Far

How far would you go to make someone happy, to put a smile on someone's face? Far, far...

Barely two days after I arrived back in Europe, I'm on the move again. Going to catch an early flight (so early there are no buses, I have to walk 5km to the train station...) to Switzerland. That's where my mum is now, somewhere in the mountains.

I know where she's staying, just not sure if she'd be there when I arrive to surprise her...

Seems like a real episode of hide and seek, where the person I'm seeking could be anywhere!

Wish me luck.

Becareful!

I come all the way to the Netherlands, and it seems like I'm not all that welcome here. Forget about the fact that I hauled a huge mattress all the way across the world, or the fact that over half of my suitcase was filled with my brother's things...

Been less than 24hrs, and my brother's been going on about how careful I should be with the white walls and wooden flooring. I should not drop things, lest the object makes a dent on the flooring... I should wipe the kitchen counter clean and dry, or otherwise water will seep through the (mind you: waterproof...) countertop and start to rot... I must be careful of the walls and ceiling, or there might be 'bump' marks... Whatsmore, brother's also been complaining to me about what 'damage' mum has done to the kitchen, window sill, bathroom etc. Scratch marks, water marks, bike tracks, finger prints... I went to inspect the bath-tub, which just last week was the source of a row between them. Allegedly mum had used a rough sponge to clean the tub, which created some scratch mark... but however I look, I just can't see anything that's worthy of getting upset about. Least of all, I can't see anything that's worth making mum feel uncomfortable being here, especially as the whole purpose of her stay is to relax and recover from her chemo.

I think it's become an (unhealthy) obsession for him. I can partly understand why, as he spent a lot of time and money on renovating this place to make it his home (if it wasn't his home already before...). But then again sometimes the carefulness goes a bit too much. Earlier, I joked that mum should wear one of those anti-dust suits that scientists wear in laboratories and put on gloves when moving around the house. Now I think that it's actually very fitting.

Most extreme (and ridiculous) of all, brother even complained that because mum feeds our cat too early in the morning, it disturbs the cat's sleeping patterns, so she's awake at night and making a lot of noise...

So at one point I 'snapped' back at him: " Mum's here for not long..."

Only when those words escaped my mouth did I realise the double meaning behind them. I hope he understood what I said to mean she's only staying here for a month... but on the grander scheme of things, however unpleasant the thought, the words could very well be true too...

Brother did not say anything after that.

At FRA

It was an extremely turbulent flight, especially so as we gradually approached the proximity of Iceland. I looked into the darkness, and tried to spot signs of the insidious ash that had plagued the airways above the North Atlantic in recent months.

I don’t think I can remember another flight that was as bad as this pone, for there was at least two hours out of the six and a half that the seatbelt sign was lit. Over the intercom, a nervous sounding cabin attendant regularly reminded passengers to fasten their seatbelts and not to get up from their seats.

The shaking was so intense that a number of times the plane just ‘dropped’, causing that sickening sensation in the stomach. I looked outside, and it was as if I could see the wing tips flap up and down from the violent turbulence. Cold sweat seized my body as I clenched to the armrests and tried to divert my attention to a much younger Tom Cruise in “The Firm”. The engine groaned loudly in resistance, and I could hear muffled gasps echo around the cabin.

A girl in the aisle seat across from me was so frightened she burst out in tears. A member of the crew knelt down next to her and held her hand for a while in an effort to calm her down. In the dimmed cabin, I could see the fear on her face.

I remember on the many, many flights I took by my self as a boy, turbulence would always frighten me terribly. I had this irrational fear that the plane would shake so hard the engines would break off, and so send the entire plane tumbling earthward to a brutal death. Watching episodes of “Air Accident Investigation” on Discover did not help. Somehow, being in the middle of the ocean, with the dark, icy depths below, always accentuates that fear.

Now, a little more grown up, I know better. Turbulence is but wild streams of air currents that happen to cross the plane’s flight path. The plane shakes because the wild air currents that flow over and under the wings in pockets of turbulence are not smooth, causing the wings to flex and bend. But usually it will pass sooner or later. And modern planes can still keep on flying even if an engine (or two) is lost.

Most important of all, in the (unlikely) event of an accident, the Warsaw/Montreal safety net will break my fall…

En route

The plane broke through the dense cloud cover, but it is shaking from the lingering and invisible turbulence. The horizon looks beautiful, a blend of blue fading into ever darker shades, with a slight touch of yellow and orange, which is heaven’s hint of the approaching dusk.

Who would have thought that I would be on a plane again, less than 48 hours after my long, long crossing half way around the globe? Until last night, I was convincing myself that I should and would stay put in Monteal. But waking up this morning I had a sudden urge, an intuition while I was jogging in the park. With every step I took, I could hear this nagging voice inside of me which told me if I do not leave on this flight I would regret it.

As I head back to Europe, I am defying the very words and warnings of someone who just two weeks ago reminded me again how irresponsible of me it would be to be home for so short a time and to leave my poor little cat house-sitting again. Not that the words of this friend fell on deaf ears. In fact, they troubled me for a while, and again I found myself wondering whether it is “right” to keep on abandoning my cat and to be away so long… I know it is cruel to adopt a cat and then not be there a lot of the time. As I was packing my suitcase (with clothes that were barely dry because I had only washed them earlier this morning), my cat took a nap on my suitcase. Perhaps it was coincidence. Or perhaps she felt and knew that I was planning to leave her again, and was lying on my suitcase in protest. It pains me to see it, even though I may very well be projecting my own human emotions onto her innocence looking face and eyes.

But then again, what could be more important than spending precious time with my mum at this stage in my life? Having lost my dad, and seeing just how fragile mum’s health and life is, I just feel I need to spend as much time and opportunity I have with her. A week, a day, a few more minutes may seem so insignificant… but when someone dear is still here, is still on this Earth for me to see, for me to talk to, for me to hug and hold, the day that she is gone, those few moments together count for a lot. A friend compared to what I am going through to a “mission” I need to fulfill. Even though the process may be tiring, even though in the process I am letting my cat down. All else seems to pale in importance…

By flying off again, I am sure to raise eyebrows and cause people to talk and judge. But at the end of the day, I think to myself, others do not feel what I feel… others cannot possibly comprehend why I do what I do, and why I put myself through the torments of jetlag and stress just to be with my mum (who still has no idea that I am heading back today).

How surprised she will to see me. I try to imagine the possible look on face, the likely smile that it might just give her, the happiness that could possibly heal her weakened body little by little. Just those possibilities, even if none of them are realised, is worth me leaving again.

Clear skies in Europe, the captain predicts…

Leaving again...

Judge me, scold me, criticise me, blame me.

Call me irresponsible, call me insane, say that I have lost it...

I am leaving again.

500 days of Summer

When I first saw the trailer a few months back, I dismissed it as yet another cheesy romantic movie. But on the long trek across the Pacific, even “yet another cheesy romantic movie” can slowly chip away the minutes till landing.

And how wrong I was about “500 Days of Summer”. It’s not your typical story about a boy who meets a girl, but a story about those little chance meetings and moments in life that could change things completely. It’s a little sweet story, with characters hat are opposites of one another, yet bound together by this strange, indescribable, unfathomable thing called… love (of the romantic kind).

There are those who believe in it, believe in its purest form, believe in the existence of “the one”. And there are those who, by reason of being witness, or even participant to, disappointments promise themselves that they will never be foolish enough to be blinded by this intoxicating and miserable feeling. Everyone has a different definition for love, but most people cannot even it into simple words… hence we rely on songs, movies and pre-written greeting cards to help us capture and convey love. The pessimist closes his eyes and ears to the sounds and sights of love that are all abound, while the optimist chooses to see little signs of the magical feeling, even when foreshadowed by the possibility of dashed hopes and expectations

I know not what love means, and less can I describe something that I have never truly felt towards anyone. And perhaps that’s why I identify with the protagonist (aside from the good looks, and melting smile of the boy in Third Rock from the Sun)… with his daydreaming, his longing, his deep depression after the heart-break, and with his ability to pick himself up again and to let (call it what you will…) fate, destiny, life take its course.

Perhaps one day I could know what love really means. And find it, feel it, be cushioned by it. And maybe even be hurt by it.

Night before departure

I've been up and down the island in the past four days. Chasing time, trying to capture the most of it. Chasing memories, trying to make them with relatives and family I have spread over the country.

It's been a rushed few days of rushed greetings, rushed getting-to-know-one-anothers, and rushed goodbyes. Physically I'm tired, weakened further by the cold that's only still taking leave. But I feel I have accomplished what I always try to do whenever I'm here, and that's to see every one and not leave any person unvisited. At times we may not say much meaningful, but most important for me is to see how my family, my friends are faring, how they are aging, and to know that they are still there, and hopefully doing well. That's more or less the case with everyone, despite the unbeatable obstacles of aging and illness, everyone seems to be alright. And that's what I pray for whenever I visit a temple, or when I kneel before my family's ancestral shrine. For people to be happy, healthy and well...

Finally back home by myself, and the daunting task of packing my suitcase(s) still lies ahead as I count down the hours and minutes till I leave home again. In these last couple of days, as I wandered around the island and the cities, I felt a strange sense of belonging mixed with a strange sense of loneliness. At times, as I stare out at the busy streets and crowds of people, I imagine what mum must feel when she is alone here by herself. It's true.... life in the big city, away from family and dear ones can be very lonesome...

I'm going to finish packing my suitcase, and then tidy up the house a bit.... so that when mum comes home in a couple of weeks, she will come home to a clean place, and be ready to start life afresh. Even though I will no longer be here with her...

Ill

Back in Taipei, and today I had planned to go down to the south of the island to visit relatives. But I guess the many days on the road and not sleeping or eating well enough, together with the oppressive heat, weakened me so that I'm suffering from a running nose and am feeling generally unwell...

So instead of being on the move again, I decided to take a "slow" day and went for a body massage in the morning. I know I just came back from Thailand, a place reputed for its great massages, but so many places I saw were "dodgy" to say the least, so might as well do it here with someone I know and can trust. The lady said I'm really tense, and a lot of my veins and puncture points are clogged up, which explains why I sleep badly and am often stressed. I do feel much lighter after the 3 hour treatment.

Mum is in Europe, but speaking to her I get a sense that things are not going well between her and brother. She said she can almost not live together with him any longer, because of his excessive obsession to keep his house clean. Even touching the walls seems to be a taboo, as he wants to keep it as whitewashed as possible... so imagine what he would say after mum's been to use the kitchen... I had a feeling that this would happen. When I was back in the Netherlands and stayed at his (it's really now his) house, I felt really uneasy using things, or just being there because it seemed like everything I did was scrutinised. Mum feels disappointed... that house was the fruit of years of savings and hard work, and now that it's been sold to my brother, he really makes it clear that it's his house...

Shame. Some people just don't see or appreciate where or how they get what they own in life.

Finally home...

I stirred from my sleep, waking up and realising only then that I was that tired. Having been infected with an irritated throat and a runny nose did not help the fact that I felt exhausted. I looked outside the window, and below fluffy clouds could see land...

A port in fact, with a sprawling city with chequered roads and densely placed blocks of buildings, and immediately I recognised that the plane had begun to fly by the southern city of Kaohsiung. I thought of my relatives who live down there, imagining what they must be up to.

For the next half an hour, the plane slowly descended, and more and more of Taiwan came into view. I tried to figure out the structures, the rivers, the mountains and identify what they could be. Fields of rice, narrow and shallow brooks, dense cities went by below me, and moment by moment my longing to be home increased as we approached.

It has been a long, long trip away, even though it has only been ten days or so. Somehow, the stress of presenting in front of a crowd, the oppressively hot and humid climate of South East Asia, the inconveniences of eating 'rough' while on the road, and the ups and downs of trips with friends made the trip away feel so much longer.

Glad to be home...

Brooding

I’m not sure what’s wrong with me these days, as I seem to be getting into confrontations with friends. Confrontations I don’t like, but with friends it seems especially magnified and lingering. It’s generally about very trivial things, which get to me, and which is revealing themselves more and more as I’m traveling with friends.

They say I am moody, grumpy and acting strange, but sometimes I don’t even understand what it is I do or say that seems to make people feel this way… and often I just give in and don’t even bother to explain myself, because why waste all that time and bad vibes when we’re supposed to be enjoying travels and one another’s company.

But more and more I am bothered by the snide remarks and sometimes downright malicious attempts to pull a joke at my expense. Perhaps my friends mean well and just want to "lighten" the mood with a few words and acts of careless nonsense. And perhaps I am to blame for being the fool to take their fabricated stories and tall tales seriously. But they do not understand that such careless attempts really hurts me

They do not understand why I react strongly, why I pout and become silent and do not want to say much for a while… because they do not and cannot possibly know that malicious jokes and attempts to trample all over my person is exactly how my brother tormented me with growing up. The similarities are all too frightening, and hurts me to the core. They do not know that, so I just swallow and watch the anger, the hurt, the sense of betrayal rise and boil inside before they eventually subside.

As a Buddhist I know that what people say and whatever happens around me should not bother me; should not even affect me at the least. I can grow angry, I can grow with rage deep down inside. I can let the mean-ness get ahold of my soul and let the anger linger for a long time, if not for ever… but it is ‘I’ who is hurting. To the others, after the attempt at a joke is over and done with, after they’ve had their laugh at my expense, they forget about it all, and are baffled at why I am still brooding. So really, there is no need to brood, no need to ruin rare moments together with friends with anger and lashing out or waste time explaining things. Watch the anger, watch the pain, and it will all pass…

As the saying goes, if one only takes a step back, the sky is broader and the sea looks wider.

In Penang

I jumped off the tree trunk, landing hard, almost tripping over twisted branches that look like, and could very well have been, sleeping snakes. I strode quickly, leaping and ducking as I made my way through the dense forest of Penang National Park toward one of the beach enclaves. The brochure said 3.5km, or approximately 1.5hr. I was confident that I could make it in much less time, but little did I know the forest, with its bizarre sounds and random movements is like a great obstacle course. But I do enjoy little unexpected adventures like this.

And there before me sat two monkeys on a tree. They stared back, stopped chewing on whatever it was they had in their furry little hands. One gaped, opening its mouth wide to reveal sharp teeth, while the other gawked at me with an uneasy look. The one that mouthed me made a quick movement as if to dash at me, making me leap back. I had heard that monkeys attack people, and are known to bite too, so I could not be too careful. But the monkey just lept onto a higher branch, curiously eyeing me and my little black camera, thinking perhaps it was food I was trying to entice it with, and not knowing it is the subject of numerous close up shots.

There were more movements, and I realised I had reached the reputed Monkey Beach. No surprise where the name came from, and indeed all around me were monkeys sitting atop of trees, scratching, munching, meditating and keeping away from the blaze of the noon sun. around a crescent shaped bay the beach stretched. White sand, scorching from the heat you could see it in the air, and the waves, gentle and shy washing on the shore with a silent sucking sound. Save for the discarded bottles and plastic bags, and the loud chatter and laughter of a group of t(w)eens, I felt relieved to have fund a little spot of peace.

I approached a local vending drinks, and he asked if I wanted a boat ride back. “50 ringgint”, he said, which was a bit steep for a 10 minute ride back to the fishing village of Teluk Bahang, so I tried to haggle. “50 riggint for one person or 5 people. It’s the local price”. So I walked around and tried to gather up people to share the fare, and managed to muster 8 people, one of whom happened to be originally from Toronto (and asked me about the Stanley Cup, which I admitted that I shamefully knew nothing about…). But boatman was reluctant, and wanting to charge me 50 ringgit because I was “a group” and other people were “different groups”. So I repeated what he had just said to me… one person, five people, same price.

I came all the way here from the other side of the world. If he wants to gauge me because I’m supposed to be some loaded walking wallet, then another hour or so hiking back on foot would not make a difference. It’s not the amount of money that matters, and I know 50 ringgint is a lot for a local (…well, even for me). It’s the idea that because I come from somewhere else, I should be paying more that’s outrageous. In the end he relented, and caved in because we wanted to go to take a different boat.

A few hours later, I was on a bike, getting (willingly) lost between the smoggy cars, buses and crowded alleyways of Georgetown on a rented bike. Not exactly a name one would expect in this exotic part of the world, but a name given by the British when they landed here close to two centuries ago. The old town, an UNESCO heritage site, is adorn with colonial-style architecture and monuments. Little houses with Chinese billboards revealed the heavy influence of ethnic Chinese in the region. Smoky Buddhist and Toaist temples can be found next to mosques, where people were making their way for Friday prayers. Hindi temples with their ornately carved roofs are dotted around the little port city. Amid the chaos and dirty streets, between open sewers with gray and mosquito-infested water and countless street stalls selling anything from roti to laksa to kwee tiaw soup (with pork), is a rich blend of cultures and peoples that live and exist together in harmony.

Singapore to Butterworth

I left quietly, and with my friends and the day still asleep, I made my way toward the train station. This little colonial style building, and the stretch of railway that runs from it, strictly speaking actually belongs to Malaysia. So prior to boarding the train passengers must clear Malaysian immigration, and just before crossing the Johor Straits, all passengers must disembark to clear Singaporean immigration. It’s a bizarre state of affairs, but a remnant of history still lingering from the divorce between the two countries over four decades ago. Though, just days before, the two sides reached an agreement which will give Singapore the rights to the railway and the station found on its territory, and effectively simplify the immigration process.

Already at the station the heavy influence of Malaysia was felt, not only in the numerous flags of the Federation that drapped from the walls, but also in the signage and foods that hawkers sell. I picked up a sandwich and some mee goreng, and made my way to my assigned seat. For some reason, despite having specified online that I wanted a window seat, I got an aisle seat, which was the source of much moving around the train carriage as I really wanted to enjoy the scenery of the Malaysian Peninsular.

I sat down, and immediately smelt the odd, and at times sickening, smell old and damp of the seat. For the next 13 hours, that smell would become my companion and accompany me throughout the day till nightfall. The curtains were heavy and gray with dust, and all around me were families, some speaking mixtures of English and Hokkien, and others speaking Tamil or Malay. The diesel engine puffed a dark cloud of fumes, and we ground to a start, slowly winding our way past canals, bridges, HDBs, and eventually rolled away from the overly regulated and sterile cleanliness that so characterises Singapore.

The train chugged along slowly, for it was a narrow gauge railway, similar to the ones in Taiwan that were laid down by the Japanese. And because of the narrowness of the tracks, the carriage shook and shuddered as if it would derail whenever the train sped quickly around the many bends. The scenery is varied, with scenes of shadowy mountain ranges in the distance to big cities and crowded forests of rubber plantations. The train sped past little kampongs, with their traditional with colourful walls and tiled roofs and scurrying cocks that run wild and free. Sometimes, children would run alongside the train, smiling, waving, shouting something excitedly, perhaps wishing these chance passer-bys a safe and great journey. Lush green plants and shrubs align the tracks, and dug up reddish earth that is iconic of this part of the world reveal evidence of ongoing construction and developments.

This very route, from the tip of the Malaysian Peninsula, going along the eastern coast, passing through Kuala Lumpur and Butterworth, is actually part of the same route of the Oriental Express which travels from Singapore all the way to Bangkok. I remember a few years ago I saw information about this train ride on the internet and promised myself I would one day make this epic journey. A few weeks ago, I also learnt that my dad had made part of this journey, making it even more meaningful. Despite cutting my journey short at Butterworth, due to the volatile situation in Bangkok, as the train pulled into the final station amid the heavy clinking of the tracks, as if applauding, I felt like I had achieved something.

In SIN City

Been in Singapore for a number of days already, and the paper and presentation I've been working on for the past few months is over and done with. Not my best performance, I felt, but still the topic attracted some attention and a number of people were genuinely interested in knowing more. So since yesterday, after I finished what I came here to do, I've just been taking things slow and easy, even skipping a number of the panels of the conference to play a little tennis.

To be honest, it's not been an eventful few days here, and the most exciting is seeing old friends and being abroad with people I study and work with back in Canada. You really get to know people better when you travel and live with them, in ways good and bad. I'm staying at a lodge nearby the airport at Changi. It's quite comfortable, and the best thing is it's right under the flight path of planes landing, so I can just sit at the window and watch all these planes and airlines go by and try to identify them. Other than that, there's only the nearby village with a few shops and a food court, a dirty beach (where once thousands of people were beheaded by the Japanese during the world war...), but nothing much else. And the food isn't all that great either, lots of grease and not a lot of greens, so nothing really special compared to things back in Taiwan...

Maybe it's because I've been to Singapore too many times that I find things kind of dull. The organisers took us on a "city tour" in the afternoon, basically bus-ing an hour away to ride the Singapore Flyer, and then taking us to a big food court before taking us all back to our accommodations again. That's as much as the tour of Singapore was. Sure, there are impressive skyscrappers and stunning architecture, dazzling lights and lots of glitzy restaurants, shopping malls and casinos... beyond all that, is there much else?

I'm looking forward to my trip in two days, to riding my way away and out of this little island....

A moment

I'm sitting on mum's bed, all alone in our home in Taipei. Already past two in the morning, and I am feeling as if I could cry. Not out of sadness, but because of happiness.

I had waited till the plane landed, and throughout the day had been following mum's long, long flight to Europe to make sure the flight arrives safely. In fact I just called, and as expected, brother had picked her up and were on the drive home. He had uploaded a picture of mum, the moment when she just walked out of luggage pickup. Something about that image touches me... maybe it's the fact that only 16 hours ago, I was right next to her, I was hugging her and wishing her all the best.

I cannot contain my sense of relief and gratitude. All the planning and uncertainties in the past few months are over, and that mum has safely arrived in the Netherlands. At some moments, it seemed like she wouldn't make it because of her health condition and the chemo, but make it she did. I am glad, because over there, away from the noise and pollution of urban life in Taiwan, she can take the time to recuperate, to find herself and her health again.

She needs it, she deserves it. Despite my concerns and all my worries, she made it. She sounded joyous on the phone, excited even, and said she had a pretty good flight and feels not too tired (thank goodness for Economy Deluxe class on Eva Air). As I accompanied her to the airport very early this morning, I told her to take good care, to relax, to take things slowly and to let go of things here so she can thoroughly enjoy the cooler climate and cleaner air in Europe. Every little bit helps to stabilise her condition, to help her live a calm and stress-free life, and to keep the cancer from spreading.

On the floor I can see strands of mum's hair. However I sweep, they do not seem to go away. But I think mum has come to accept the fact, especially after her masseuse told her that it's good to shed, because even the hair strands contain toxin from the chemo. Only after shedding can the new ones grow back. So this morning, I saw mum pack her wig into the suitcase, and I helped to place it in a location so that it'll be free from being squished.

May a good few weeks filled with happiness and good health be with mum...

Grateful

In a complete change from the entry yesterday...

I went to the family home of a friend who passed away what has become almost six months ago. It was his daughter's four year old celebration, and she wanted to be with her daddy today.

I arrived, and they welcomed me like family, and made me feel welcomed like family. It was heartwarming to watch the girl play, run around carefree, and at moments stand in front of her dad's memorial and whisper to him. When the cake was cut, she took a little piece, with a strawberry topping, and placed it in front of the memorial.

We sat down after lunch, and the family brought out bags and bags of stuff. "For your mum," they said, and opened the bags, revealing precious supplements and medicine for cancer patients.

"I cannot take this... It's much too much," I said, touched, and almost tearing from the genuinely kind gesture.

"Take it, for your mum," they insisted, "After he passed away, the only way these things can help someone is if we give them away".

I was lost as what to say, embarrassed even at accepting such gifts, even though one of the supplements is something that my mum uses to maintain her physical strength and keep the turmours from growing.

"Take it," they insisted. I looked at the monk from the mountains, and he only smiled back at me. I understood what it meant, for he had once told me that to accept is as precious as giving.
I took the medicine and supplements and quietly put it into the bag, and repeatedly thanked them, again and again, for their kindness.

It's not so much how much the things cost, but the symbolic gesture of giving, and the opportunity and inkling of hope that the products represent that is priceless.

Irritated

I don't know why but I've been feeling so irritated and frustrated these past few days. A lot of muddled thoughts racing in my head all the time... no rest at all, even when I sleep, I dream, mind-wander and am thinking about this or that. About the conference next week, about work I've been given to do from my institute, about mum's condition, about my travel plans for the coming weeks...

Really, I feel so tired, so mum booked me a session with her masseur to release some tension. As soon as she pressed down on my back, she said she could feel it. There's an "energy" (qi) that's stuff in my chest, no wonder I feel oppressed often. Whatsmore, my neck and shoulder muscles are so tight that it hurt whenever she pushed down on them... I really cannot relax... to think of it, I'm not sure when the last time was when I really, really unwound and relaxed without thinking about work or other things bothering me. Sure, I may be flying all over the place, visiting all these countries, but the trips are really stressful, and at times emotional. Not exactly holiday...

Been spending so much time working in front of the computer these days trying to finish off my presentation, and also to finish off work I promised people I'd do. But it's sucking away so much of my time, precious time I had originally planned to do a meditation retreat or spend with mum.... Maybe this is a source of my irritation, my frustration. I've here, at home, but I'm not really "here" but almost constantly working....

So I'm looking forward to a trip I have planned after the conference in Singapore next week. Planning to take a train ride from Singapore up to Bangkok, and spend a few days with two good friends in Phuket. Normally I'm not a fan of beaches and sun, but anytime to get away, to spend with friends is a welcome change from the intense level of stress I feel right now...

A few days in the mountains

I went into the mountains a few days ago, and came out again feeling somewhat refreshed and a little lighter.

I originally wanted to go do a meditation retreat, disappear for ten days and do nothing but meditate. But because of work and some promises I made to finish off something, I decided at the last minute to cancel it. I really was looking forward to disappearing, cutting all contact with the world, but I guess the conditions and circumstances were not right, so I couldn't make it. Besides, mum did a chemo treatment just last week, and I couldn't bear to leave her all alone.

A few days in the mountains gave me a less intense get-away than I had hoped for, but it was a welcome rest nonetheless. I didn't do much, except take the time to relax, catch up on sleep, and most importantly to meditate and connect with the monk for the past few years has become a guide and confidante. Everyday I wake up to birdsong, and just opening my eyes I am greeted with an open valley surrounded by mountains. Butterflies, dragonflies, and bees play between shrubs and colourful flowers that have no name. The songs of cicada seem to usher in the summer heat, and nearby, a flowing stream from a water fall further up the mountain seems to be the only reminder of the passage of time.

For a few moments, my mind got away from work and the anxiety of an upcoming conference in Singapore where I have to stand up and speak (something I always dread...). And for a few moments, I was away from the reality of mum's condition, and in the sanctuary and the luxury of enjoying every moment as it comes and goes.

Tongue

Mum showed me her tongue. I shuddered at the sight, and put my hand on her shoulder, full of pity, full of hurt from seeing a dear one suffer.

Six chemo sessions later, and her tongue looks burned. Instead of the normal red texture, her tongue had partly become blackish-gray. It looked like something left in the oven for too long, like something that was singed. The depth of her throat is more or less the same, she said. And so when she eats, the food seems to cut and hurt her insides like putting salt on an open wound.

"This is life, so full of suffering", she said, "That's why I don't want to do chemo. But if I don't, then [cancer] may spread. I sometimes cannot take it any longer..."

I patted her on the shoulder.

Tiredness

Been home a week already, where did the time go?

I don't really sleep well these days. I sleep enough, around seven hours or so every night, and not at too late a time. But my sleep is disturbed, almost constantly by dreams or nightmares, which means I'm not really resting. Plus, because I'm worried about mum's wellbeing, I wake up almost automatically every few hours to check up on her.

This lack of good sleep is manifesting itself in other ways, as I found out when I looked at myself in the mirror after a shower today. There's a bulge, a sort of inflammation under my lower left eye. Like a lump of clot that wasn't there before. I went to a pharmacist, and he diagnosed it almost immediately as lack of sleep. He told me not to sleep too late (which I don't...), and to sleep more (which I do, especially when I try to take a little nap in the afternoon...)

But little does he know when I 'sleep', my mind is racing from place to place, filled with images, sounds and people. Filled with worries, fears and anxieties.

Somethign about dad

Mum told me something about dad I never knew before. At least, more things in detail.

When dad first began working at the bank, he was selected to go abroad for training for a few months. It was the US, in NYC on the East Coast. This was probably the early eighties, and I don't think I was even around at the time. Though, I've seen pictures with yellowing edges that captured moments back then. One is of dad lying on the floor, next to a transparent glass table. On the surface of the table were bills. Dollar bills, spread randomly. I forget what denomination they were, but there was definitely a lot of money just lying around on the table. And dad had a proud smile on his face as he posed for the camera. I never figured out how he got all that money, or whatever happened to all that.

Until today... Mum said when he went to the US, he was so thrifty that he did not spend much. Everyday he would save his daily allowance, and spend the bare minimum. Probably because he converted everything into Taiwan dollars, and found everything too expensive to buy (I remember once he told me whenever he buys something, he stands there calculating the price, comparing the products and thinking about it before really buying it...)

So at the end of the few months of his training, he came back home with a lot of cash. Over US$5000, which I imagine was an enormous sum. Mum said dad looked scruffy when she and my brother went to pick him up at the airport. Scruffy, with uncut hair and dirty-looking clothes. He looked so bad that even my brother, a baby then I imagine, did not want my dad to hold him.

But dad did it all because he wanted to save money, to save every single penny he could so that we, his family could benefit and be better off.

When I heard that, I was again touched and reminded of dad's silent kindness and care. Care that seem more eminent now that he has passed away...

Friday night

Friday night, and home. A friend said I should be out, enjoying myself, enjoying my life, my youth.
Yet I'm home, with mum, who's watching TV and feeling frail.

I don't lament the fact that I'm here, because I choose to be here rather than out there partying till wee hours of morning. But sometimes I do wonder, what am I doing living for someone else, constantly worrying about someone else's wellbeing and happiness... what about my own?

Seeing mum so weak, and occasionally drifting to depression, filled with gloomy thoughts and hopelesssness, I feel so frustrated and distraught...

Before dad

Just before we left the temple where dad is now located, I sneaked away and went to visit the ancestral plaque. This piece of wood, with inscriptions of our family name is symbolically where my ancestors are supposed to reside in. I knelt before it, and asked for their blessings...

Not for myself, but for my brother, for my mother. Especially for my mother. I asked dad, and all the ancestors, to watch over mum, to take care of her, to protect her from ill and from harm.

I did not ask for her to have a long life; just one that is happy and healthy. I do not need riches or miracles; just that she has less suffering and pain in however many years, or days that she may have... there is little more I ask, and there is little more I need.

I closed my eyes as I prayed for the blessings of my ancestors. I hope they have heard my prayers.

Unwell

"I'm sorry I cannot eat," she said, "Please don't blame me".

I sat alone at the table, and looked at the box of sushi I had just rushed outside to buy. I thought she would be hungry. Instead, she looked frail, and earlier was complaining that she felt like throwing up. Who can blame her? We had just driven 3 hours in the pouring rain to go see dad in the mountains, and the journey made me feel unwell too. Imagine what it must feel like for mum, who just completed her latest chemo treatment.

Yesterday she seemed alright, and I thought with each passing day she would feel better. But it seems to get worse before it gets better. She said the inside of her throat is again torn because of the chemo, so it hurts when she swallows.

Moments like this make me feel sick and unable to eat ... how can I when mum is feeling sick?

Mum's birthday

I told a little lie this morning. A white lie on mum's birthday.

I said I wanted to go out for breakfast, something which I practically never do, for why go out to eat when there are things at home and when I can eat with mum? Anyways, she was glad I was going out, but little did she know that I did not go out to eat. I went out looking for my brother who was eating at a breakfast place down the road, and together we walked to the market.

I had told him my plan to get fresh flowers last night, and he revealed to me that he and his new 'friend' had ordered a nice cake from a famous bakery. So together we basked in our cunning little secrets to surprise mum and walked in the morning heat. We got to the florist, and were lost as what to buy for her. There were so many different kinds of flowers, so many colours to choose from. The lovely lady at the store gave us some hints, and we picked some pink roses, coronations, and pinkish white lilies, which she made into a big bouquet decorated with colourful wrapping paper and a big red ribbon. "She'll be very happy," the florist said, "She's a lucky mum".

We got home, and found mum resting in bed. She came out and saw the flowers and was thoroughly surprised (though, she did find it strange that I would go out for breakfast...). "I've never been treated like this!" she said, as I gave her a hug and wished her a happy birthday.

And silently, I wished her good health, and lots of happiness for as long as she lives...

Time Hero Chen Shu-Chu

(images from Formosa TV)

I am not sure what it is about this simple vegetable vendor from Taitung that touches me most. Could it be her shy smile, her quiet humbleness or her ceaseless sense of giving and generosity? Or is it her uncombed hair, her look of ordinariness or her endless knack for work? As I watched the morning news coverage about 61 year old Chen Shu-Chu 陳樹菊, something about her moved me to tears.

Named by Time Magagzine as one of 2010's Heroes, Oscar-crowned Taiwanese director Ang Lee had this to say about Chen, :

What's so wonderful about Chen's achievement is not its extraordinariness but that it is so simple and matter of fact in its generosity. "Money serves its purpose only when it is used for those who need it," she told a newspaper.

Indeed, Chen came from such a poor upbringing that she could not even finish elementary school, and began working at the market since the age of 7 to support her family. Having lost her parents at 13, she worked to raise her two siblings. Earlier, Forbes named her one of the "Heroes of Philantrophy" for her charitable donations which in the last five decades mount to a significant sum of NT$10million (approx. US$330,000). All of her donations come from the vegetables that she sells and all the savings she accumulated living a thrifty and frugal life. Hearing news that she won recognition for her philanthropic work, reporters found her busy hauling vegetables at the market. "What award? I don't know any award. [Giving donations] is not a contest!"



Yesterday, she boarded the plane and made her way to New York where she will receive the Time award. She had on her a handbag that cost NT$190 (US$6), most likely from the traditional market where she hawks her goods every day. On her feet were sports shoes, and her clothes were no more elaborate or fancy than the outfits that she has been spotted wearing at the market. All that was missing was her trademark red apron, though she did say if she had her way she would most like to wear the apron to the award ceremony.

Being the first time Chen has ever been abroad, the Foreign Affairs Ministry expedited her passport application and the (de-facto) US embassy granted Chen her visa within one hour. Due to chronic cellulitis in her legs from standing too long all the time, she limps, and Eva Air has kindly upgraded her to Business Class to make sure this newly-discovered celebrity makes her journey to the other side of the world in comfort.

"I promise if I get the chance I will say something for Taiwan", she told reporters. It takes someone like her, an ordinary nobody from the countryside living in obscurity with no family, to bring together and touch the heart of a nation that for too long is shunned as a pariah in the world.

Chen has fostered two dozen children from an orphanage, and donated millions to build a library at the elementary school she never graduated from. She works 16 hours a day from 3 in the morning everyday, resting only one day a year, and eats a diet of just rice with soy sauce and vegetables. On occasion she would treat herself to a bento box, but even that she can spread the meal over a whole day. Little by little, penny by penny, she saves her income just in order to give. "Giving makes me feel so happy. I can sleep very well that night".

Her simpleness of life, her selfless philosophy of living is an example to us all.

Vomitting at night

I suddenly woke up because of the noise. Mum was rushing toward the bathroom, deep groaning in her throat, her mouth full of stomach acid and vomit. Though the door was closed, I could hear her throw up, again and again over the toilet bowl, and subsequently try to clean up the mess.

It is happening again. The toxic toxins are having their pleasure at weakening mum’s body and making her sick. If eventually she becomes better, then the temporary torment is worth it… but what if it makes her weaker and weaker, worse and worse? I felt myself tire and begin to feel anxious at the sound of mum vomiting. Tap water rushed down as she tried to rinse her mouth clean and to clean up the mess.

The whole night she did not really sleep, and my own sleep was also disturbed because I wake up a couple of times semi-consciously out of fear that something is up. At one point, her bed was empty and I quickly got up to find her. Turns out she relocated to the living room, and I found her sleeping, snoring a little, lying spreadeagled on the sofa. I wanted to wake up and ask her to go back to bed, but knowing how much trouble she had sleeping, I decided to let her be. The first day of chemo always seems to make her sleepless.

Two more days to go…

Night before

Despite all the euphoria and happy moments of the last few days, the reality hits again tomorrow when mum has to go to the hospital again for chemo. She just went to bed, and she seemed somewhat upset and was feeling hopeless.

Even before going to bed, at close to eleven, she was sweeping the floor to get rid of all the fallen strands of hair. She said more and more is falling, especially when she washes her hair. And tomorrow more will fall, she said.

I told her that tomorrow will be the last time she has to do the chemo treatment, now that the cancer level is more or less under control. She wasn't convinced, and recalled that the doctor mentioned someone who had to do chemo twenty something times and is still doing chemo... Somehow she seems to think that she will be like that too...

Once again, I cannot understand what it feels like to go to sleep tonight, and to have to wake up tomorrow and have to go into the hospital first thing in the morning. I simply cannot understand it, because it is not happening to me, and I could never project those emotions and frustrations onto me because I am not going through the same as mum (or any other cancer patient, for that matter...). And I cannot understand the injury to self-pride and self-love when you constantly see strands of hair on your clothes and between your fingers whenever you scratch your head...

I try to imagine what that must feel like, but I cannot describe it because I cannot feel it completely. I may be able to empathise, to try to imagine what it must feel like to be afraid of washing your hair for fear or more hair loss... but never will I feel as wounded and hurt as mum whenever she sees her hair on the floor...

And that hurts me, even though she does not know it.

When I look at her from a certain angle, I can see clearly that the top has obviously thinned, leaving the scalp visibly almost bare (though, some hairlets are already growing back...). I took a picture with her the other day, and on this picture it was quite obvious. I'd like to think it's because I know that she has a bald spot there, and so I see it more clearly than anyone else would.

Whenever mum is near a mirror, she tries to comb her hair so that the almost bare bits are covered up. Sometimes it's not obvious, but at other times I could tell, and perhaps others could do to.

And I keep on reassuring her that it's really not too bad, that hair will always grow back, that the next chemo may very well be the last...

all the while, deep inside, I hurt because I am afraid that I am lying. Lying to myself may not be too significant, but the possibility that I may be lying to my mum hurts...

Good to be home

The doorbell rang. It was close to ten thirty at night. Though I was nearly falling asleep due to the jetlag, I knew who it was, and made a surprised look on my face. Mum turned to me, her face full of questions who would ring the doorbell so late.

Open the safety door, and take a look who it is, I suggested. And so mum took a peek, and laughed out loud when she realised that it was my brother standing there, and in the background, his new 'friend'. She quickly opened the door, and they hugged. I stood by, and smiled. Our family is reunited once again. Dad's portrait in the corner of the room radiated with a big happy smile too.

Brother unpacked, and took out lots of goodies for mum and his 'friend'. Flowers, wine, cheese, cookies, toothpaste, souvenirs, chocolates... never have I seen him bring so much stuff in his suitcase. Maybe he saw how I seem to always fill my suitcase with goodies for all sorts of people wherever I go, and he felt like doing the same. Brother, slowly, is really changing, and good karma seems to rub off and infect others.

Mum feeling upset that brother wasn't coming home was all gone, dissipated like mist through sunlight as she clutched onto the bouquet of colourful tulips from Holland. I could see that she was overjoyed, smiling a lot, even though it was well past her normal bedtime (and I was almost dozing off...)

Later brother said to mum why he came back, even though it'll be only for two weeks. After Carmen passed away, he realised a lot, he said. He could have used the same money for his plane ticket to buy a new TV, but he can always watch TV whenever he wants to. Whether that is true about seeing mum is not so certain. So here he is, days before mum's birthday and Mother's Day.

Both undoubtedly will be special days this year.

Condition good

I'm not sure how I managed to arrive just in time for mum's appointment with her oncologist. So, this morning we went to the hospital together. The kind doctor gave us a briefing about her latest condition, and the good news is that things are looking up.

At most mum will have to do one more treatment to make sure the cancer is completely supressed. But after that she can return back to her normal life, which means she'll be fit to travel! We spent a lot of today talking about dates and plans, and she may even go to Europe as early as end of May.... so things are looking good and I'm happy :)

Keeping a secret...

It's hard to keep a secret, especially if it's one when revealed will trigger happy reactions. My brother has already landed, and should be home within an hour or so. Mum has absolutely no idea (though, people on facebook can piece together his whereabouts after he posted a comment on my wall while transiting in Bangkok...).

Throughout the day I've been dropping hints, but mum does not suspect anything at all. In fact, she still feels somewhat upset that brother had earlier told her that he was coming, but then said he's not anymore (when in fact he is here already...) just to 'surprise' her.

I wonder how mum will react when he walks through that door.

Just got a text message from brother, telling me to keep mum awake. Problem is, I have trouble keeping awake myself...!