Coffee with a friend

Actually, more like a hot chocolate, because neither of us drink coffee. It's been a good while since I last saw her. She hasn't changed much, and she said I still have the same hair, same face. I guess that is a good sign.

We sat down at a quiet coffee shop and started connecting. She's actually my first 'real' friend in Canada, a friend of a friend, who was introduced to me so I could practice my French (or the bits and pieces of it...). But soon she became a close friend, as we discovered that we have many things in common. Somehow last year we lost touch... partly I guess because I was away a lot, and when I did come back, I find it hard to reconnect with people. I mean... why depress people with sad news and my troubles when I have not seen them for a long time?

But I'm glad I met up with her again... we spent some time talking about what has happened to me recently. She said she was sorry for me, having to face death again and again, and that my mum is lucky to have me as a son.

I was quiet. I do what I can, and sometimes I think that is not enough... sometimes people seem to forget how I hurt inside, behind the smiles, behind the hardwork, and behind the long and many travels. It is hard. It is hard... but I don't like to complain to people, to bother them with my troubles, especially as they all seem to have their own little lives and problems to worry about.

"Where do you belong?" she asked, at one point.

Almost without hesitation I said here in Canada. Not the Netherlands... not where I feel almost every moment of the day I am and will always be a (coloured) foreigner. Not in Taiwan... though there is where my roots still lie, and where my mum and family is. It is here in Canada, in my little appartment, with my little black and white cat. I may be away a lot, I may have my suitcase constantly by the door in case I need to go again at a moment's notice... but here I am at peace, at ease and can be myself. Fully.

"Though I do wish," I said, "There is something concrete to tie me down here." And by that something I actually meant someone.

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world
Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Dream

I must be going crazy if when I sleep I dream of going on dates...

Choral Fantasy

One of my favourite classical choral pieces of all times... (performance by the Berliner Philharmoniker, conducted by Claudio Abbado)

Text is a poem called "Fantasie" by Christoph Kuffner. 
Schmeichelnd hold und lieblich klingen
Unsers Lebens Harmonien,
Und dem Schönheitssinn entschwingen
Blumen sich, die ewig blühn.

Fried und Freude gleiten freundlich,
Wie der Wellen Wechselspiel.
Was sich drängte rauh und feindlich,
ordnet sich zu Hochgefühl.

Wenn der Töne Zauber walten
Und des Wortes Weihe spricht,
Muß sich Herrliches gestalten,
Nacht und Stürme werden Licht.

Äuß're Ruhe, inn're Wonne
Herrschen für den Glücklichen,
Doch der Künste Frühlingssonne
Läßt aus Leiden Licht entstehn.

Großes, das ins Herz gedrungen,
Blüht dann neu und schön empor,
Hat ein Geist sich aufgeschwungen,
Hallt ihm stets ein Geisterchor.

Nehmt denn hin, ihr schönen Seelen,
Froh die Gaben schöner Kunst!
Wenn sich Lieb' und Kraft vermählen,
Lohnt dem Menschen Götter Gunst.

(english translation)

Flatteringly sweet and lovely ring out
our lives' harmonies,
and from our sense of beauty arise
flowers that eternally bloom.

Peace and joy move together,
like the alternating play of waves;
that which seemed harsh and hostile,
transforms itself into inspiration.

When music's magic holds sway,
and poetry's sacredness speaks out,
magnificent things must take form,
night and storms turn into light.

Outer calm, inner joy,
prevail for the happy person;
indeed, the arts' spring sunshine
lets, from sorrow, light come into being.

Greatness, that was deep in the heart,
blooms anew then, reaching up beautifully;
if a spirit rises up,
it is always echoed by a chorus of spirits.

Therefore accept, you lovely souls,
happily, the gifts of beautiful art.
If love and power join together,
humanity is rewarded by the gods' favor.

Plans

"Don't worry. I believe that because you're so caring, Buddha will protect me..." mum said. She sounded normal, though there was a hint of tiredness in her voice. Just yesterday she had the invitro chemo removed, and she said she's slowly recovering from the poisonous cocktails. It takes time, and she's feeling weak and miserable, but better than yesterday at least. It takes time to recover, and then comes another session in less than two weeks. Each time, more and more cells are being killed off. Both the bad and healthy ones.

I guess the fact that I will be with her at the end of the month made her feel happy. Or at least have something to look forward to. We talked a bit about plans for the coming weeks, and I asked about the possibility of her going to Europe to recuperate for a month or so. My plan is to join her, be with her, and possibly, if she's up to it, take her on trips to see the lavenders of southern France... so that when she sees the sea of purple and lilac, she can forget, even if only for one moment, that she is a cancer patient.

All that is still uncertain, and will have to wait. She wasn't sure about the exact dates yet, but she said she is hopeful. "I want to, and my will is strong," she said. Through the darkest of times, it is hopes that keep people afloat, and I would like to believe that this is one of those circumstances.

So as so often I am still taking a 'wait-and-see' approach. How I wish I could just decide on a date, book something and not have to think about things too much. Like friends of mine, with their well thought out travel dates and holiday plans... I often wonder how they can plan ahead and have everything so figured out. How one can plan everything down to the flights one is
taking or the number of days one is staying somewhere before jetting off to another destination.

Isn't life so much simpler, and in many ways cheaper too, without having to deal with sudden changes and associated fees and expenses?

Back to normal

I feel my mood sinking these days, and the anxieties are mounting. Maybe it's the fact that I know that in less than two weeks I will be packing my bags and leaving again. That really makes me feel unsettled and short for time, especially given the many things I still have to do before the long trip.
But I think there may be something fundamentally missing from my life.

Sure I have good friends, friends I get together occassionally with to have fun, to chat and have a good laugh. But at the end of the day when I go home, there's that emptiness and loneliness at home, one that even my cat, however loving and affectionate she is, cannot fill.

I want something more... more affection, more intimacy, more connection than just simple laughs and chitchats, with someone I feel for, and who feels the same (or more) back. Someone who can challenge me, who can inspire and stimulate me, instead of unloading me with the repetitive gossip or complaints about this or that person in thw small circle of friends. Someone who can make me feel like I want to get up in the morning and start everyday new and fresh. Someone I can turn to after a long day, and be next to, even if we say nothing at all.

But it seems that it may be selfish to want to depend all those wants in another person. True happiness comes from within, not from without, as I've been told too often. And beside, I'm too often travelling around these days I cannot settle down, cannot find the time or mood to find someone to develop the kind of relationship with I long for.

And if I do come across someone special, will I feel really happier?

Full body scanner

A body scanner at Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam.

At the moment I'm researching and writing an article on the full body scanner and its use and effectiveness at airports across North America and Europe. The body scanner came to the limelight after the foiled bombing of a Detroit-bound flight. The response of dozens of airports is a sudden rush to introduce the new imaging technology as part of passenger security screening.

So far, I've done much research on the legal implications of the use of the full body scanner. There is no doubt that the scanned images of passengers are a clear infringement of privacy. Sometimes the black-and-white images even reveal clearly breasts, genitalia and very personal details about one's medical condition--such as implants, pacemakers and urinal bags. As one US-based civil rights union calls it, the body scanner is a virtual strip search.

Authorities like the US' Transport Security Administration have publicly announced that there are procedures and measures built in to minimise breaches of privacy. Even so, the Government Accountability Office, a congressional watchdog, has warned that the TSA has not undergone enough practical testing to demonstrate the effectiveness of the expensive new measures, nor undergone a full cost-benefit analysis prior to the deployment of new body scanners.

In Europe, the Netherlands and the UK were the first ones to install the machines. Whereas in the former country, the body scanner is an optional alternative to a patdown, in the UK one must go through the body scanner or prepare to leave the airport. This has caused some uproar when two Muslim woman were turned away from their flights for refusing to undergo body scanning on religious reasons. The European Parliament is still researching the privacy implications and effectiveness of the body scanner, and is soon expected to publish a report that may form the basis of a common approach to the matter within the European Union.

But I can find no legal precedence which says that the government cannot perform a search of passengers or their belongings, however intrusive the search may be. Security has always been a key public interest, and often the courts are not hesitant to defer to the importance of safeguarding security, even at the expense of the rights and interests of private citizens.

Just came across this web-site which has some (vehemently) anti-body scanner clips and posters.

Graduation

It's not my first 'graduation dinner' of my current studies at McGill (but hopefully it'll be my last...). There's a strange tradition at our institute of giving students the honours of being accepted to the McGill family even before they have finished the exams or completed the thesis. And since I'm still making excuses not to complete the latter, I technically have not yet graduated.

Even so, graduation dinner is always a good opportunity to dine at the posh falcuty club, and to get together with friends, old and new. Three hours of speeches, applauses, laughs and fine dining and wine later, what impressed me most was the question which came back again and again from people I spoke to: "So what are you doing next?"

Not sure. But of course I can't say that. What I did say was that I am in the process of completing my thesis, and that there've been events recently that have slowed down my progress, but hopefully I should be done by year's end. But I guess that's the short term goal, and what most people mean by "what next" is the long term career plans.

Again, not sure. I look around the room of professors, of professionals, of high-flying lawyers (literally, as it was full of air lawyers...), of chairs and members of this and that prestigeous council or association, of well paid employees of this renowned institution or organisation. They all seem to have an impressive CV and wealth of experiences... And I am still stuck wondering what to put on the next page of my thesis... I feel like I cannot compare, can never compare to them.

Not that comparing is healthy... but just, as the keynote speaker said, I don't know what drives me, what interests me so much that I am willing for the next years or even decades to dedicate my life doing. What fills me with passion, what can make me fulfilled and so captured that can make me wake up every morning filled with the same rejuviant sense of pride and drive that will carry me through each and every day? I guess writing comes close to that... and travelling too. Writing and travelling to see the world and its peoples inspires and touches me deeply. But can I really make a "career" out of it? Is it not more than a hobby or past-time, something someone would do besides the hectic life of 'real' work and toil at a desk from 9 to 5 (or later) day in, day out?

I do not know, and I have not known for perhaps always... Hence when people ask, I look nervous and answer back that I am still considering options. I guess staying in school, or at least not grauating keeps me safe and sheltered from having to really decide, to really commit and face the 'real' world of work and life...

But I can't do this forever. I cannot postpone graduating and having a "career" indefinitely without a steady income to sustain myself (and cat...).

Stable

I didn't really sleep much or well last night, as normally before sleeping I'd call my mum. But last night I couldn't reach her. I called repeatedly, home and her mobile, but noone picked up. I knew that she was due for a checkup at the hospital.

So as I lay in bed, I thought of the things that may have happened... and at one point I got really sad and anxious, imagining the worst, imaging that I may have to grab my suitcase and just board the next flight. I've done in before recently, and it could very well happen. But thinking it made me so tired, so dreading it if that were the case... I guess the tiredness drained me and I fell asleep, while shadows played outside the window.

And I finally managed to reach mum this morning. She said she was indeed at the hospital, and before that she had been doing errands, and after the checkup she went for a massage. I guess she didn't have her phone with her, but the important thing is that she is safe and well.

And the good news is that her condition is now stable. The latest blood test revealed that the cancer index has gone done to around 5, which is the standard level for someone who smokes (someone who is healthy is usually around 3; whereas above ten indicates there is cancer present in the body, in the twenties indicates the cancer is spreading...).

This is a dramatic improvement, given that back in October is was close to 19! It means that mum is responding well to her treatment, which is excellent news! :)

As we were talking on the phone, she got another phone on the mobile, and she said she needed to go. It was a visitor who had come to see how she's doing. She was really happy to see this person, which is good, because it cheers her up even more.

Come with me....

I didn't manage to reach my mum on the phone, and she was supposed to start chemo this week. And when I took a nap this afternoon, I dreamed of her...

I saw her from the corner of my eyes, her feet first through the door opened ajar. I looked up, and it was mum, dressed in gray trousers and long sleeves. She looked tired, and her hair was uncombed. "Mum!" I called out, and lept forward to hug her. We hugged tightly, and she leaned her face closer. Next to my ear she whispered, "When you go back to study in Canada, can you take me with you?"

"Of course!" I said, "I had wanted that for a long time". I felt overjoyed, happy that finally she would come and see where I live, see where I've settled down and get to know the new life that I have begun in Canada all by myself.

It was then that I realised that her skin was dry was dry, her eyes were gray and old, and her hair, what remained of it, looked charred and old. She smiled at my reply, but she felt weak in my arms...

Friday night in

I had been looking forward to going out with this friend. Nothing special, just grabbing something to eat and seeing what happens. He's interesting, and decently goodlooking, though has been sort of a mystery still since I've known him, and one of these people you meet only occassionally in the corridors. It's been a lot of back and forth emailing, and either he's busy or I'm away. Finally we managed to meet for dinner.

It started off alright, talking and keeping one another updated with what we've both been up to these days. Settled at an Indian restaurant, which turned out to be a bit pricey for both of us, but at least the conversation was pleasant.... or at least until we touched upon politics.

Probably that really killed the mood of anything else happening... our views are just too different. He's hardline conservative, I'm a left leaning liberal who believes in the power of the welfare state and its ability to provide an equal footing, or at least social security for everyone. I believe in universal health care, he advocates rolling back government and letting people be. People must make choices, he said, and unfortunately the poor sometimes make bad choices with what they have... chemo or cable (tv) it boiled down to in the capitalist world. I thought it was a crude way of seeing things... as often there is no such choice, especially for the poorest of the poorest, who can't even afford proper food or housing, let alone have the luxury of choosing between chemo or cable.

Dinner ended, and I said some friends were getting together to watch movies and invited him to join us. He declined, saying he had plans. Made plans with friends online to play games. OK, I said, and left.

To be honest, I was disappointed. Yes, perhaps I thought there was potential of getting to know this person better, or maybe even having him over to spend the night. But I guess online games are important.

So I went home, chatted with two friends who dropped by, and we slipped a DVD into the player. And I enjoyed a Friday night in with fellow singletons, happy that I have friends to fall back on, and friends who do not disappoint.

In the metro station

From the depth of the dark tunnel I could hear the rumbling of a coming train. Like a distant thunderstorm, the tension, the climax, the wind gathering and surely approaching.

Then suddenly, amidst the random chatter of strangers and timid whispers of passerbys, between the sound of hurried footsteps and heavy shuffling of shoes, the soft kiss of music gently caressed my ears. Romantic, soothing, almost dreamlike in the surrounding noise and chaos, Chopin's Nocturne echoed in the underground concourse. Each note powerful and penetrating, reaching deep inside to touch and calm the heart. Only briefly, only enough to take me away from the city, away from the concrete walls and rails of steel, away from the confusion and hustle of modern life, but it was enough. Enough to conjure up memories and thoughts of beauty and serenity, of the kind that the city lacks, but which everyone undoubtedly longs for.

The train hissed past and ground to a halt. As I boarded, as the doors closed, as the music drowned away, as the floor beneath me vibrated, the music was gone. But in my head was left a pleasant, lingering echo.

Paranoia

Paranoia... or is it common sense? Should people be afraid of others, be distrustful and suspicious of the intentions of others? Should you always be wary of other people's real motivations for doing something, for saying something?

Maybe I'm just too naive... to 'nice' and too trustful of people and their good-nature. Maybe I'm blind and ignorant of the reality of people's dark hearts and dark thoughts. So what if people cheat me? So what if people get the better end of the bargain? It's their karma... it's what they'll have to pay back sooner or later. If it's inherently wrong what they are doing, then they will regret it, they will wish they had never been so greedy or covetous.

Or is that I'm simply too weak to fight and stand up for my rights, however I have been wronged?

Dream

He wrote to me in the dream, wrote about what he's been up to, about his life, about his background. And there was a picture too, of a big house in a well-to-do neighbourhood, with mowed, green lawns, children playing and dogs barking.

I was happy that he wrote to me, and that perhaps we would meet again.

Medium

Speaking to mum this morning, she mentioned that she has heard from dad. She said that dad had apparently received the letter that I wrote to him...

I know I should be happy about it, happy to hear from beyond the grave. But I feel somewhat irritated. Ever since dad passed, this 'medium'/'psychic'/'fortune teller'/'Daoist master' has been coming into our lives and appearing at regular intervals to deal with our family affairs. From the funeral to moving house, from my brother's future marriage to communicating wtih dad, this 'medium' has been present. I even had an argument with mum about this, because I felt that especially in the aftermath of dad's passing, he was getting more and more intrusive, verging on the point of telling us how we should best mourn and commemorate my own dad.

So again, when I hear that dad has gone to communicate with this 'medium', I am skeptical and somewhat annoyed. I guess if hearing such things (superstition? Makebelieve?) comforts mum, then by all means... but hearing that my letter has been received somehow makes me uncomfortable, especially as the letter was such a personal connection to my dad. Maybe I should be happy that dad has received the letter... but I feel annoyed that I must hear this from ma third person who did not even know dad before his death...

Easter

After a long Easter brunchner (breakfast-lunch-dinner) with two friends, I took my bike and went for a cycle. I love the feeling of cycling down the St Laurent (not so much the bugs that get into my face and hair), the feeling of freedom and the wind rushing past my ears. I love the broad, almost endless width of the river, the horizonless skyline of trees, the green grass and dawning skies. I feel free, I feel happy to be back here in Canada.

A friend had in fact written to me and said that I have made my home, my nest here in Canada.
And it is true. Of all the places I can go, of all the places I have lived and wandered, of all the 'homes' I have been in the past month, this is where I feel most comfortable, most "at home".

Not that Taiwan or where my mum is feels less homely, not that Holland, where I spent my childhood and teenage years feels distant... just that this place feels like a place I could always go back to no matter after how long and feel relaxed. I have my fridge, my stove, my bed and all the decorations and belongings that I put around to personalise the place (of course all material things I could do with or without). I have good friends and a sweet little cat. And I feel most myself here in Canada. Perhaps that's why it makes the place more "home" than anywhere else...

Night before departure

Suitcases are packed, and just about to go to sleep. This 12 day trip to Europe is almost over. What began with a sad, depressing note eventually turned out to be a rather relaxing visit. I remember dreading coming back here, I remember trembling and feeling so painfully anxious as I boarded the plane across the Atlantic, as if somehow I knew I was coming back to a sad, sad event. But as with so many things one dreads and avoids facing, things did not turn out as terribly as I had imagined.

I lost someone dear, someone who I would ritualistically visit and call whenever I am in the Netherlands... someone I will really miss talking to and seeing whenever I am home here, because she is one of the very few things that still make this place feel "home". But despite that loss, most important of all, I got to meet and say goodbye to Carmen one last time, and she wanted me to be one of the coffin bearers, which was a great honour. She considered me her family, alongside her brothers, her own son, and alongside my brother and a friend of his. We were all dear to her heart, because of all the people she knew and met throughout her life, she chose her to carry her on that final journey into the crematorium... I somehow felt a sense of pride, belonging, pain and being emotionally touched all at once.

Other than that, things with my brother are pretty smooth, and we have been enjoying dinners together almost daily, and talking more than before. I think in difficult times, it is good to be there for one another, as support, as sibling, as family. And today being his 30th birthday, we went out to a nice Thai restaurant and enjoyed a good meal. We talked, and I can feel he is especially concerned about mum's wellbeing, especially after what happened to Carmen. He admitted that Carmen felt like a second mother to him, who was there whenever he needed advice and help, and who even travelled to attend his graduation ceremony. He said he was touched by the many acts of kindness and care she has shown him throughout the years, and for the last week or so has been lying awake at night, unable to sleep, and thinking about her... Coupled with mum's health and the fact that she's doing chemo, it's a heavy burden to carry. I know it well...

And again, at the end of this trip, I can look back at the things I have done, the people I have visited and spoken with, the places I have passed by and that have left an impression on me and feel like there is a good closure. No regrets, no sadness or confusion about leaving. Perhaps because I know I may be back here soon.

But it may be because I know I did the best I could in the circumstances, and there is nothing to be sad about when I board that plane tomorrow.

Hair

"Is hair more important than health?", the doctor said to my mum earlier today, while telling her that hair will always grow back, whereas health, once lost, is lost forever. Mum knew this, and she joked that while she went to meditate at the monastery, there were a row of nuns in front of her who had no hair.

I was glad that she managed to see the light side of things, and to see through the hair as something that people attach so much importance to. She sounded joyous and energetic on the phone, and I chatted with her for almost an hour till the battery died. Mostly just random chitchat, talking about what I've been doing, what she's been doing.

In a way, to distract her from the fact that she is, as we were talking, undergoing chemo.

Brother's friend

My brother met this friend back in February, and they have been in touch with one another almost daily. She's quite a nice person, and when she found out that mum's doing chemo, she offered to go see her and take her out to the countryside. And today she even went to see my mum after working, which I think is really caring and kind.

Mum's been doing ok since she came out of meditation a few days ago. She said she felt much better, at least her mind is calmer and she is more at peace with herself. Even so, she said her hair has really begun to fall, and it looks pretty bad now. What makes her feel worse is the fact that whenever she gently grabs her hair, more hair comes off. So much so that the ground is littered with hair that she has to vacuum often. I can't imagine what that must feel like... what an injury to personal dignity it must be to lose the hair that you take for granted every single day, for often it is the hair that makes and defines the person. And I am no longer there to secretly hide or sweep the hair away...

So yesterday mum finally went to get herself a wig to wear. I'm not sure what kind of wig she got, or whether it was from the shop I went to together with her. She said it takes some getting used to, so she's trying it on before she does lose everything. "It feels like putting on a hat", she said on the phone. And later my brother's friend who had gone to see my mum said that mum looked "cute" with the new hairdo.

Tomorrow mum will continue with the chemo again... the unbearable treatment and sickening aftereffects start again...

It's good to talk

I rode the train to Leiden today, the city where I used to study. Only a ten minute train ride, and it felt like I was commuting to school again. I walked around, and nothing much has changed. The same canals, shops (though some have closed down...), same sort of people walking around in the streets and alleyways.

I had meant to go to the library and get some work done, but I met up with a friend for lunch, and library went unvisited. There is always tomorrow.

This is a special friend, who first was my boss, and then became a mentor and guide. She paved my path to Canada, to the study that I'm currently doing, and now and then I see her at conferences and events. I'm forever grateful to have met her, for it was because of her that I managed to go as far as I am now, to get the scholarships I enjoy now.

A week ago she suddenly sent me an email. In it she told me about her sister, who was very close to her, and who had suddenly passed away. I was shocked when I read that, partly because my friend Carmen had just passed away, but also partly because only a few years earlier, my friend had lost her dear brother. It must been such a terrible blow to her and to her family, I thought...

We met at a restaurant, and by the time we stood up again it was some three hours later. She shared with me stories of her sister, her childhood, and we bonded over our feelings of losing people dear. It's good to talk (to borrow from the slogan of a BT ad), to share human experiences and emotions of mourning, of picking up the pieces again, and of moving on with life and work.

I told her about my life in the past few months, the life of moving around, travelling from country to country in attempts to spend time with precious people in my life. I admitted to her that I felt ashamed about not being productive, that my thesis and work had stalled because of unfortunate circumstances. And she threw a piece of sugar cube at me.

Nonesense, she said, it takes time to deal with all the emotional baggage you had to deal with so early in your life. It takes the right frame of mind to write, to be inspired. Family is important, and mum especially so.

I felt much better after we goodbye, and made my way home.

Balloons

I watched the colourful balloons rise, rise, rise into the sky. Some had messages attached to the end of strings, other balloons rose only so far before being caught in the bare branches of nearby trees. All were gently released from little hands crowded along the pavement. Magical bubbles drifted around the procession in random, free motions. To everyone’s surprise it looked and felt like a street celebration.

Children of all sizes, faces of all tones and colours, had come out, in the tens, in the dozens, in the scores, to watch the black limousines drive by. A mother rested her hand on the shoulders of her child as moist streams trailed down her cheeks. Other parents and teachers joined the children as they wildly and happily blew bubbles at us and clapped their hands.

They had all come out for Carmen to send her off on her final journey. For Carmen was their teacher, their friend and confidante; their rock, their shoulder to cry on, and they pal to play with. She loved children, and made educating them, understanding them, seeing the positive potential in every each and one of them she came across her life and career. Especially those who need more patience and help, those who sumbled in the cultural and social divides of this often segregated society, she paid attention to. She devoted her time and energies to making ever child feel special and cared about. And my brother and I were fortunate to have been among these children.

Later, at the funeral home, a boy came up to pay tribute to her but choked on the very first word and could no longer continue. What could one say about a warm, kind, selfless human being who made time for everyone, who saw the goodness in everyone, and who made you feel like you were the centre of the world as she sat and listened? She did not judge, she did not see problems, even in the direst of circumstances. Her connection with fellow beings radiated through her smiles and words of empathy, her connectedness with nature manifested itself in her love of meditation and things beyond the material world.

Music played, and Springsteen’s soulful voice and words penetrated the walls of the crowded room, and of my heart. For the first time since her passing, warm tears escaped the corner of my eye, and I felt the realisation of loss creep up and consume me:

…When they built you, brother, they turned dust into gold
When they built you, brother, they broke the mold.

They say you can't take it with you, but I think that they're wrong
'Cause all I know is I woke up this morning, and something big was gone
Gone into that dark ether where you're still young and hard and cold
Just like when they built you, brother,
They broke the mold.

A little boy suddenly pointed up to the ceiling, and kept talking. She must have been watching us in that crowded room. Where there were no more seats, a host of people willingly stood throughout the ceremony at the back. All to catch a last glimpse of this wonderful woman, to thank her for her being, for her presence and her impact on each of us in separate but equally unique ways. She must be touched by fact that we were there to share our love and memories of her. A projector image of Carmen smiled back at all of us, smiled back at the arrangements of fresh flowers. She must have thought how beautiful, how full of life it all was. Even if the reason we all gathered together was death.

Now your death is upon us and we'll return your ashes to the earth
And I know you'll take comfort in knowing you've been roundly blessed and cursed
But love is a power greater than death, just like the songs and stories told
And when she built you, brother, she broke the mold

That attitude's a power stronger than death, alive and burning her stone cold
When they built you, brother

Plane vs Train

I spent the whole morning scouring the internet in search of cheap and fast ways to get to France. Strasbourg is only around 750km from here, and back in the day when I first regularly visited my friend and godson, I would take the train. It's a long 7hr journey, with a transfer in Brussels, but nonetheless journey that takes you through some beautiful regions of the Ardennen, Luxembourg and Northern France.

Then I was still under 25, but this year for the first time I must buy an "adult" ticket :( And since I last went to Strasbourg in 2008, a 'new' high speed rail network has come into being in this part of Europe, which is supposed to connect all the major cities within hours.

So I checked the price and train connections. What used to take 7hrs and only two connections will now take 6.5hrs and have three connections on this so-called high-speed network, routing me through Brussels and Paris as well. Whatsmore, what used to cost EUR130 for a return (which I found expensive then), will now cost EUR180 for a single journey on the high speed network! Sure, you get to ride some of the fastest and slickest trains in Europe (the Thalys, TGV-Est), but why is it so expensive? What about people who can't afford to travel or limited means to do so? And I thought the European high speed network was all about ease of travel and connectivity.

So I turned my search to planes, and as expected, flying is not only cheaper but much faster, taking only about 1hr20min from airport to airport, costing around EUR180. I managed to find a connection from Amsterdam to Basel on Swiss, and so avoiding the horrible and unfriendly airline that is KLM altogether. (though, on Easyjet, I found a ticket for the same journey for only EUR120, but the travel times are not flexible).

Being environmentally concerned, as I clicked "book" online, I thought to myself what world have we come to if flying is cheaper than training? I'm sure the economic costs, including externalities like pollution, fuel etc of flying cannot be cheaper than riding the electrified train.

And yet in terms of price it actually is... I'll have to offset some of my carbon footprints sometime soon...

Trip

After the somber events of the past week since I got back to Europe, yesterday I decided to do a trip I've been meaning to make for a while. To Strasbourg, to visit my godson and her mum, who I've not seen for almost a year already. What's more exciting is that my friend got married and gave birth to a baby girl within that same period, so a lot has changed since we last met. In her life and in mine.

I went around buying all these cookies and sweets and cheeses that I know they like, and from Canada I had brought with me special Vancouver Olympics backpacks for kids. I know the gifts probably don't mean much, but not being in Europe has made it difficult to be in touch with them, and I guess the gifts are supposed to 'make up' for lost time. On my friend's blog, where she documents their daily life in words and pictures, I can see that my godson, now almost four, has really grown big and cute over the past year. I wonder if he stills remembers me, and the Christmases and birthdays that we spent together, and the hand-in-hand walks along the river that we made when he was still a toddler.

This visit to Strasbourg I'm going with a good friend, with whom I've travelled to various places, and she's never been to the beautiful region around Strasbourg (and also it'll be cheaper to share rooms too!). I think she'll mostly be on her own as I bond with my friend and her family, but Sunday we actually plan to rent a car and visit the one and only Nazi concentration and extermination camp in France, Stuthof Natzwiller. I have a feeling it will be very depressing and moving, but it's something I've always been meaning to experience, so in a way I'm looking forward to it (if such a place, with such a place is something one can look forward to seeing........)

So an exciting and full few days ahead!

Ride home

After seeing Carmen, we sat down together with the family and some of my brother's friends who knew her. It was a quiet dinner, Indonesian food, and at various points people didn't really know what to say, so there was an awkward silence that hung around and returned to the room. And I for one was not comfortable enough to start talking about random things in a room full of strangers. Some people asked me about my studies and life in Canada, and I answered briefly and quietly, not wanting to distract from the real reason we were all gathered there.

Carmen's daughter sat directly opposite me, smiling weakly when it was necessary. Perhaps I was imagining it, but it was as if I could feel her pain behind those smiles. I wanted to speak to her in person away from all these people, but there was never the chance. I did give her a big, long hug when I saw her and when I left. Perhaps through my embrace, through my gentle pats on her back, she understood or could feel that I can imagine what she is going through. "At least you got to see her and say goodbye", she said to me at one point. I agreed, and when we said goodbye it seemed like a flood of tears were about to burst through her eyes...

Brother and I walked slowly to the car, perhaps both of us reflecting on the night that had just passed us by. Perhaps both feeling lost as what to feel, perhaps unsure how to make sense of it all or put words to our lips. Eventually he asked me how it was. "Alright," I said, "It's only so much..."

Maybe those were unfeeling words, but at that point I really did not feel particular sadness or hurt. Carmen had gone, her remains lie in the bed she lay in for the past week or so, where she had struggled with life and death, but as always the latter won. It is only so much...

The car rode silently across town, and brother wanted to go somewhere, somewhere to freshen the mind, but was not sure where at that time of night. "We are growing up," he said, as gradually we will have to face more and more these kinds of occurrences. Friends, family, they will all slowly go as we age, he said, and stopped short right there.

Perhaps I was one step ahead, but perhaps at the end of that sentence was something that is all too raw and sensitive to both of us.

Friends, family will all pass gradually.

As will our mum.

Visiting Carmen

We were hesitant to ring the bell, let alone enter the house at first. We eyed one another, in attempts to let the other person go first. I gave brother the big bouquet of white, unblossomed lilies, and perhaps he knew that it was a gesture that, as the oldest and also closest to the family, he should be the first to go in.

In the first room, I knew that she lay there. That was where I last spoke to her. Where I last held hands and kissed her on the cheeks. That was where I last said that I would come back to see her. And here I was, back to see her, yet she had already left.

We entered the room, dark except for the flickering dim tea light candles placed around the room. A scent, floral, fragrant, yet with a hint of medicine, the same one that lingered on the fingers which had held on to Carmen’s a few days earlier, entered my nostrils. And I saw her, lying there with her hands holding an arrangement of orchids on her chest, her eyes, face and posture resting and at ease. On her head a hat, and in the background was the low sound of machinery, which I imagined kept her remains cool. Beautiful and elegant bouquets of white and light shades of flowers surrounded her bed. I heard a sniff, and felt brother gently place his hand close to my shoulder.

We were silent as we stood and watched… the lady who so kindly looked out for us over the years, who selflessly cared and was genuinely concerned about our wellbeing, who invited us to Christmas and New Years celebrations because we had no close relatives here. Her carefree laughter echoed in my memories, her big grin and warm embrace still fresh in my mind. I closed my eyes and wished her peace, sent her good thoughts, and hoped that she finally found liberation from the suffering and pain of this world. And I thanked her… for being there for us whenever we needed advice or help, for the encouragements and hugs she gave to my mum, for attending my high school graduation when my parents could not be there, for the great talks and philosophising we had over coffee and tea…

Rest in peace, Carmen.

Traditions surrounding death

In the olden days, neighbours were important as part of the rituals after someone's passing. The neighbours would be the ones who help with the cleaning of the remains and carrying the coffin down to the graveyard. Whatsmore, the neighbours would be the messengers who went around the village and told others of the news that someone had passed away. Probably that was the case in a largely rural and agricultural society, as I doubt this is still done...

Then the mirrors had to be covered, and curtains pulled closed to show that the household is in mourning. Normally, most Dutch households have big open windows and have their curtains open all the time. This is in line with the Calvist tradition, for open windows allow the outside world to see that this is a 'pure' and devout household, for there is nothing to hide. As for the mirrors, they are thought to be windows to the soul, and people believed that the soul of the deceased may drag the soul of a living person with it if the mirrors are not covered over. Another reason is because mirrors are a symbol of vanity, and there is no place for such thoughts in the sombre setting of mourning.

As part of the dowry, there is usually a piece of white clothing that is given to the bride . This is what they call a "deathcloth" (doodskleed), and it is first worn ont he wedding night, and then put into the closet to be washed once a year. There are no buttons on this piece of clothing, for buttons are believed to hold back the spirit when someone passes on, and the clothing must be tailored to the exact size as the deceased. When a death occurs in the family, the first name of the deceased is sown onto the deathcloth (and the needle thrown into an open fire to be destroyed...).

The term "stinking rich" (stinkend rijk) actually comes from the tradition of burrying the deceased around the local church. As time past, the churchyards were filling with corpses, which resulted in a pepetual stench that lingered. Being able to be burried in the churchyard meant that you were rich enough to pay for a space in the stinking final resting place.

Meeting with a friend

I cycled slowly towards my house, and suddenly saw a figure stand before the doorsteps. Curious, for the person had long blond hair, and none of my neighbours look like that. As the wheels inched closer, I realised who it was and smiled. We gave each other a long, big embrace.

It was a dear friend, with whom I had a bit of a confrontation few months before. But seeing her again, everything seemed to back to normal, and I was really glad that she dropped by like that. She followed her intuition, she said, and sort of knew that I would be there. Indeed, no sooner did she get off her bike I was arriving from a trip to downtown.

She bought lots of cakes and pastry, as well as a big bouquet of white-yellowish roses and lilies. Attached was a lovely card expressing condolences and wishing me strength. The card reminded me of something that I had not realised... within two years, I had lost a number of dear people in my life. First my dad, then a friend I met at the monastery, and now Carmen... and yes, almost on a constant basis I am living with the possibility of receiving a phone call with bad news of mum...

My friend and I sat down, on the kitchen floor no less, and bonded as the cat walked around rubbed herself against us. I confided in her, as I used to when we studied together, exchange notes and mused about emotions and dealing with death and dying. It's been two days since Carmen's passing, and yet I have not shed tears (only moistening at the corner of my eyes from time to time...)... have I become so desensitised to death, have I become numb, I asked?

Numb is when you don't care, when you don't feel, my friend reassured me. But the truth is that I do care... I do care about the pain and suffering of dying, about the hurt and emptiness of the remaining family. I do care about it enough to suddenly pick up my bags and rush back here.
No, I have not become desensitised nor numb. I have just learned to cope by becoming stronger. For there is nothing more painful to someone on the brink of death to see tears flowing down the face of the people left behind... I have learned to cope, to find strength from within so that I will not break down, and not burst out in emotions. How else can I be there to take my mother's hand, to assure her that there is hope yet? How else can I whisper in my dad's ears and tell him to let go and to go peacefully? How else can I sit by Carmen's side and calmly meditate and send her positive thoughts and wellwishes on her final journey of life? It takes courage and self discipline to do that, my friend said as she looked at me intensely in the eyes.

In a mail she later wrote to me, she described me and the circumstances I have been in in such strong words:

Your pain and sense of loss is great, but not greater than the love and happiness that these people have brought to your life. You are strong to carry the weight of so much distress over the last two years and this strength persuades others to live life to its fullest and to daily appreciate the happiness that loved ones bring to our lives; in good times, in bad times and in times when they have passed.

Death... dying... in the end it is only so much. In the end it is the only thing that is certain that will happen to each and every one of us. No prayers, however pious, no words, however eloquent and moving, can cheat or delay death should it approach. Most people only realise or feel it when faced with it...

I am not saying that I know it all already, or that I am ready for the next onslaught of death, or that I am prepared to face my own. But little by little, I am learning, I am feeling and experiencing death, and realising that it is only so much.

Morning jog

The sun shone, bright and dazzling through my windows. Gone was the storm from last night, gone were the heavy drops of rain that pounded the ceiling and insides of my heart.

I got out my jogging shoes, and sprinted towards the forest to try to cleanse my body. My head was still dizzy from not having slept much last night. My mind was troubled, flighty, and distracted by thoughts of Carmen and her family.

I had actually gotten up at midnight and started to write a letter to her daughter. The other day when I saw her, she seemed calm, but then her brother told me aside that she is reacting terribly to the whole situation. And her mum's death must be a climax to top off the brooding pain and hurt inside.

It's not a long letter, just one sharing my experience of death and losing someone dear. Every death is different, and everyone reacts differently to it, I wrote, but important is to let the raw emotions out. Let the tears out, let the mourning begin, let the memories flood out with the tears and longing. The smile, words and scent of the person we loose are all within us, are all part of us, in our deeds and thoughts. Write, draw, paint, scream, talk... get the feelings out somehow, and eventually, as with all things in this universe, it will all pass.

I have not yet sent the letter.

In a way I am afraid of sending it, for fear of hurting the daughter even more. As I was writing, I thought to myself: "Who am I to imagine what she is feeling? Who am I to tell her what she should do with the loss of the most important person in her life?" Mourning is so personal, so unique in every sense...

Bike ride

I cycled down to the sea, to watch the sea play with the winds. From heaven, giant rays of light beamed down through the clouds. Like stairwells, ascending.

When I went to see Carmen two days ago, funnily she had asked about where my bike was. It was on the balcony, I said.

And today, after hearing news of her passing, I dusted the bike and took it out for a ride. I cycled towards the beach, past the cafe where we once drank and ate gelato in, past the parks and woodlands where we walked around in so many times before... And I cycled past her home. The streets was the same as I last left them, the frontdoor was closed, and I did not want to disturb them.

See Carmen, I still have my bike. It's a little rusty, and makes noises when I pedal. But it works just fine...

May you rest in peace....

I had wanted to go see her this morning. That was my plan. To go see her, to comfort her, to hold her hands again. To tell her that it's alright, to tell her to let go, not to cling on.

But she left already.

May you rest in peace, Carmen. I am thinking of you...

Sleepless in The Hague

I suddenly woke up, from a dream. Dream of me queing at the airport counter, queing to buy a ticket home, a ticket to here. I eventually did manage to get one at a good rate, and it was then that I woke up.

It was completetly dark outside, just past 1am. It is not because of jetlag, I don't think, as I've been busy almost all day helping brother clean and set up the newly renovated house, and was tired when I went to bed. In fact, I had slept right through the night last night, and woke up close to noon.

I lay in bed, and my thoughts seemed to naturally drift to Carmen... I can picture her lying on her bed, her eyes, her face, her thin hands hanging over the bed side...

Is she asleep, or feeling pain and restlessness? Has she been able to eat since I last saw her? Does she still have the strength to speak?

Is she feeling angry, regret... is she fearing death?

I wish I could know, but these are difficult things to ask someone, especially someone who is already so weak and thin...

I wish I could see her, and know that she is alright...

I wish there was something I could do, something I could write to her, something I could give her that would comfort her mind and put her perhaps very agitated and suffering mind at ease...