Why does it all matter anyway?
Exchanges, personal attacks, insinuations. It cannot be healthy, either to me or to anyone other person.

I can stop it.

Stop it, breathe deeply, and let go. However misunderstood, however hurtful the accusations. Let go.

Let go. Two months, two years, two decades from now, it will be all forgotten. It will be all so trivial and petty in the grand scheme of things.

I have seen and experienced death and loss.

This should be nothing less. Nothing more.

Different reactions

People can have different reactions to different experiences. That's what makes us all human. That's what makes us all different. But I cannot understand how someone could make crude jokes out of the intense suffering and extremity of cruelty that occurred in a concentration camp.

Maybe I'm too serious or uptight, and should probably dismiss it all as simple foolishness and joke-making for the fun of it (at least I should hope so...). But comparing a concentration camp to a diet camp or the gas chambers to a spa...?

There is satire, there is poking fun. And then there is a level of humour that is so insensitive and of poor taste that it completely trivialises the pain and suffering of countless many Jews, Roma, homosexuals, political objectors and those deemed to be "misfits" by the Nazi regime.

Auschwitz, Birken-Hausen, Struthof... these are undoubtedly infamous names of places in history where horrendous amounts of pain were inflicted-- the effects of which still linger on in the memories of survivors and their relatives. But these places also stand symbolically as a reminder that till this day, decades after the world leaders got together, shook their heads in unison and promised "never again", the same kind of atrocities continued to occur, and still are occurring.

Last time I visited a concentration camp [LINK HERE], I was moved close to tears by my experience. In the narrow, gloomy hallways, in the gaschambers in which a sickly and deathly air seemed to hang thick after all these decades, on the walls of torture rooms and "medical labs ", I felt the ghosts of history come alive and haunt me.

Pictures, writings, shoes, teeth... rusted barbed fences, wind-swept barrack walls, and the open excavation of a quarry dug out by the inmates... All remnants and memories, painful and sordid, that till today still stand as indelible marks of the collective suffering, collective shame and collective guilt of entire nations, of the entire human race, which cannot and can never be erased.
It was a feeling of oppression, of gagging, of silence so intense I have only felt it in the face of watching family and close friends hopelessly suffer and slowly die from cancer... But the concentration camp bears the souls and innocence of so many who needlessly died because of prejudice, because of hatred, because someone was born the way they were born...

And someone actually questioned why people were standing there and weeping, even though they were not even Jewish. A human being's suffering and pain inflicted intentionally by another fellow human being who is acting under the spell of pure malice, and perhaps even out of joy, is reason enough to weep. Whatever race you are, and however remote you are to the time, place and people who bore the brunt of tyranny and oppression. Is not human sympathy and human compassion for the pain of others what distinguishes us from uncivilised beasts?

But this is just my reaction. Other people may have other reactions. And they are no less correct or wrong compared to mine.

Juste pour rire

At first, I was hesitant to go. Not a fan of big crowds, I was I glad though that I did in the end.

Exiting the metro, I was greeted by one of many elaborately dressed performers on stilts, and the steady, steady sound of African drums. Overhead, the papermache head of Hardy, with his iconic thin smile and moustache, gazed down at the gathering crowd with his goofy eyes. Festival Juste pour rire de Montreal ("Montreal Just for Laughs Festival"), is not just laughs and gags, but an elaborate series of festivities, shows and colours that lasts for almost an entire month.

For much of July, downtown Montreal is turned into a giant podium. Against the backdrop of skyscrapers and the normally crowded main thoroughfares of the city, the city's heart beats vibrantly in the heat of Summer, as hordes of revellers from all over the place descend on Montreal to... have a good laugh. Best of all, at no (one's) expense. Already in its twenty-third year, the festival combines acrobatic acts with pantomimes, games, slapstick comedy and street performances of all sorts and sizes. Making people laugh is the central theme, with each day jam packed with a variety of parades, live music and dance.

With friends, I stood on the St Catherine, the city's main artery, waited and watched the night's carnival go by. From the political to the spectacular, from outright outrageous makeup and masks to costumes and floats with important messages. There were surprise tricks, pranks and games played with the cheering crowd. It was a confused and yet delightful feast for the imagination. Fish dancing in synch, political leaders caricatured and spoofed, walking light bulbs, and a flock of forlorn and stained flamingos served as a critique and reminder of the seriousness of the latest oil spill-- an environmental catastrophe of unmatched proportions, which after four months is still unsolved. People aligned the pavements, tiptoeing to catch a glimpse of the action, clapping along with the music, sounds and noises blaring flutes, horns, drums or strange instruments made out of recycled materials and a stretch of the creativity. Signs and billboards carried important messages, about the need for tolerance, the beauty of celebrating diversity and differences. Even the colourful decors of shop windows and bright neonlights of (in)famous "dance clubs" seemed to join in the cacophony of lights and sound.

Perhaps the highlight of the spectacle, and host of the festival, is the midgety green mascote of Juste pour rire, Victor. He has a cheeky grin, fangs and devil-like red horns.. Yet despite his looks, his intentions are simple and pure. Victor makes sudden appearances on stage, next to dancing tongues, mock versions of Japanese robots, and can-can girls, "preying" on unsuspecting victim to infect them with the precious gift of... smiles and laughter. Children, grown-ups, teens; nobody is immune to his powerful spell of causing mayhem, chaos with colourful dance routines and catchy show-tunes. Victor's girlfriend, Rose, also makes surprise appearances. Though perhaps ten times taller and fatter, Rose 'floats' and waves around the various stages. The finale was a romantic reunion of the two lovers... under moonlight, under falling confetti in the shape of hearts, and under the magical, mesmerising lyrics of love songs. Cupids flew and dangled high in the sky, spreading red flames and light snow showers to bless the world with awe, love and laughter.

Standing there, merely "a face in the crowd", I felt a sense of joy. Joy brought about by my own laughter, the laughter of friends, and the laughter of countless others.

Terrible dream

I had a heated exchange with a friend, and things got nasty. I forgot what happened, or what the fight was about.

Nothing physical, but more verbal exchanges and insults were thrown at one another. At one point I just went silent, the way I get when I’m upset. But my friend continued, chiding and provoking me, trying to get me to respond, trying to get me to “loose it”. There were other friends around us, and they tried to calm us both, to stop the escalation.

Then this friend said something that really hurt me to the core. Alluding to the fact that I travel a lot, that I’m never home, and that I travel all the time for fun.

I broke down. I thought this friend understood me, knew me, knew my life. I thought he was understanding enough to know that I don’t travel for fun. At least not mainly for fun… I thought of my mum, thought of the painful moments watching her in hospital, waiting with her for results like waiting for a death sentence to be passed down. I thought of mum’s ordeals, her depressions, and my attempts to soothe her, to make her feel good about herself despite the circumstances she’s facing… those moments are not fun. How can anyone be so insensitive as to accuse me of travelling and flying around just to “have fun”?

I broke down, hit the floor and grabbed my stomach. I felt sick, nauseated, and tears poured out of me.

It was then I shook awake, and realised I was breathing very, very hard. I felt so terribly hurt, so terrible lonely and saddened. My heavy breathing continued, until I calmed down little by little…

Outside, rain was pouring down.

Disaster...

That's what my meeting was with this guy.

I thought I was socially awkward, but this person wasn't so much worse. I suspect he has some kind of autism, because he just wasn't 'normal', and kept on ramblings about things he liked and disliked.

It was probably the longest 1.5hrs I had. When I first saw him, I should have turned around and walked away... but I was too 'nice', and wanted to give him a chance. Well, I tried... I really did. Even the fireworks were terrible, because he continued talking about how he liked that explosion, didn't like that explosion...

It just shows... what you read from email communications and chats sometimes don't live up to half what you expect. Deflated, I said I wanted to go home. I said goodbye, and walked away. But deep down inside, I felt sorry for the guy... it's not his fault that he is the way he is, and he too was probably just wanting to find someone to talk to, to be with. Unfortunately that person is not me...

On the ride back, I felt so sad, and looked out the window, staring blankly into the darkness of the tunnel. At that point I felt so lonely. So terribly, terribly lonely, as if I was alone in the world, yet strangely surrounded by people, by couples, by lovers (a lesbian one, right next to me...)

I tried... I really did.

Differences

When he told me his age, I was surprised, and perhaps a little disappointed. Too young, in my opinion... probably "immature" and ignorant of the ways of the world, whatever that may mean.

We had been emailing one another for a few days, and liked one another (at least what we've 'seen' of one another in writing), and we agreed to meet.

I'm not sure why the issue of age was never raised, but when it was, it was kind of a 'killer' of my enthusiasm for meeting this guy. I mean, I'm not old enough to be his dad, but still between the teenage and tweenage years are exactly the years when someone 'discovers' himself, discovers the world and its "wicked, wicked" ways and finds some sense and direction in life. Let's just say he's probably just starting that process, whereas I've been stumbling through for a while now.

Not to say that I have discovered myself completely, or know everything there is about the world, and I've already crossed the halfway point of my tweenage years. But still, common sense tells me (actually, warns me) that there will be great differences in experience, knowledge and outlook.

I guess I'll just go and meet this guy and see what happens. Worse thing that could happen is at some point either (or both) of us realise there's a great big disconnect, and we decide to part company before anyone of us feels too embarrassed to continue. If that happens, at least there's the fireworks I can still enjoy later tonight...

Well, given the stormy weather (a welcome cool, no doubt, in the persistent heat), that may not even be so certain...

I wish I hadn't seen all of the realness
And all the real people are really not real at all
The more I learn the more I cry
As I say goodbye to the way of life
I thought I had designed for me

Then I see you standing there
Wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Then I see you standing there
I'm all I'll ever be
But all I can do is try
Try

Results....

I slept terribly, plagued by dreams and so tired and groggy when I woke up. I felt worse than having a hangover. And all I drank before bed was water...

But I needed to wake up, to call mum, because today is a big day. She went for a full CAT scan last week, and today she'd get the results. I was a little hesitant about calling. In the past, sometimes after conversations on days like this, I feel down, more down than ever, and helpless...

She answered the phone, and the TV I suspect was in the background. She sounded alright. The first sound of her voice can often tell how she's feeling. Nothing to worry about, she said, the doctor said her results are better than back in May, when she last had a checkup. "Must be all the travelling and good times in Europe," she said, even though I feared that some tensions at home didn't really do her any good.

I asked if she could see the pictures of her scan. She said she did, and there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. As long as there is not spreading or enlargement of lymph glands, then it's stable. It's under control.

That's good news, right?.

Catcher in the rye

"I have a feeling that you're riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall [...] It may be the kind where, at the age of thirty, you sit in some bar hating everybody who comes in looking as if he might have played football in college. Then again, you may pick up just enough education to hate people who say, "It's a secrete between he and I " Or you may end up in some business office, throwing paper clips at the nearest stenographer. I just don't know [...]

This fall I think you're riding for--it's a special jind of fall, a horrible kind. The man fallingisn't permitte to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started. [...]"

I just finished reading the novel. Perhaps something I should have done when I first came across it in high school. Other kids were reading it, but I never did. I never understood what the fuss was all about at that age. But I do now.

I feel like Holden, he's the main character. Lost, confused, discontented, lonely and depressed. He's actually sick, but he doesn't know it... and neither does the reader till the very end. He's sick in the head, because there are constantly a thousand thoughts and images rushing through his mind. He has difficult concentrating, focusing and staying interested in any one thing. He's sad, bitter and perhaps angry too, at many people and at the state of the world. He can't name one thing he likes... but there are many things that bother him, that make him feel like puking or swearing... even though, deep down inside, he longs for the comfort and safety of childhood, of yesteryears. He's an adolescence thrust into a world of adults, but with one foot in the past. Traumas of death, abuse continue to linger in his mind... the happiness and lights and colours of growing up remain etched in his head, but he is afraid that they will fade with every passing day.

I may not be as discontented or angry as him, I do feel and can identify with many of his traits of his character. Maybe that's why it's such a celebrated novel, because it captures the mind of a confused adolescence who is desparate for love and help so well... By no means am I unique, I do not think, in being often plagued by feelings of depression and sadness and loneliness.But I am troubled, my mind is besieged by thoughts, fantasies and dreams, and all the while I long, I long so much for understanding and affection. Which Holden does not get. And neither do I, I feel.

But I don't think I am crazy, at least not yet. Then again, who knows a few years down the line, if all else remains the same, where and what state of mind I will be in...

Summer storm

The wind, strong and stubborn, blew against the window, sending the curtains flying and the door banging wildly. A storm was brewing. I could feel it in the wind, I could sense it in the damp and see the black, black clouds gather behind the leaves. Rain was sure to come down, fast and heavy, and the world would be drenched...

So I grabbed my sandals, put on a light waterproof jacket, and made a dash outside. I felt the rain on my feet, felt the rain wet my legs and feet, and dampen my hair and head. Let it rain, I felt like saying to the sky. Let it rain, and wash away the heat, the confusion and lethargy.

I ran, and it rained more and more. The more it rained, the faster I ran. The streets were deserted, as was the park. I ran on the path through the park, and felt the rain cleanse me thoroughly. Lightning flashed across the dark sky, thunder roared through the air. The sun hid somewhere in the distance, and you could see the storm gradually float overhead. I felt free and happy as I got wetter and wetter. My hair was like a sponge. My feet wet with water, dirty with mud and pebbles. My glasses blurred from the drops of water that ran down the lenses.

Then I had a thought... if lightning is supposed to be laden with positive charges, do people with negative thoughts not attract lightning strikes...?

And I ran.
Then

Nap

I closed my eyes for a nap... The humidity and heat is really getting to me. Even though I was born in the tropics, I sort of dread the daytime nowadays... and night isn't much better either.

In my nap, in a dreamlike state of mind I saw myself. A thought flashed by, and I saw myself older, twenty, thirty or maybe even thirty years from now. Old, lost, alone... beset by the same uncertainties and insecurities as I am today. I shook and woke up. I don't want to be like that... I don't want to grow old and bitter and lonely.

I feel like I lack enthousiasm these days. Lack that 'spark' in my brain and body that used to propel me and used to drive me. Somehow that has disappeared, and like a lightbulb, I feel dim and dull in a world full of noise, full of light and colours.

Where or from who can I find inspiration again...?

Waste of time.

If there's one thing I really don't like, it's people who make an appointment with you and then show up much (much, much) later. If it's 7 o'clock, then I'm most likely ready and waiting already for the person to show up at ten to...

But,10 minutes later... 15 minutes later... half an hour later... an hour later, and still no sign. I walk around the house, looking for things to do. The food I prepared has gone cold and dry. I'm starving and have lost almost all enthousiasm for a good evening in. Imagine all the things I could have done in that time waited waiting for the person to show up. Or at least call when they know they'll be late...

Such a waste of time!

Starting new

Been back home for a week now, and slowly, slowly I think I'm back to my 'normal' life here in Montreal. It's good, to wake up every day in the comfort of your own home, to wake up to my cat, to my own food and everything else.

The weather has been unbearably hot and humid in the last week, so hot I just don't feel like doing much. I've been going to the school library, but not really do work, as I should be doing, but just sitting there, enjoying the cool of the aircon and reading out-of-school things. I really must get a move on and push myself.

Push myself also in other ways... after all the trips I've made to spent time with mum, and having experienced some things with my brother and friends, made me realise something. I really need to pick up my life and start doing things for myself. And to do so I think need to distance myself from certain things and people which don't really help but rather hinder my life and personal growth.

To start, I'm going to cut down on (non-essential) travels. In a way, to make sure that I'm not always coming back to all sorts of unfinished (or unstarted) business after the many trips I've been making. Especially after all this flying around, I sometimes think to myself why it is that I should go out of my way to see other people, whereas hardly anyone comes to see me? For one thing, I've been here almost two years, but my brother's never visited, whereas I've gone to see him at least four times...

Not that I should suddenly become selfish and care less about other people in my life. Just, I need to do more things that will make my life and work move forward. Do (more) things that I enjoy, do things that will benefit me (more). Again, it may sound very selfish and egoistic... but really, when I come to think of it, I've been giving myself too much and not really giving myself to myself.

It's a little pact with myself. Not sure if it'll change anything, or I'll be any better off in the end. But sometimes you have to start somewhere.

The river turning

What makes the river turn? What makes it make a dramatic swing to the left and continue to flow like a sheet of green and gray satin being pulled rapidly downstream?

I sat on jagged rocks, and listened to the constant rush and murmur of the river. An endless sound, a sound without no end, as endless as the river stretched across the broad horizon. A seagull stood tall and still on the river's edge. It was braving the powerful waters made twists and turns and splashed at its webbed feet until a curious photographer got close. The bird suddenly leapt and took to skies. To greater freedom, while the river continued rushing beneath its spread out wings.

I sat watching as the river turned, as the river chose its paths. At times, together with the wind, the river would splash a few droplets of its abundant water on my cheeks. The sun beat down heavily on my skin, while the breeze was gentle and brisk.

The river turned before my eyes. A part of it chose the smooth course, while the rest, driven by strong currents, tore through hidden boulders and perilous whirlpools, down the wild, wild rapids.

Happy Canda Day

Woke up early in the morning, having gone to bed early. By ten, I could hear my pillow calling, and almost as soon as I lay down I fell asleep. Sleep has not felt so fine in so long, especially as when I was travelling most of the time I slept on the floor. It's good to be in the comfort of your own home after such a long time away...

It's a gray morning, cold and damp hanging in the air. Unusual for this time of the year. But it is an special day. Not only dad's birthday, who today would have turned 63. It is also Canada Day, the birth of my new homeland 143 years ago. The day when a nation of beavers and bears, of great lakes and majestic mountains, of remote hamlets and sprawling cosmopolitan cities, of natives and newcomers, of diverse cultures and of acceptance was born.

Canada means a lot of things to a lot of people. And to me, it is a new land of opportunity to be myself, to 'make' and discover myself.

How fitting that I come back here after the series of unwelcome experiences in Europe, and it just happens to be Canada Day.

Sleepless at AMS

I should sleep, but I can’t. Perhaps I’m too excited, irritated or sad by the dramatic events earlier this evening. I can only lie awake on the comfy bed, with mum slightly snoring by my side, and see all these thoughts and images run through my head…

It’s been a long time since I have become sad prior to leaving. But this time, as I lie next to the silhouette of my mum, I cannot but feel sorry for her… sorry for what she has had to go through, what she has had to experience, and most of all, because of whom she has bear all this disappointment and hurt. So sorry that I feel the corners of my eyes moisten at the thought…

I lie awake, and she is already fast asleep. I sure hope she can rest well and wake up refreshed in the morning. But I do wonder… what originally was a trip for her to recuperate from her chemo turned into an experience of great mental trauma and emotional upset. How many cancerous cells have been multiplying since…? How many cancerous cells are now feeding on her sadness and deep heartache…? Is her cancer index again through the roof, like last time when brother tormented her emotionally about funding his renovations?

“I will never come here again…” she said earlier as I journeyed to the airport. Maybe she said it because of her deep disappointment at my brother’s behaviour… but maybe, just maybe, deep down inside she knows that this may be the time that she has the chance to visit the Netherlands.

And what a memorable time it has been…

Forgiveness

How many times can you forgive someone who continues to hurt you again and again?

How many times can you just forgive someone who does not seem to know or understand how much hurt and wrong he can cause to others?

The monk in the mountains told me the Buddha never taught that endless forgiveness is compassion. You can forgive, but do so with wisdom. Forgive not for the sake of forgiving, for forgiving without wisdom is foolishness. Forgiving only to make the person repeat the same mistakes again and again is not helping him, but instead hurting him, and others. Someone who continuously beats you and torments you can be forgiven. But forgiving with wisdom is to let go of the past, and let go of this person who brings no benefit to your spiritual or physical wellbeing.

There are those who can be forgiven, and shown the path. But there are those who can be forgiven, and are forever lost in the vices of greed, hatred and delusion.

Forgive, pardon his ignorance and not knowing better. And let go.

Breakdown

How has it come to this…? On the eve of mum’s (and my) departure, we resorted to quickly packing our bags and leaving our own home to go stay in a hotel? It just shows… it really is no longer our home anymore… it’s just another closed door with lots of memories behind it…

Quickly I booked a room online, right next to the airport for convenience. Brother slammed his own bedroom door shut and did not even come out to say goodbye. They say one should never part company on angry terms, for you never know when or whether you will see one another again. That age old wisdom is apparently lost on my brother.

We rode to the airport, and I could see mum’s cheeks were damp. “I am so sad…” she said. I turned away, closed my eyes tightly to dispel my own pain, and turned back to face her, smiling. “Maybe it’s for the best. We don’t have to get up so early tomorrow.” I patted her on the shoulder.

One moment we were sitting at the table sharing our last meal together, the next brother is standing in the kitchen, holding a cloth and a bottle of cleaning solution, looking angry and inspecting his precious kitchen counter for water damage and stains. So full of anger, so full of hatred, so full of pettiness… all targeted toward his own mother. Our own mother…

Within an hour after that, it was all decided. We would leave tonight, leave my brother all in peace. We would never come back again. Why should we return to such an estranged and cold house, and stay in a place where every single move and action is scrutinised for fear of causing damage to his precious little house?

Mum and I wandered around Schiphol airport. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful and mesmerising yellow glow on everything.

It all seems like a dream, a nightmare… a joke, a farce.

Letter

Sometimes when at an impasse, when all communication has broken down, when there is but blind anger and delusion, it helps to write. So I stayed up while everyone else had gone to bed and wrote a letter to my brother, which I intend to leave somewhere for him to discover after I leave in two days.

It's not an angry letter, nor is it a letter full of blame or scolding. I simply put it clear to him that his behaviour towards mum in the last couple of weeks is not right, and that she, of all people, especially all that she has done for us, for him, deserves much better and much more.

At one point in the letter I ask him to take the chance to take a long look at our mother...

...to see how age and her illness has worn her, has changed her... to see the frowns and wrinkles left behind from years of worry and care for us. When someone has seen that, when a child sees that, how can anyone with a heart and soul not feel for her, not perhaps want to give her a warm, heartfelt hug... or perhaps even shed a tear...?

Maybe my brother will tear the letter up when he finds it, or maybe he'll read it and think nothing of it and stay the way he is.

But I am hopeful that there is a bit of human-ness and love in everyone. Sometimes all that is needed are a few words and feelings to uncover them...

I want to go home

Sunday, two more days till departure. Woke up early, wondering whether brother had any intention of maybe taking us out somewhere and spending some time with us. I even rushed out and made every effort to secure a third bike so perhaps we could take a cycling trip together.

"Too busy..." Perhaps today is the last opportunity to spend some quality time together, and my brother is too busy. Doing his plants, cleaning up his house, organising his dining room... He may be busy, but really, he will be sorry one day... It's not a curse or out of ill will I say or think this. It's just predictable. How can planting flowers be more important than spending time with your own mother?

Instead, mum and I left and went cycling in the nearby dunes and forests. A beautiful route through the country's poshest neighbourhood, past some very exclusive mansions in the middle of nature. It's a route that mum enjoys thoroughly every single time, and she would always say it's her dream to live in one of these secluded houses and retire. It's a shame I do not have the means to realise that dream...

Heard this song on the radio yesterday, and it's as if it was written with my current mood in mind...

Another summer day
Has come and gone away
In Paris and Rome
But I wanna go home
Mmmmmmmm

May be surrounded by
A million people I
Still feel all alone
I just wanna go home

...

Another aeroplane
Another sunny place
I’m lucky, I know
But I wanna go home
Mmmm, I’ve got to go home

Let me go home
I’m just too far from where you are
I wanna come home

And I feel just like I’m living someone else’s life
...

Let me go home
I’ve had my run
Baby, I’m done
I gotta go home
Let me go home
It will all be all right
I’ll be home tonight
I’m coming back home

OK, I wasn't in Rome (though I was in Florence). Even so, I do feel like the days are passing meaninglessly and for a while I have been counting down the days till I get on the airplane and fly off. Not that spending time with mum is a waste of my time... but who would have thought that this "home" of ours in the Netherlands would become so estranged and foreign?

Just a minute ago mum and I were talking about booking a hotel for the next two nights, just to 'escape' being here. But really... how ridiculous is it to pay for a hotel in your own town, when you have a home to go back to? But that's just it... the whole situation and circumstances is beyond ridiculous I have no words to describe it.


Two more nights...

Travels

Brussel, Koblenz, Frankfurt/Main...

In the last three days, I've wandered around three cities. All very different places, with different vibes and atmospheres, and all three important in their own ways. Originally I wanted to go to Berlin, to take my mum there and fulfill one of dad's wishes while he was alive to one day visit this unique Germany city of two divided stories. Alas, we cancelled the trip at the last minute because mum was not feeling well suddenly. Perhaps too much traveling, too long away from her own comfortable home, and also her health supplements and medicines are running low.

Now back "home" in the Netherlands... but really wishing I was somewhere else, on the road, free from the inhibitions of living in someone else's house. After I 'lectured' my brother the other day, there was a slight improvement. The very next evening (while I was away in Brussel), my brother actually proposed to go walk around the local forest with mum, and they seemed to have a good chat... But coming back home today, it's more or less back to the same old habit of sitting glued to his computer, barely looking up to talk to us.

I can try to understand if someone is so love-struck and wants to spend every moment of the day bonding with the other person. But I cannot understand why brother keeps on saying he's so busy, but can spend so much time chatting. Worse is, before mum and I left the other day, she left my brother note and asked him to make an appointment for her next medical check-up. Not done, and mum was of course disappointed. Too busy, he said, and plus he only saw the note this afternoon. But it was close to ten in the evening when we returned, and the appointment was still not made... In the end, I made the appointment online, something that takes 2minutes...


Three more days till going home... my own home.

Another death...

She wrote to me a few days ago, but because I was travelling I didn't read past the first line. Until this evening.

As I read the lines, I was overcome by shock... and also remorse why I didn't read the email and reply when I sent it. This close friend and mentor just lost her mother, and this was only a few months after losing her dear sister... how much pain and loss can a person take within such a short period of time?

I know she's a strong person, that she'll probably find something to help her get through this all, and that she has a caring husband who'll be there for her... but I can only imagine her pain, her loss of her own dear mother.............

All because of (among other things)... a bathtub

A long while after dinner, brother came to sit down with mum and I in the living room. He poured himself a glass of wine and began.

He's been stressed at work, and doesn't have much free time. Without wanting to be confrontational, I pointed out that he seems to have a lot of free time to chat online with his girlfriend every night the moment he gets back from work. Why does he have time for that, but no time to spend with mum? Why is he so smiley and happy in front of the webcam, but so sulky and angry-looking in front of us?

It wasn't my intention to play the blame game, but just to point out the facts. All these days and weeks since mum has been here in Europe, my brother hardly spends time with her. Sometimes an evening would go by and they would hardly exchange a word... Why did I quickly rush back here, when I could have stayed and picked up my life back in Canada? It's because mum was feeling lonely, even though they're under the same roof every single night. "You can see your girlfriend when she visits later in the year", I said bluntly at one point, "But whether mum is still around then no one knows..."

I was upset, and I have every reason to be I believe, at my brother's behaviour and his attitude. And some things are best said out loud than left to simmer...

Who would have known my brother began to be defensive, saying he's been busy and exhausted by the ongoing renovations. He even blamed us left and right for not doing anything to help him, even if mum and I both live on different continents, and accused me of treating this place like a hotel. I didn't say much, but deep inside I was confused how I should treat this house when I don't even live here. Should I get on my knees and start scrubbing the floors as soon as I come here? Should I cook and clean and contribute to the electricity bill to make this place to make this place my own? I don't even live here anymore! I'd rather pay to stay at a hotel than be faced with a grumpy face every night. At least at a hotel I don't have to worry about leaving marks of the wall or water stains on the kitchen counter...

Then brother went on to say that it's not our place to say what he should or should not do after a hard day at work... I wasn't trying to tell him what to do. But is it so wrong to spend 5 minutes walking in the forest with mum after dinner? Is it so wrong to chit-chat with your blood relatives during dinner, instead of with an image of a person who's in another country, in another timezone?

And came perhaps the brunt of brother's irritation towards mum... The bath-tub incident two weeks ago. Mum wanted to take a bath, and used a scrub to scrub the surface clean. But scrubbing left some scratch marks which drew a whole torrent of wrath and angry exchanges between the two. Brother has been, as we learnt today, brooding over that incident and his precious bathtub ever since.

All because of a bath-tub! A piece of porcelain (or is it laminated artificial fibres?) that has no feelings or emotions can be the cause of so much sulky and anger, so much drama, hurt and tears? "There are so many bath-tubs out there," I blurted out, "But there is only one mum."

I left the room after saying what I needed to say. I don't harbour any ill feelings toward my brother, because he is the way he is. But what is incomprehensible is how one can put so much weight on insignificant little details and material things compared to spending more time with our own mother whose health and life is constantly hanging by a thin thread? All this anger and ill feeling and sulking will do nothing to improve her condition... if anything, once again mum has been utterly disappointment in the worry, care and love she has devoted to bringing my brother up...

I sure hope brother heard what I have had to say today. I really thought brother had changed, that he had softened and become more susceptible to feelings and reason after seeing our friend pass away a few months ago... but all this proves otherwise, which is very disheartening. Most of all for mum...

My fear is that if brother continues like this, and the day comes when mum does finally leave (and that day will certainly come...), he will live the rest of his life with anger and regret. That's why I'm telling him all these things... trying to talk him into treasuring the moments that we still have together as a family, because those moments are lost and gone forever...

Anyways, I'm leaving tomorrow to wander around neighbouring countries for a bit.
And by this time next week I'm out of here.

Sea

Only when I stopped walking and stood still did I realise what I miss. The sea at Scheveningen.
It's not the most beautiful in the world. In fact, earlier this afternoon, mum said it looked like a black sea, because of its murky green colour. But it's the same sea I've been visiting every so often, sometimes on impulse, growing up.

I stood before the sea, and admired the sun set. The last rays of day, that radiant red and orange on the horizon which seemed to sink and then suddenly vanish under the sea. Waves tried to tag my feet, and I listened to the echoes of the breeze while seagulls rode the winds.

This is what I miss, especially after a long, turbulent day.

Another victim

Mum and I went to see her, as promised, and just before stepping in the door mum told me that this auntie has changed a lot since I saw her last year.

Indeed, as soon as she opened her door, I could hardly recognise her. Her hair was different, her face looked 'puffy', and she limped as she walked, and trailed behind us on the stairs, as her body was still weak. Another victim of cancer, and a good friend of my mum's, one of the few people we've kept in touch with after all these years.

We sat down, and this auntie and my mum began exchanging "tales at the hospital". A lighthearted discussion about their experiences of chemo treatments, hospital food, doctors and recovery... even though the core of the topic was as serious as life and death. Seven months of ordeal with doctors and hospitals, yet they still do not know what exactly is wrong with her... and during the recent "A" flu scare, when authorities urged people to get vaccinated, she was one of those who did. The vaccination almost killed her, and her body swelled like a balloon overnight, her lymph glands grew to the size of fists all over her body, most likely an negative reaction to the chemical medicine she's been taking. If this is not medical malpractice, I'm not sure what is...

The auntie has a jovial aura around her, and when I was growing up here by myself, she would occasionally look me up. I sat and looked at how she has changed and aged, yet admired the way she manages to stay so positive and strong despite setbacks and near deaths.

She and mum talked and encouraged one another, friends in sickness, friends in health. As we turned to leave, there was a brief, brief moment when they looked at each another and told one another to take care.

A moment that was genuine and real, because they know and understand what the other is going through.

Disappointments...

Mum sat at the dining table, and wiped her tears. So disappointed was she. I looked at her, sitting there, a grown up, my own mother, crying. And it pains me a lot... I felt my own tears swell, but held them back.

Perhaps she had too many hopes? Hoping that coming to stay here she could rest and recuperate... hoping that she could spend some more precious time with the children, because it might very well be the last... But sometimes it's best not to hope, lest one wants to be disappointed.

Disappointed, she is, most of all at brother's attitude toward her, toward us, while we are. She's done so much, given him so much, but he gives her the cold shoulder. He's grumpy and rude when he talks to her (and me, but that's not new and not so important...). I'm not sure what we ever did to wrong him so... perhaps it's our mere presence, the mere fact that we are staying in his new home and making the floors and walls so dirty by just walking around that disgusts him so...

Worst of all, he spends most of his free time in front of the computer chatting with his girlfriend, while ignoring mum who had come all the way here to spend time together. I don't understand how he can be so smiley and laughing so much in front of the webcam, but off the cam when he sees us, his face is so sulky and so angry...

So this morning I changed mum's ticket, pre-poned it to three days from today, instead of next week. She felt relieved to be able to leave early, but also sad... how has it come to this, she asked. What has she done to deserve this? That's when she cried and wiped her eyes... a mother's sorrow at an ungrateful son...

Since mum is leaving early, I'm also tried to change my ticket... but it'll cost over 1000Euros!
I'm still weighing the options and wondering what to do. Maybe I'll just go wander around Europe for a few days and come back in time to pick up my suitcase next week... or maybe I'll have to waste money by buying another ticket.

Whatever the option, I know I don't and won't stay here in my brother's house...

Almost unberable

Back home, my brother's home, for less than 24hrs, and it's beginning to be almost unbearable. Is it because I'm using his water, his kitchen, sleeping in his (spare) bedroom, or the fact that I'm using his electricity? Or is it because I'm petting his cat, or am I in his way?

Bad enough that I feel this way in the same home (though much renovated) that I grew up in... imagine what it must be like for mum, who bought this place years ago with dad... imagine how disappointed she must feel being here, and feeling so uncomfortable and unwelcome.

Mum had originally wanted to stay till the end of the month, but it seems like she might change her plans. I will leave if she does...

Finally home...

Finally home, and everyone else is asleep. I'm in the storage room, on a makeshift bed, while outside it's pouring with rain, and the sky is darkening. It's a little cramped next to the stacks of yet unpacked boxes, wooden boards, building materials and tool kit, but at least it's good to be home finally, especially after all these days of travel.

I've been so many places with mum this past week, and coupled with my recent trips to Southeast Asia, everything seems to be a blur for me. The days, nights, sceneries, experiences, memories, good and bad, all seem to merge and flow into one another. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to 'capture' the past few weeks in words fully...

But I must say, traveling through Europe by train is perhaps the most convenient and scenic way to see and experience this continent, and the scenic mountains, seas and landscapes it has to offer.

I've made numerous train journeys with my mum growing up, and every one leaves me inspired and impressed. More enjoyable since as a child I've always been fascinated by trains and everything about them. So much so for years I had a train kit and would imagine 'driving' routes throughout Europe, connecting all these big cities and far away places right on the floor of my very own room... Somehow, the rocking motion and sounds of the train wheels, the rolling fields, villages, hills, creeks and valleys outside the window evoke such feelings of euphoria and longing for nature.

"My life has been worth it," I've heard my mum say a number of times whenever we travel together. And it's true, we are lucky to have the time and means to travel, to go wherever we like, to stop at any city or little hamlet, to wander the many avenues and alleyways in search of Europe's rich history and culture (which includes the latest fashion accessory for mum and her friends...). And often, while the scenery rolls past our windows, we think of dad who left behind the means for us to enjoy traveling, yet himself had left too soon...

Sample, savour, and commit to memory. One day, the pictures and memories can be replayed, and I can perhaps relish in the joy and excitement I shared with mum as we rode the rails of Europe...

Pickpockets beware!

Train, highspeed, Paris Gare du Nord- Rotterdam Centraal.
I've taken this journey a number of times since its opening over 10 years ago. I'm always curious why after each stop the conductor warns passengers through the loudspeaker to be ware of pickpockets and to be ever so vigilante of personal belongings.

Today I understand the reason.

One moment it was there.

The next we realised, it was no longer there.

Pretty valuable it was, in the literal sense of the word. But in the end it is only material.
Mum and I were both surprised that it happened so fast, but there was no blame, no real remorse, sadness or anger. But what can one do? Count the loses and let it go. We promised it would our secret. Maybe one day, long and far away from this day, I can tell someone and laugh about it.

Whoever took it may be laughing now already... Whoever took it may enjoy it, or sell it, but the bad karma is certain to return full price, if not multiplied.

Lesson learnt, albeit an expensive one. The Thalys from Paris to Amsterdam via Brussels and Antwerp is not safe. Keep your eyes and hands on your belongings at all times...

Train ride

We rode through the mountains, through the picturesque Swiss-French Alps, past fields, soaring mountains and winding streams. Sometimes there is only the two of us in the carriage, us and the sound of our chatter and laughter.

"Shame that dad can not join us..." mum said. True... people may question why I spend so much time with my mum while I could be off traveling or being with my peers. And sometimes I wonder myself too.

But then everytime I come to the same conclusion... life is only so much, and memories if not made will forever be lost.

In Aigle

We walked slowly on a path that cut through a field of wheat. Each stem supported a heavy head that swayed like drunks in the gentle evening breeze. Poppy flowers, like discarded red confetti scattered across the plains fluttered in the wind. Though the overcast clouds hid what most likely would have been an amazing and colourful dusk, beautiful birdsong echoed against the grim yet majestic looking faces of mountains that soared all around us.

I had risen very early in the morning to run to the train station so I could catch an early flight to take me across half of Europe to Switzerland. Once in Switzerland, I hopped onto two trains and rode for another two hours to arrive at this secluded bed and breakfast at the foot of mountains close to Aigle.

What for? For moments and memories like walking through a field of wheat with mum just after a nice evening meal in a quaint little village. For the precious minutes and laughs we shared talking about this and that (mostly about how unbearable it can be living in brother's house...).