger-pointing Chinese premier Wen Jiabao, who at a press conference blurted out:

There is ample evidence that this incident was premeditated, masterminded, incited and organized by the Dalai clique. This once again shows that the claims made by the Dalai clique over the years that they seek peaceful dialogue and not independence are nothing but lies. Their hypocritical lies cannot cover the indisputable facts.

Indisputable acts of what? That the Dalai Lama, who has lived in self-imposed exile for half a century, is in fact a terrorist mastermind on par with Osama Bin Laden? That this inspiring spiritual leader with millions of followers, whose consistently promotion of “peace, understanding and harmony” is the reason he won the Noble Peace Prize, should be unmasked as a fake?

I would personally trust the Dalai Lama over any government that is constantly ranked at the bottom along with other human rights violators and oppressors of freedom of press. I would rather trust what I freely hear and freely read in the news about Tibet than believe the views of a government which will not blink to throw you in prison for merely carrying a photograph of the Dalai Lama.

A commentary today in the Chinese government’s mouthpiece, the People’s Daily, praised the crackdown in Tibet as being “restrained”. And China’s restrained reaction to the Tibetan uprising apparently enjoys “broad international support”... from the likes of Syria, the Democratic People’s Republic of (North) Korea, and the very important Fiji, as well as Serbia (still sour of its loss of Kosovo).

In yet another commentary, the Chinese government has vowed to “resolutely [crack] down on and severely [punish] a handful of lawless criminals”, and clarifies in what is widely seen as the strongest language by China on its handling of the Tibetan uprising that:

we must see through the secessionist forces' evil intentions, uphold the banners of maintaining social stability, safeguard the socialist legal system and protect people's fundamental interests, and resolutely crush the "Tibet independence" forces' conspiracy and sabotaging activities so as to foster a favorable social environment for reform and development and for people's happiness and welfare. [...]

After decades of construction and development, Tibet is enjoying its best-ever time of progress and stability, the paper says. Accelerating development, improving livelihood, maintaining stability and opposing separation are the road the region has to walk on if it is to prosper. Secession is against the people's will and sabotage is doomed to fail […]

To be clear, Tibet has never been an integral part of China. If it were, why did China need to invade in 1950 and forcibly oppress uprisings that have to date caused over 1 million deaths? Under international law, Tibet can even be said to have enjoined sovereign independence before the Chinese invasion. Admittedly, Tibet’s relations with China has historically been that of a vassal under the suzerainty of the Chinese Emperors. However, Tibet has always enjoyed much freedom to govern its internal affairs according to its own distinct culture and religion under the reign of the Dalai Lamas. This peaceful coexistence ended with the so-called “liberation” of Tibet. Atrocities and a reign of terror ensued that has repeatedly been classified as a genocide outright. The so-called “Seventeen Point Agreement for the Peaceful Liberation of Tibet”, under which Tibet recognises its “return to the big family of the motherland - the People's Republic of China” was not more than a diktat signed by the then Tibetan government as Chinese troops were already brimming on the borders. Immediately after the Dalai Lama and Tibetan government fled into exile, the Agreement was repudiated, and since then the Dalai Lama has called for “a meaningful autonomy” for Tibet, whereby Tibetans have freedom in cultural, political, religious and economic affairs. He is willing to meet and negotiate with the Chinese leadership, and has repeated extended the olive branch. It is Beijing, with its warped vision of the Dalai Lama as a “splittist” and “terrorist”, that is refusing to acknowledge His Holiness’ goodwill.

The cause of the recent unrest, like those back in 1989 and even before, is the Chinese government’s strategy of turning Tibet into any other Chinese province. By actively attracting Chinese people to emigrate to Tibet, the economic and political powers are now unfairly biased against the Tibetans in favour of those with loyalties to Beijing. Monasteries are under surveillance, Tibetan language and culture is increasingly marginalised, while even the Panchen Lama, who will be he Dalai Lama and according to tradition can only be reincarnated, is handpicked by the Chinese Communist Party, and resides in Beijing. A then unknown Communist Party cadre by the name of Hu Jintao was the Party Chief of the “Tibet Autonomous Region”. It was he who ordered the violent suppression of similar uprisings in early 1989. Today, he has been “elected” (twice, no less!) to the position of President of the People’s Republic of China. So who is responsible for the brutal suppression of the uprisings in Tibet now? Hu.

What a message Nancy Pelosi sent to the international community, when yesterday she stood side by side with the Dalai Lama in a show of her solidarity with the Tibetan people. Dubbed the third most influential political figure in the US, the Congressional Speaker attacked China’s violent handling of the Tibetan uprisings. In an emotive speech, Pelosi could not have put it in better words:

“Today, this delegation from the United States Congress is here to shed the bright light of truth on what is happening in Tibet. In sanskrit the word non-violence means ‘truth insistence.’ Insistence on the truth is what this is all about. We insist that the world know the truth about what is happening in Tibet.

“If freedom loving people throughout the world do not speak out against China's oppression in China and in Tibet we have lost all moral authority to speak on human rights anywhere in the world. The cause of Tibet is a challenge to the conscience of the world.

Why is the rest of the world silent as China continues to oppress the Tibetans? Why is the UN silent when human rights are constantly being trampled on by one of its veto-wielding powers? Why is the IOC playing dumb when the country it foresaw would usher in “a landmark moment in Olympic history, and is obviously an event of huge national interest in China” is now revealing its true ugly nature? And they claim to be freedom loving?

The Olympic Games are a great opportunity for China to show off its huge strides in development and economic progress indeed. But it is also an opportunity for the world to pay attention to many of the abuses and failings that continue to plague this self-proclaiming super power.

A tyrant that puts on a lavish suit that many are envious of is still a tyrant. And a China that can put on a stunning Olympic Games is still the oppressive and brutal regime that it has always been. The Olympic dream has not improved the lot of ordinary people in China, nor has it lived up to the promises of greater media freedom and transparency as previously trumpeted. Instead, the outburst of violence in Tibet reveal all too well the continual suffering and fears of the oppressed Tibetan people, of the democracy activists and political dissidents, that China would rather the world forget under the limelight of the glitz and glamour it tries so hard to showcase.

But China has invited the world to its doors when it accepted the honour of hosting the Games. And besides the glory and gradeur that it boasts, it should not be afraid show the dark and shameful sides which will forever present an obstacle to achieving that superpower status it so aspires to reach.

And we, the citizens of this world, the very citizens who love freedom and abhor the suffering of those who have none, should not be afraid to look and to see.

Not just to look what is fundamentally hypocritical about the Olympic Games which are supposed to celebrate unity and humanity, but also to see the silence of our leaders who claim to love and support freedom, yet fall suddenly despicably silent when it comes to dealing with a China where there is none.

Links:

See The Guardian’s excellent coverage on Tibet and the recent uprising.

CNN reports on China’s media censorship, as does the BBC.

For commentaries offering a more “balanced” side of the uprising in Tibet, go to the

Chinese government’s mouthpiece, Xinhua New Agency. And here you see a whole site of the Chinese government dedicated to condemning the “separatist activities” of the Dalai Lama. Additional reporting by China’s official news channel (ironically abbreviated as) CCTV.

A good website keeping a monitor on China’s censorship of news and the Internet.

Official site of the Dalai Lama.
Website of the Free Tibet movement.

Dreaming of dad

A leopard, golden and spotted black, slick and slim, oozing with beauty and a deadly silence. Not just any leopard, but a Formosan Cloud Leopard, indigenous to the high mountain forests of Taiwan, nowadays extremely rare, and rarely seen.


It approached me, and I was stricken with fear. He silently stepped toward me, I wanted to run, but could not. Something somehow made me stay, even though I was trembling. The leopard squinted, lazily like a cat, and circled me. His breath felt warm. Out of nowhere came this urge, and my hand raised itself to touch the leopard's patterned fur. He felt soft, tender and gentle, and the leopard stopped in its path for me to pet, like a tame cat, were it not for the sharp fangs that glistened whenever the leopard opened its mouth.

I stroked the leopard me, and it started to purr, loudly. In the following scene, I was on the leopard's back, riding it, as he sprinted on and on and on through the dense forest floor. I felt such joy, elation and liberation as I grabbed onto the leopard's fur and moved with the leopard's movements, swiftly and silently.

We came to a stop, and the leopard set me down. As if the leopard was tired from the running, he rolled on its back and lay there with his head softly rubbing the earth. I knelt down next to him, and started to stroke him, stroke him, stroke him ever so softly, as he purred and purred with pleasure. His eyes closed as his paws hung loosely from the relaxed and lazy posture the leopard was in. Reassured, I patted him on the chest, and felt his heartbeat, while my other hand stroked the leopard's soft coat on his head. I felt such warmth, such connection with him, even though they say the Cloud Leopard is normally a shy but vicious creature of the jungle. I knelt beside him, but could only see and feel the tenderness and beauty of the leopard in every stroke of my hand.

Slowly, slowly, the leopard's purr grew softer. His heartbeat also slowed, and his paws gradually no longer moved as it did before from side to side expressing comfort. I stroked it even more, admiring the beauty and tranquility of this gift of nature before me, and felt grateful that I could be so close to it in such a peaceful moment. What a precious moment!

I woke up... my heart ached and wrenched as a deep, deep pain throbbed through my chest. I felt myself cry out, but there was no sound, but an emptiness and a silent echo that made the deep void inside me even more empty-feeling than the moment before...

It was pitch-dark. Then it began. The emptiness turned to tears, and I sobbed in bed. Images of dad flashed before my closed eyes, images of his kind face, echoes of his soft voice. Another image flooded into my memories... the image of those tender moments when I stroked his face and hands as he slowly, slowly, slowly went to sleep... the long long sleep he would no longer wake up from. More tears flowed, and I felt the pillow case dampen as I buried my face in it to dampen the sounds of my howls... My howls from the pain, loss, and realisation that my dad is finally gone, and that I will never see him again.

Rarely have I felt pain of such intensity, and never in the past month since my dad's passing away have I shed so many tears. I did not know where those tears came from. Perhaps from the stored tears that were kept dammed inside in those times when I felt I could not break for the sake of others around me. Wherever they came from, the tears uncontrollably flooded through my eyes. I tugged at the thick douvet and the blanket I was under, and remembering that dad had bought the blanket for me to keep me warm during the cold winter months, I cried even more... even, even more.

I cried myself asleep, and before long, I drifted back into the world of dreams where I was again reunited with my dad.

Home again

The plane tore through the dense clouds, into a world of gray and rain. The cabin shook, and the passengers shrilled slightly as the turbulent air made the plane drop suddenly. Moments later, we landed, welcomed to The Netherlands by pouring rain and a cold, cold gust of wind.

Welcome home, David. And the first welcome sign was a big fine by the revenue bureau. I simply cannot lie, and when the customs officer asked me whether I bought anything from abroad, I said a laptop. He looked at it, estimated the cost, and I was later to pay 19% value added tax (VAT). 150 Euros, merciless and no discussions. Enough to pay a month's worth of food. So much for buying the laptop I have always wanted in Taiwan, thinking I would save a lot on costs.

Luckily, brother was at the airport to pick me up, and his company made the trip home in the rain almost bearable. The roads were empty, soaking in rain, and the wind was strong. Coming from the bustle of Asia, you could easily mistaken a lazy Sunday morning in Europe as the land of the dull and the dead. Only when my cat greeted me with her miauw and tail at the door did it seem like there was any life or warmth.

A 16 hour flight, over 9000kilometers across the world, and I have arrived in another world. Perhaps it is the weather, perhaps it is the tiredness and grogginess from attempting to sleep sitting almost straight up because I was afraid to wake up the person behind me hadI lowered my seat, but this place is such a contrast from the home I left back in Taiwan. And yet, less than two months ago, this place seemed like the comfortable and quiet home I could return to for shelter and warmth. It will take some time before I get used to here again...

Last night, I said goodbye to my mum, turned the corner of the staircase as the image of her standing in the doorframe disappeared from sight. Moments before, we hugged deeply, twice. More moments earlier, I handed her a notebook, the cover of which, in small print, said: "Somethings if not done now will never be done". Flip open the first page, and I wrote the words: " Smiling is the best self-cure". When mum received news that she could be discharged from the hospital a few days ago, I had taken a picture of her which captured that intense and heart-felt joy of relief. I had enlarged that, and developed some other pictures of flowers, sunsets and of me, for my mum to keep her company as she faces the next few sessions of chemo therapy in the coming months.

To be honest, I got frustrated as the time ticked by to the moment of departure. Why did I have to leave? Why did I have to leave my mum behind? There seemed so little time to do all the things I wanted to do... like tidy my dad's room more, so that mum would not have to face it all alone... like clean up the house, so that mum would not have to strain herself wiping and washing... But the last few days of my stay in Taiwan seemed to go by so quickly, without me realising it. Tuesday last, my mum came out of the hospital. The next day, we stayed home to recuperate, and Thursday I quickly went out to meet a friend and to do a quick shop of the things I need... Friday I went to see my dad at the temple... and Saturday was the day of departure itself. Naively I would think to myself, as I often did as a child, how wonderful it would be to be able to stop and turn back time.

But time passes with every tick of the second hand. And the past six weeks have gone by so quickly. Thinking back, what have I really done? Mum thinks a lot, and as we hugged one another goodbye last night, she thanked me again and again for all that I have done... but somehow I think I did only what I could, and only what a son ought to do. Nothing much more, nothing less.

At the airport, just before I headed for the departure gate, I made a last-minute call to relatives and friends to bid them all farewell, and to wish them well for the coming time till we meet again. I spoke to a cousin of mine I have always been very close to, and naturally tears began to fell as I recounted that moment when dad passed away... I saw those moments I held dad's hands in my own, I remembered those words I whispered to dad in the hope that he would let go and move on peacefully. And I could not control myself but started to cry in the airport hall. It seemed like all the spotlight was on me, all at once all these people started to appear and pass me by out of nowhere. I turned against the wall, and wiped my tears. "I think I have no regrets. I hope I have not disappointed them. I hope..." I said silently to my cousin as I chocked on my own tears, "I hope that dad and mum will be proud of me..." My cousin reassured me that they are indeed proud of me, and that they have every reason to be.

The plane roared upwards, and the wheels made a thudding sound as they left the ground. My physical 'connection' with my home-land was severed in that very moment, as the plane flew higher, and higher skward. The plane turned around and started to head south, along the western coast of Taiwan, flying over the lit and bustling towns and cities below. I was unfortunately sitting on the side of the Taiwan Strait, which was pitch dark, save for the very occasional faint flicker of fishingboats below.

"Goodbye, my home! Goodbye, my loved ones! May you all forever remain as beautiful and peaceful as I remember you."

I have made this trip many times before. I have bid farewell to my parents many, many times before in my life. Each time, leaving them is such a painful and sad process, and I can easily remember each departure clearly. I can still remember the tears, taste the sourness I felt in my heart as I tried to grasp onto those moments when they were still standing before me just before they are separated by the glass wall of the departure hall.

But this time, as the plane soared on higher and further away, I was somehow at ease with myself... I was not crying, as I had expected, but my mind moved on from moment to moment, resting in that very moment, without lingering in the past or wandering around in the possibilities and dramatic scenarios of the could-bes.

Sixteen hours later, the plane touched down in the rain and the wind. And I was home again.