New family

With brother's impending departure, mum, brother and I made our way to the city of Taichung in central Taiwan to bid farewell to our new family members(-in-law). I had met all of them at the wedding a few weeks ago, but this was the first time that my whole family was getting together after the wedding.

The first impression I got of the new family was that they are a really genuine and down-to-earth bunch of people. When I met them last, which was just after the lunar new year, I was touched by the fact that they already accepted me as part of the family. To my surprise, I was given red envelops by my new aunties and uncles (in-law)-- a tradition reserved for only the closest of kins and relatives. "Come to Taichung anytime you want. This is also your home now," I was told when I left last time.

And indeed, we were all greeted with the same heart-warming welcome today as soon as we arrived, and taken to fancy restaurants to 'celebrate' our arrival. We sat and ate, and bonded over plentiful food and drinks, over lunch and dinner, merely a couple of hours later, when lunch was only  half digested.

The afternoon I sat with mum and the new relatives, mostly listening to them exchange stories of the children growing up, and life experiences. Really, they are such simple folk, unpretentious, kind-hearted, straightforward people who speak their mind, and whose ideas and trains of thought are very compatible with that of mum's. That's one reason why they all get along so well. Another reason is the fact that we are all connected by the Buddhist monk who we all adore and worship, and somewhere along the line our paths may have crossed before. Speaking of six degrees of separation, I only found out today that I had in fact met a number of the relatives on a number of occasions, when I first started going to the monastery in the mountains around five years ago. Sometimes fate and the way people are connected or united works in mysterious ways...

"Come visit and stay over anytime you want," brother's mother-in-law told my mum. We spoke somewhat about mum's condition, and in many ways the new relatives were very empathic and caring. She coincidentally works in the health department, and may be able to arrange for a special treatment for my mum.

It is a joy to see mum bond so well with the new relatives, and wonderful to see that my brother has married into a family that is so intimate and so caring for one another. In fact, over the past year, my mum has been in touch with the mother-in-law, and they have also seen one another a couple of times, and both are fond of one another. Earlier this evening, as we all wandered through the park to walk off dinner, I saw my brother hand in hand with my sister-in-law, while brother's mother-in-law walked before them holding mum's arm.

"Don't worry about your mum," I was told, as the day drew to an end, "You just go and finish what you have to do. We will try to take care of  your mum..."

With that I felt a weight lifted, a worry in my heart subside, and felt like I was one step closer to letting go.

Drowning and letting go

There once was a master who wanted to train his disciple. "Go out to sea," the master told the disciple.
When the water reached the disciple's hips, he turned, only to see the master wave him on to go further. When the water reached the disciple's chest, he turned again, only to see the master standing on the store, waving him to go even further. The disciple was getting scared, for with every step, the water was reaching to his neck, then gradually to his lips.

"I'm going to drown!" the disciple shouted, and flapped around the sea, drinking in the salty water.

"Let go," the master shouted, "Just let go, and relax..."

The disciple did as he was told, and he let go. Let go of his fears, let go of his fear of drowning, let go of his anxiety of being surrounded by vast open sea, let go of his mind, and stopped flapping his arms around. Soon he discovered that if he just stayed very still, and just floated, the sea would carry his weight.

Letting go... it is the most difficult thing to do in life, and I am facing it every single day. When I see mum in pain, I cringe and feel pain inside. It is because I cannot let go. It is because I feel too attached to mum, and care too much that I get frustrated, upset, even angry, that I cannot do anything to alleviate her pain or suffering. When I just think of leaving her in a week or so's time, my heart wrenches, and my eyes are almost moved to tears... because I cannot let go. I still cannot just tell myself to let things be, let whatever will be just be-- even though I know I cannot change anything, cannot change life or illness or death, and must just accept things as they happen.

I must slowly learn to let go... Let go does not mean not caring. It means caring, but not allowing the caring to get ahead of you, to seize control of your emotions, and to let the caring overwhelm you so much that you desire to change the unchangeable.

Letting go is admitting to yourself that you have done the best you can under the circumstances, and leaving things to fate-- even if fate does not turn out as you plan or as you desire.

Letting go is just... letting go. Or otherwise, I will surely drown in a sea of sorrow, and wallow in a pool of misery of my own creation...

Appointment

I walked with mum in the light rain along the creek, taking our time to go to the hospital. As if taking the long route there will delay the appointment, delay the inevitable meeting with the doctor. Some plum blossoms were already in bloom, coating the tops trees with bright red against a sky of gray.

Like every so often in the weeks I have been here, we talked about life, and death. It is a solemn topic of conversation, yet somehow it often enters into our minds and escapes our mouths, however much I want to avoid it. Death is always around the corner, but most people forget that, until they face it straight in the face. At one point, the question to ask is not when, but how... how to die, and perhaps more importantly, how to die peacefully and without regrets, without remorse.

There is a movie sometime ago about two men who meet by chance in the oncology ward. They are living their last breaths of life, yet they decide to make a list of things they want to do and fulfil before they finally 'hit the bucket'. They decide the escape the dreariness of the hospital, the daily treatments, pills and medication. And they decide to travel, to make amends with estranged loved ones, to fulfill lifelong dreams they probably were never close to fulfilling if it were not for the terminal illness.

Sometimes, when faced with a choice, one must decide. Do I want to live and die under medication and the watch of doctors and nurses... or do I want to live fully and die happily accomplishing what I never thought I could accomplish, yet am blessed to still have the energy and ability to accomplish...?

Those are questions mum and I talked about. It is no light conversation, and at times I asked myself whether I am 'pushing' her too hard to face the facts, when it is already hard enough to be constantly faced with your own mortality, your own fragility... However pure my intentions are, I often do wonder if I am helping her, or hurting her, by talking about death and her illness so frankly with her. My fear is that she bottles it all inside, bottles it all deep down and seals it all up, so that all these fears and frustrations fester and rot, making her mind even more restless and agitated than ever...

For a change, I did not go into the appointment with mum, but instead waited outside. "You go in and have a talk with the doctor," I said. In a way, to respect her privacy, and to let her decide her own treatment and her own life, without me (or my brother, or my sister-in-law) hanging around and looking over her shoulder. In another way, it is my own way of 'letting go', for one day very soon, I'll have to walk away from this all, and I must start to 'let go' bit by bit...

Brother, my sister-in-law and I waited and waited outside the doctor's room. A lady in an armchair, looking lost and delirious kept on talking into the air, repeatedly saying, "I'm having dreams... I'm having dreams in my sleep." On her contorted face were the marks of worry, remorse and indescribable feeling of being lost and confused.

Mum came out of the doctor's room, and on her face was a change compared to before. She looked more hopeful, more reassured, a little less troubled. The neurosurgeon spoke for a long time with her, and took the time to listen to her, to assess her situation.

There are two types of doctors... there are ones who hark on treatment, who emphasise and strongly believe in science and the wonders of modern medicine... and there are doctors who empathise with the patient's needs and wishes, who believe that every individual has a right to life, and right to a dignified bidding farewell to life. The neurosurgeon mum recently had the fortune of meeting was the latter kind, and repeatedly she told me how  privileged she felt to receive his wise counsel and second opinion.

He does not promise a miracle solution. Again, he emphasised that whatever treatment mum is to undergo to halt, or at least control, the spreading of the tumour in the spinal column, must be assessed against the quality and expectancy of life. Surgery is an option, one with great risks, yet also long-term benefits if it is successful. But it is an option worth pursuing only if the expected length of life is longer than six months. Why undergo the pain and suffering of surgery if the cancer is going to spread rapidly around the body and eat away everything within within a few months anyway? I saw the neurosurgeon come out of the office-- a middle aged man with a slightly crooked back, a forehead of frowns, beady eyes, yet somehow on his face was to be found compassion and understanding.

In the coming week or so mum will have to go back to the hospital for more tests, more scans, more appointments, in order for the doctor to make a full assessment of the state of her health, and life expectancy. I will be here to accompany her till the very end... and for now, I am still scheduled to conclude my stay with her in around ten days time. That is the plan for now, and it is a plan that at present best accommodates her wish to see me go off to do my own things, and accommodate my desire to finally bring an end to my studies and perhaps make a start to my career.

All this may very well be very heavy to digest, and perhaps I do not really realise the implications of the latest appointment, or the importance of being with mum when the results come out early March. But with the heaviness comes a strange, strange calm.

I have done what I could in the last two months... in the last two years... However much longer I stay here, whatever else I do here, I can only offer so much, I can only do so much. I cannot take the cancer away. I cannot calm mum's mind or soothe her pain if my own mind is frightened, agitated and in pain.

Yes, with all this heaviness there flows a strange, strange calm.

For how else are you going to face all this but with calm, however strange that calm may feel like?

Valentine's Day

After a whole morning at the hospital, I came home to a big package.

As I opened it, little hearts of all shapes and colours fell out. As I dug deeper into the box, I found heart-shaped chocolates, biscuits, a Valentine's teddy bear, soap and a scented candle. I was immediately touched.

Most touching of all, I found pictures of my (Canadian) cat, and numerous cards for me written by friends back in Montreal. I have not opened or read the cards yet, as they are birthday cards, and that's not until next week.

The box means so much to me, especially because of the difficult times I'm going through. I'm just imagining the amount of time and preparation, and people involved in sending such a special gift all the way across the world.

Most of all, I'm imagining the thought, care, and my boyfriend put into preparing the package, in keeping it a secret.... all in the hope of giving me a beautiful surprise, and to let me  know how much I mean to him.


Thank you, my Valentine... I cannot express how much this means to me.

Sick

I finished making lunch, and after three or four bites, mum rushed to the washroom. The sound of vomiting came from the washroom, followed by coughing, gagging. I put down my chopsticks and my bowl, and lost my appetite.

I feel my limits of my patience and tolerance being tested, again and again... I feel angry, but I cannot be angry at mum, for she has done no wrong. She is just sick, and she did not choose to be. Nobody chooses to be sick. I feel frustrated inside, but there is no source of frustration, just frustration itself disturbing my mind.

 I close my eyes and feel like the minutes seem to pass by so slowly. Every waking moment seem to flow by so painfully.

Frustrations

I said goodbye and walked into the crow of people catching the metro. Upon leaving, my friend stood there and said: "Take good care of yourself..." I simply nodded, but was extremely touched by the words. Moments later,  another friend texted me and also told me to take care.

A heavy heart, a heavy weight cannot be hidden, can be seen sometimes on the expressions of one's face, in the silence or fatigue of one's words. I met up with two friends today, and yet I was somewhat lost in my own world, in my own worries. And they could see that. I came home straight after meeting them, and stared out the window for a while.

I felt so extremely tired. Not from doing anything physical, but from the mental images and thoughts that keep on bothering my mind. How I miss my home back in Canada... how I hurt to see mum in pain and suffering... how I hurt to think of the fact that two weeks from now I am boarding a plane to leave all this behind... how I feel so down, so very down... And how unhealthy that is, not only for my own well-being, but also for mum's sake, for sadness and frustration is infectious.

I know it is all in my mind. All this worry, all the fear, all the anxieties, all that inability to let go... it is all the creation of a restless mind that is caught between wanting and not wanting, that is swinging from desire and aversion, like and dislike. It is hard to shake these feelings away, however much people around me tell me otherwise, or try to comfort me by offering words of solace and encouragement.

Sometimes, I wish I could go away and just shut everything out. If only temporarily.

Night Market Hero (雞排英雄)

It was a quaint and somewhat predictable melo-drama, yet it brought me to tears on several occasions. Not just tears around my eyes, but tears that actually streamed down my cheeks and to the corner of my lips that I could taste their saltiness.

Set in a (fictional) Taiwanese night market, the Night Market Hero (雞排英雄) revolves around food vendors, whose livelihood depends on their hardwork and the local delicacies they sell. Their beloved night market becomes threatened by the plans of a construction company to build on the land. After a long struggle and winning the hearts of the general public, the future of the night market, and the many mouths that it feeds, are safeguarded.

I guess it was the simplicity of the story, and the stories of the characters that moved me (and mum, whom I could hear was sniffing next to me...) to tears. Every night they come out to make a living, smile and laugh as they tend to the needs of their customers. But behind every stall, behind every stand, is a story of hardship, of real life, of pains and sufferings, of family and complex pasts. These people are all brought together by the foods they sell, by the customers they can attract, and by the fact that every one is simply trying to make a living from what they can do best-- whether it is frying chicken steak, cooking beef steak, selling bubble tea or pirated DVDs.

The night market embodies a colourful and central part of Taiwanese food culture and community life. And street vendors, with their strong work ethic and dedication, with their sweat and bare hands, keeps the many memories alive. The sight and sounds of food and games bring people together, and can also bring people back to their childhoods years, filling not only empty stomachs but also contented hearts with feelings of nostalgia and longing.

Old songs from my childhood, and the comic use of the Taiwanese language and cute hand-puppets (another important part of local life for many here) all touched a part of me, and made me realise that even after so many years of living away from my birth-country, I am still very much very fond of this land, its people... and of course, the many, many mouth-watering delicacies.


.

At the ward

I heard a child cry, and did not think too much of it. A few moments later, I saw my sister-in-law walk out of the oncology ward, and saw that her eyes were moist and red.

I suspected as much, but did not ask. Instead, I gave her a weak smile in an attempt to tell her that it is alright. Brother walked out soon after and stood next to her. "There was a little child," he said, "He was crying because the nurse put a needle in him. She saw that, and started crying..."

Perhaps it was the first time my sister-in-law saw anything like it. Whether it is the first time, the second time, or the last time, it always moves you, always affects you. Even to this day, every time I walk into the oncology ward, a heavy mood sets in. A mood that easily trickles tears to flow, at times unexpectedly and out of control. The suffering of another fellow human being, the pain and fear in their eyes is at times too much to bear.

Mum sat in her chair. Toxic chemical began dripping into her shoulder, into her veins. I don't know how many times she has been her for I have lost count. Perhaps she does know, for every time is an ordeal, a struggle and a test of the mind and body. "Come back in three hours or so. Please, go and don't stay here. The air is stale and polluted here," she said to all of us, as she always does.

I looked around, at the nurses, at the patients patiently waiting for their turn. I looked around, and saw the patiently waiting relatives, the foreign care workers, the children, saw the sons and daughters, saw the mother and fathers of cancer patients who are about to undergo a testing ordeal. Their faces barely masking their  sadness and desperation. "I'll be back later," I said to mum, as I patted her on the shoulder. As I patted her on the shoulder, I wondered how many more times I can be here to pat her shoulder, to silently transmit my well-wishes and care from my open palm into her body.

Night at the circus

The audience cheered and applauded loudly, as the performers each came out, smiling and bowing. It was a wonderful performance, a beautiful mixture of colourful costumes, of beautiful music and vocals all beautifully choreographed to portray the beauty of the human body and the art of dance and human strength and endurance.

I sat with mum, my brother and sister-in-law. It was our first outing of the new year together, and the first time that my family had seen Cirque du Soleil live. They were awed beyond speech, and mum’s joy and amazement at the performance was shown on her face.

For the first time in a long time, I felt a connection to Canada, to Montreal, the home of this wonderful group of performers and artists. Somehow, I felt pride to live (and dare I say come from…) the very place where it all began… a city brimming with arts, with culture and activities in all seasons. It brought me home, and swamped me with an abundance of nostalgia and beautiful memories. 

Ripple in the water

I said goodnight to mum, and closed her door. As I left her bedroom, I stroked her blanket, and wished her a good sleep. It has been a long, long day...

After a few days away visiting relatives in the central and south of the country, I rushed back to Taipei  this morning to join mum at the hospital. She was number "53" on today's waiting list, and by eleven o'clock, the doctor had only seen 15 patients.

We sat around the hospital and waited, and waited, and waited. We walked around, had lunch, drank coffee at a cafe, and waited and waited. We talked about my last few days, about my life back in Canada, about my plans and future, and we waited. We talked, we laughed, and I cried as we touched on emotional topics, and we waited. It was close to five when we left the hospital again, our footsteps heavy and our hearts weighed down.

There does not seem to be any good news; the only good news is that there is no worse news. The CEA level is still extremely high, and further chemo treatment is planned for the next two days. I touched mum's hand on occasion as we made our way home, and would sometimes nudge her arm in an attempt to solicit a response or smile from her. For a while, it was in vain.

Earlier, as we waited and waited, I looked at the pond next to the hospital ward. I watched as a leaf fell and caused a stir in the still water. A  ripple echoed across the pond, disturbing the peace for an instant, then dying down as the ripple dissipated. Many things in life are like this... there is a disturbance, an agitation, some kind of frustration that causes your mind to stir, but eventually, with time, and letting things run their course, the disturbance dies down, and disappears.

This should be no different from the setbacks and feelings of defeat with which every time we leave the hospital... 

Later in the day, mum and I sat and talked some more. "You know, mum," I said, "A lot of people say you are very strong, and that they admire your strength." Indeed, she has gone through so many treatments in the last three, four years, and mum still looks like a 'normal' person from the outline. Her hair may have thinned, her hair may have gone gray, her cheeks bones may have caved in a little from loss of weight, but overall, her body is still fighting, still going strong. I have seen a number of people leave my life in recent years, all succumbing to the terrible, terrible mental and physical torment of cancer. Yet, mum seems determined to stay in my life that little bit longer. Or at least so I hope.

I stroked her arm, and held onto it. "My only wish is that you will be strong, and that you will not think negatively about things. I only wish that you are happy, and that you can come to terms with everything. I can only do so much..."

At that point, I had to rub the moisture in my eyes. As I played with the tears between my fingers. It was difficult to continue, for my mind wandered to imagine how painful and difficult the moment of leaving would be in a week or two... My mind imagined tears, imagined that heart-wrenching feeling of unwillingness to let go... unwillingness to let go of mum as I hug her before leaving home to catch my plane...

"I can really only do so much while I am here. The rest is up to you. I can only hope that when I go, you will live well and take good care of yourself. When you are strong and healthy enough, you will visit me in Canada, or go visit brother and his wife in Europe. Live happily, do whatever you like to do, live life well..."

Mum nodded, and looked at me with a face of calm, with resolve reflecting in her brown eyes.

Love

It is such a mysterious yet wonderful thing, love… Quietly I sat with the monk and contemplated what it means, and whether I feel it at all. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful orange, warm glow on the entire world.

“When you feel it, there are no doubts, there are no questions. You just know it.” People may go astray, minds may wander, arguments and quarrels may erupt, yet when there is love between two people, when that love is certain and still passionate as the first day that it all began, there are no obstacles that are insurmountable for two people. To love, to be truly and deeply in love, you are able to find compromise, to treasure and cherish one another’s personalities and differences.

“What is it that you feel towards him?” I was asked about how I feel toward my friend. It is all so new for me, especially the intensities of emotions (both negative and positive) and emotional and physical intimacies we have experienced and shared in the last two month or so. I have not really stopped to think what it all means, what he means to me…

“Well, he makes me feel special, feel cared for, feel loved,” I said, “I feel like he will be there for me, and he listens to me and my problems. I don’t think anyone has ever made me feel this way before.” I looked down at my feet, and pictured him in front of me. “And I care about him. Care about his wellbeing, his happiness, his feelings. I think about him often, and it makes me feel warm inside when I think of him…”

“Well,” the monk said, “That’s love.”

So this is what love is?

Trip southward

Traditionally, on the second day of the new (lunar) year, the wife and husband goes to visit the wife's family, and pay respect to the elders. As my brother and wife are planning to head south, I'm going to tag along too, partly to get to know my new (extended) family a bit better, but also partly to get away for my own sake, and for my mum's sake.

After a quick lunch, I'm heading into the mountains for a few days at the monastery. It'll be nice to collect myself, to calm down and get away from all the things at home. As much as I want to be with her, to take care of her, and make sure she's well and happy, being with mum can be draining, physically and mentally. Not just for me, but I think also for her too. With some distance, I hope I can see things more clearly, and that it'll be easier for me to 'let go' of things when that day comes...

And that day will eventually come soon, it seems, as and tonight, I just spent a few hours with my friend planning my trip home to Canada, and buying a ticket! At first I wanted to surprise him, and just show up at his doorstep... but as he is really skilled in looking for cheap flights, he helped me greatly to find good connections, with even a stopover in Vancouver so I can see my cousins. We even made plans to spend a few days together on the west coast, which will be kind of romantic, especially after being apart for so long. I really hope all the plans will go through, as he put a lot of effort and thought into all this, and as he is flying all the way just to pick me up... And what a wonderful return to Canada that would be, to be greeted by someone I've been thinking of and missing.

New Year's Eve

Barely past eleven, and mum is already sleeping, snoring. The whole day it has been as if she was under a spell of sleepiness and drowsiness, and would nod off whenever she sits down for a bit. On the way to dad's temple, she fell asleep, on the way back, she fell asleep. After lunch, she fell sleep. And sitting in front of the TV, as we were all gathered together to enjoy the New Year's Eve evening in, she could not keep her eyes open for long.

She began taking the painkillers which contain morphine. It really does take away the sensation of soreness in her arms, but one of the sideeffects is inducing drowsiness and sleep. Even now, as firecrackers are exploding outside, she seems to not even stir from her slumber. I makes me really concerned if she continues taking these painkillers, that she'll descend into a state of dependency, and a state of semi-permanent drowsiness which is not good for her mental or physical health.

As for me, I've been feeling a gnawing sense of discontent within ever since I woke up this morning. Perhaps it is because I slept late trying to finish writing to dad, so as a result I didn't sleep for long. And having to sleep on the floor every night on  a makeshift bed made up of seat-cushions isn't doing much good for my back. I also have a slight headache, I suspect from the cold and runny nose I started having a few days ago. Plus, today is the anniversary of dad's passing, yet besides going to see dad's remains at the temple, it seems just like any other day...

My friend and I have been talking about my return to Canada, but as much as I'd like to go home, I'm afraid to actually take the bold step of booking a flight. There really is no problem, except the problem comes from me. It's me just not being able to decide on a date, me worrying too much about the what ifs, what then, and thinking about what may happen. It's me not being able to just let go of things, and leave here with ease of mind, despite mum telling me repeatedly to go and telling me that she'll be fine. In fact, just before she fell asleep, she said to me, "You've done so much for all of us..." Those words made me emotional all over.

I think I'll feel better and less moody when I sleep and forget about things. Hopefully I'll wake up feeling like a new person and feeling refreshed. 

A-Ba

Inadvertently I came across this song. As the music played, as the voices sang, I began to cry...
Indeed, how I would like to call out dad's name again... how I see dad in the beautiful things and sceneries of this world... how I miss our conversations, just the two of us, sitting in the living room at night, slowly sipping tea...

Earlier, at dad's commemoration, I threw a package with dad's name on into a big cauldron of fire. The envelop, the letter, the photographs charred and crumbled into dark cindering waste as they were consumed by the violent flames.

I do hope dad will be able to receive my words, my longing, my prayers.

A-Ba*

Jay Chou and Jung Hung

*Taiwanese for dad

(translation mine)

My dearest A-Ba,

I would like to call out your name again,

Sing the songs you wrote before,

Letting go of feelings, singing endlessly…

The A-ba I think of and miss the most,

It’s time for me to sing songs for you to listen

The sounds of the song is like a swallow,

Taking you back to me here.

[CHORUS

What kind of paper should be used?

Slowly, slowly write,

So that you will know the things I have to say.

Do not, do not hurt,

Do not want, do not want to go,

Say you have left here…

We are growing up,

Protecting [our] home,

Protecting the silent and somber conversation under the warmth of candlelight,

Turn back to see,

A-Ba is like the mountain…]

My dearest dad,

You gave us a home,

[Let us] make a cup of tea named longing,

Lightly taste the heavy scent of care and concern.

[CHORUS]

Letter to dad

"I shed tears, it is [because I] remember dad fondly, it is [because I] hope dad is [living] peacefully, happily, it is [because I] hope when dad sees me and the people in our family [dad] still holds on to that deep affection of [our] family and beautiful memories..."


Three years it has already been. Three years ago, according to the lunar calendar, dad passed away quietly in my hands at the hospital within walking distance from where we live. If I close my eyes, if I sink into the darkness and depths of my consciousness and memories, I can still feel it, I can still see it, I can still smell the sterile scent of the hospital intensive care unit, I can still hear the incessant beeping of the life support system that gradually beeped slower and slower until it faded into nothing.

Dad has come back in my dreams, sometimes nightmares that disturb me so, and leave me heaving for breath and shedding heavy tears out of longing and out of pain. Dad has come back in my thoughts, whenever I see or experience something beautiful I would like to share with him. And dad comes back in my words and in my writings, for he too was a writer when he was alive, and I like to see myself as continuing this legacy of of his. Dad may have left, but he is never too far away... There is some consolation and comfort in thinking this way.

And I maintain his memory by occasionally looking up at his smiling portrait, and by carrying on the tradition of writing to him on his anniversary. Writing a letter to dad, which I will offer to him (by way of  burning) together  with some photographs, paper money, and cigarettes. It is how I 'keep in touch' with him, even after he has gone, and how I recollect a lot of the events that have taken place in my life, in the life of my family.

It often brings me to tears to write to dad, and this time was no exception. All the doubts about my own future and uncertainties about mum's health condition occupy a large part of the letter. But there are good news too (or at least better news...), about my brother's wedding, my plans to stay in Canada permanently, and the 'burgeoning' relationship between my friend and I, which has brought me much happiness and comfort, despite all odds. In closing, I asked for little, and asked for what I always ask for when I pray at a temple: that dad watch over and protect my family, especially mum... protect them from harm, from worry and suffering, provide them with peace, happiness and ease of mind.

I only hope that dad will 'receive' my letter, and that he will be reassured that even after he has gone, he is often thought of, and still loved.

Life

So full of surprises, so full of unexpected twists and turns. Like a maze sometimes, one that traps and confuses you, while at other times, like a smooth, endless road through a desert, predictable and tedious.

Life, made up of ups and downs, of different characters and different people who appear and disappear, who shine and fine, but make it all the more interesting.

You never really know what is around the next corner.
You never really know what will happen next...

Results

The results are out...

...a big tumour is pressing on the nerves, growing in the spine. Another tumour is suspected in the lower spine. Mum feels well, she looks well, but inside, her cells are slowly being consumed by the cancer.

The doctor was friendly, and attentive. Surgery may not be the best option, he admitted. Sometimes, it is no longer about how long someone has left to live, but how well the person can live. Why undergo a risky surgery, with only a 70% success rate and have to suffer through months of rehabilitation and recovery? Why go through a surgery, when perhaps not long after, the cancer will spread anyways?

Mum was not gsad. If she was, she was doing well at hiding it. Brother on the other hand was obviously affected, his eyes moist, his face besieged and beleaguered by the heaven burden of hearing first hand and realising that mum may not be around for long. But then again, who knows who will be around for how long?

We walked together, along the little creek that flows down from the mountain, that carries lukewarm springs with it down toward the river. Brother walked hand in hand with his wife, occasionally kissing his wife on the cheeks and sharing glances. I am sure he is reassured and comforted somewhat by her presence, and by the knowledge that he has someone to love and to care for him, whatever happens. Mum walked next to me, occasionally holding onto my arm. One day she will let go of my arm, let go of my arm forever.

"When you go home..." mum would start saying, expressing her love and her care only a mother would. "Remember you should..." Minute details, details only a mother would know, details that only a mother would care about. There is nothing more precious, nothing more affectionate, more unconditional than a mother's love for her child, her children.

I was surprisingly calm, collected and together. All the fears, all the worries seem to have subsided, at least for now. Perhaps I am numbed by the heavy reality of mum's condition. Perhaps I have resigned to fate. Perhaps it calms me to see mum at ease, and at peace with her own health, her own body, her own fate. On her face was a small smile. Not a happy smile, but a smile of satisfaction, of recognition. "I have nothing to worry about anymore, and I have had many a good times..."

The reality is the way it is, and nothing can change it. Not worry, not even prayers, not even the tears of a child who tries very hard to make sure nothing bad happens to his own mother. What else can you do but once more recognise and accept that there is but a thin line that separates life and death? It is up to you to decide which side of the line wish to be on.

Day before the results

It was a happy day today, one day after the wedding. The bride and groom stayed at our family home for the 'first' time, and shared their 'wedding bed' (as mum commented sometime ago, for sure not for the first time...)

We went out for lunch at a shabu-shabu place nearby, and ate for almost three hours. We chatted, joked and exchanged stories from our travels, our lives, and genuinely had a joyous day together. A day filled with laughs, and just being in one another's presence, sharing the moments together.

Tomorrow, mum will finally receive the results of her recent MRI scan. It's taken almost three weeks to arrange for the scan, and to have the results, and there was a delay because mum decided to change doctors at the last moment last week. We'll find out what is wrong (or more positively, what is right...) with her, and should get an opinion of how to proceed with treatment.

I'm not sure how we will all feel, especially how mum will feel after the appointment. I've been dreading this day somewhat, and fearing the outcome. It has made me so scared at times, so very scared and frustrated I cannot begin to describe it to anyone. And I can only imagine, no I can only vaguely imagine, what mum must be feeling...

We've had our happy times, our happy moments together. Tomorrow we may be saddened and depressed. But at least we are together in this, in sadness and in happiness, in good health and in ill health.

The Wedding

“Welcome to the family,” I whispered in her ear as I leaned over and kissed her three times on the cheeks, “Wish you two happiness and luck.”  My sister in law (no longer to-be!) was genuinely touched, and clutched tightly onto the bouquet of white and pink flowers. In the haste of all the things that needed planning and doing, we had forgotten to get the bride flowers. Luckily, at the very last minute I managed to get my hands on a beautiful bouquet—one of many amusing and memorable surprises to come.

The wedding day came and is now over. Most couples plan this day for months, if not s year well in advance, but my sister in law and brother planned it all within one month or so, and neither of them were physically in the country until two weeks before the big day. It may have been rushed, there may not have been much protocol or paying respect to the proper rites and rituals (there were some bloopers and awkward moments during which nobody knew how to proceed…), but in the end, with the help of so many of my sister-in-law’s friends and relatives, the past two days will certainly fill many people’s lives with lots of pleasant and happy memories.

The setting was at an up-scale Japanese restaurant, with dimly lit and minimally decorated rooms that evokes an ambience of elegance and simplicity. With black and white as the base colours of the décor, the beautiful arranged flower pieces resting on the big round and rectangular tables form centres around which dozens of family and friends from either side of the couple gathered. I bought boxes of heart-shaped Ferrero Rocher chocolates, and placed floating candles on each table to add more warmth and light to the atmosphere. All around the rooms (there were seven of them, which sliding doors which we pushed aside to form one big reception area), red and white heart shaped balloons drifted around on the floor and rested beautifully on counter tops. Later, some of the balloons would become playthings of young children who attended the wedding, adding another level of fun and festivity to the whole event.

Nine separate dishes there were, nine being a homonym of the word ‘longevity’. Taiwanese thrives on symbolism, metaphors, and making obscure connections with plays on words, and each number from one to ten has a proverb associated with it which can capture the essence of good fortunes and favarouble luck. Being a Japanese restaurant, there was plenty of seafood, with cut sashimi pieces so fresh I could almost taste the sea. And I swear at one point I saw the legs of the peeled shrimp twitch as I slid the pink body into my mouth.

Being a part of the groom’s core family, I was seated at the main table, together with my mum, and closest kin of my family and the family of the bride. Every few minutes, someone would lift their cups and toast the newlyweds, or toast the mothers or uncles of the couple, at the same time offering congratulations, thanks and well-wishes. A lot of the people I don’t even know the names of would come up to me and thank me for being involved so much. “It’s the least I can do to make this a happy event for them”, I would say shyly, and follow up by thanking people for coming to attend. Indeed, though there were only around eighty people or so, relatively modest compared to other Taiwanese weddings, guests had come from as far away as the southern part of the country to share the joy.

Soft, romantic music and love songs played in the background, radiating from speakers connected to a latptop I had managed to set up at the very last minute. With a dear friend of my sister-in-law (who happened to design and make my tailor-made suit), we planned a number of games to liven up the wedding. Only two days before, I had rushed around downtown to pick up lots of little gifts to give away. Under random seats we had placed red envelops for lucky ‘winners’ who get a chance to draw numbers from a deck of Hearts (symbolising love). Three red envelops were deliberately ‘planted’ under the seats of three special people: my aunt (dad’s older sister, and in a way, his representative), my mum, and my sister-in-law’s grandma (with whom she has a very close relationship). They had to go to the centre stage and make a speech, and as a reward, they get a kiss on the cheek from the bride and groom at the same time.

When it was mum’s turn, mum was a little nervous to be in the spotlight. She wished them happiness and luck together, and hoped they would take care of one another. That moment when they leaned in to kiss her, I captured on camera, and in my mind. The moment mum hugged the bride tightly as my sister-in-law called out “mum”, I too captured. The next moving moment was when mum and my brother hugged.

That scene, those few seconds, seemed to last forever. As the applauses echoed, I had to turn away to contain the unexpected tears. I could not see mum’s face, as her back was turned to me. But I could see brother, and he had his eyes closed, for perhaps he too was trying to contain his tears and his emotions. It was a deep, tight embrace, and I imagined what my brother and my mum were thinking as they held onto one another’s bodies. Thoughts of gratitude, of appreciation, of a little unwillingness to let go, of happy and sad memories… Perhaps brother whispered something in her ears, something personal intended only for her. Perhaps mum whispered something in his ears, something heart-felt, coming from the warmth and love of a mother who is about to ‘lose’ a child.

 Through my mind, there flowed a tingling feeling of completeness, of release and of relief, especially as something so beautiful to the core, something hopeful and exciting is happening, and may perhaps sweep away the dullness and dreariness of having to deal with the spectre of death and illness that has hung over the family for the past two, three years. Was dad watching from a distance, at the son and mother, at the beautiful bride, and feeling proud and reassured that our family is once more a family of four? Sadly, dad was not there, even though at the main table, we had especially arranged for a seat to be vacant, and I had asked to be seated next to that seat. 

I walked into the corridor to escape the intensity of the moment, and to let the tears naturally moisten every corner of my eyes and water my eyelashes. People saw me in the corridor and came up to speak to me, to thank and congratulate me. Weakly I mustered smiles, and expressed my gratitude for their presence. I wondered if they saw the redness and dampness of my eyes, saw that I was looking at them with blurred and watery vision.

It was then I really missed the presence of my friend, who was invited but could not attend. It was then that moment, seeing brother being ‘given away’ and somewhat officially leaving the household, which made me really wonder about my own life, about my own future, and whether my mum will still be around to give me ‘away’, and to give me the same blessings and well-wishers. Will I too have a wedding with all these fine touches, with all these little details, little notes and little notes that make it all especially personal, especially memorable, and especially heart warming…?

Today was brother and my sister-in-law’s big day. I rushed home after the wedding, and quickly decorated the bridal suite (actually the same room my friend and I stayed in only two weeks earlier…) with heart-shaped balloons, and a deck of Hearts strewn all over the floor. On their table, I placed two little sachets of gold chocolate coins, each with a little personal note, one written by mum, one by me.

In the midst of all the things happening in the past few days, I managed to find a quiet moment to write the new couple a card, and I placed it next to a booklet I had prepared and asked guests to sign and write personal messages in. I wished them happiness, good health and prosperity, like most, if not all people would.I also wished them strength in good times and less fortunate times… wished they will always remember and treasure what brought them together in such a short period of time, and that they will always remain true to one another, no matter what… wished they will find peace and belonging in one another, even at times when there are conflicts or frustrations…

Happy marriage… may they love one another, be there for one another, be together forever, and ever.

Engagement

Early morning, mum and I took the high speed rail down to the centre of the country, to Taichung, the hometown of my sister-in-law (to be). Though it was gray and cold in Taipei, as soon as we got off the train, the sun shone through the clouds.

"A beautiful day it is," I said. We went into the hotel where the reception is held, and the bride and bridemaids had already checked into a room the night earlier. They were already made up when mum and I walked into the room. Brother stood on one said, looking cheerful and had a smile on his face that would not fade for the rest of the day.

There are many rites and rituals to obide, if we were to follow true Taiwanese custom. But both sides felt that it is no longer necessary, especially given that most of the traditions have lost their touch on my generation, much to the ire of some of the elders in the family. Instead, it was a wedding with a blend of modern and western with local roots.

There were over a hundred people, I would imagine, from both sides of the family. I stood by mum most of the time, and greeted guests with drinks and cheers. Congratulations, well-wishes, and good lucks were the norm, and the bride and groom (to be) regularly walked around the reception hall with glasses to toast all those who have come, from near and far.

The decor, the music, the kind, sweet words of greetings and blessings, and the image of the couple walking hand in hand down the aisle was so touching. I wore a tailor-made jacket from a piece a fabric that dad had left behind for me, and I silently wished he could be here to see and enjoy all this. When my aunt (dad's older sister) heard about the story of my jacket, I spotted a tear in her eyes.

It was a beautiful day indeed, and a beautiful engagement party, despite the uncertainties earlier about whether it would take place or not. In the end it did take place, and doubt filled people's hearts with warmth, love and joy. It certainly made my mum laugh and smile widely, and for many, many moments today, forget her illness, forget her troubles, but live in the happiness and celebrations of the couple.

I too was touched by the whole event, and deep down inside, I missed and thought of my friend, and wished he was there to share the experience.

Wedding planner

"When it's your wedding, your brother better do the same for you," mum's friend said. I just smiled, and looked at mum, who looked genuinely happy.

Maybe my brother will also run around town and spend hours shopping for this and that one day in preparation for the big wedding day when (or if!) that day comes for me. Maybe he won't. Whatever the answer, I'm just glad that I can help and contribute to the success and happiness of the upcoming big day (despite the uncertainties before, the latest I heard is that the wedding is still on, and somehow the dust has settled).

There were so many things to pick up, from heart stickers to cards, from a guest book to gifts, sweets and chocolates. I also wanted to create little pouches containing goodies for guests to take home after the wedding, and I came across jade amulets for a bargain, so I bought a whole bunch, and readied myself for a night of packing and wrapping.

Mum's friend also came up with the idea of 'livening' up the wedding with a game, so I got some little gifts to give away. The idea is that under random seats I'm going to place a heart (poker) card, whoever happens to sit on that chair has to get up and say something nice to the newly weds. If s/he does that, the person will get a gift! So far, I have stuffed animal couples, cute key chains, monkey figurines (both my brother and the bride-to-be were born in the Monkey year), and there's even a Delft Blue house (one I got on a recent trip with KLM on business class...) that's going to the special prize! On each of the dining tables, I bought heart-shaped gold tin wrapped Ferrero Rocher chocolates, to make the mood even more exquisite

I happily came home, and started preparing things, writing little notes and wellwishes for the new couple. Somehow, I feel so happy to be doing all this, somehow knowing that all the things I'm doing will eventually make this whole event, which until now has been confronted with obstacle after obstacle, more joyful and special.

Testing...

Went into the hospital with mum this morning, to have her invitro-chemo tube removed. I saw a boy, not older than 10, standing over his dad, who sat in a chair as the nurse put needles into his arm at the oncology ward. The boy had a forlorn look, and looked at his father. On his face was the look of despair, desperation and worry.

I'm not sure why that look moved me. Perhaps because I recognise those expressions, recognise those feelings, for they echo my own. What can you do when a loved one is undergoing an excruciating and at times humiliating treatment--one if not done, is an invitation for the cancer to spread, multiply and eat away your body? It is humiliating, because there is little you can do, and it is so deadly, exactly because it is invisible and not felt, until it is too late...

Mum looked tired upon exiting the hospital, so we went straight home. She is beginning to complain of sores in her left arm, and also beginning to feel sore in her right side hip. According to the make up of the nervous system, the left upper part of the body corresponds to the lower right of the body... the sores may be a sign that the pressure on her spine and nerves is getting worse.

 I... don't know if I should cry, or whether I can cry. Mum can see the sadness, the deep, deep sense of hopelessness on my face. "You're unhappy here," she said, looking at me sitting on the floor next to her bed."

"It just pains me to see you in pain..." I replied. When she hurts, I hurt... when she moans in pain, it is as if I feel that pain. I know these are perhaps strange feelings that are too intense and personal to comprehend. Perhaps I'm too attached and attaching too much of my feelings to mum's. But how can I feel anything else when someone I love and care about deeply is obviously in a state of pain?

Almost another week till the doctor's appointment and till she gets the results and diagnosis of the tumour and compression on the spine. How much more pain can she bear...? How much of this test of patience and forebearance can I take?

Wedding...?

One day before the engagement, and two days before the actual wedding, it seems plans may become upset.

Details are scarce, and things are still developing, but in the worst case scenario, it could all be called off by the mother-in-law (to be?). Not going into details now, because it's all very complicated and personal, but it's to do with family issues on the other side of the family. Mum still has no clue, as things developed shortly after she went to bed last night, and brother and I have not told her any thing, for fear of upsetting her.

My sister-in-law was on the phone till late last night, hysterical and crying as my brother tried to comfort her. I've never seen him so caring, so 'soft' and so understanding and patient. I told him, whatever happens, the engagement and wedding is just a ceremony; you still have one another.

The engagement is in another city in less than 24hrs, but it's still unsure whether it will take place. I think the sister-in-law is trying to negotiate some kind of compromise or agreement, trying to salvage all the efforts and time put into the preparation. But I'm not sure what is happening, or if anything is happening...

Soup

Day two of mum's chemo, and mum threw up almost as soon as soon she woke up. In these few days, her health and appetite is precarious, and she has to be careful what she eats. As her mouth and tongue has lost much of their sensations of taste, in order to eat, she has to eat in little portions spread throughout the day, and preferably foods that are nutritious and strong tasting, and can quickly replenish her white blood cells.

Onions, asparagus, oranges, grapes, broccoli, tomatoes... these are just some of the foods that will help create white blood cells faster, but also act as anti-oxidants. So I made mum noodles this evening, and a tomato-based sauce/soup, filled garlic and onions, to go with it. The sauce was strong in taste, naturally salty and sour from the fresh organic tomatoes I had diced and boiled to a pulp.

I gave her only half a bowl, but within 10minutes, she had emptied it. She burped and a strange noise escaped her mouth. At first, I thought she would throw up, but instead, she wiped her mouth and said it was delicious.

I cannot describe how happy it makes me to see her eat everything, even if it's not much. Even happier, because it's healthy, and will hopefully restore her health back to normal 'again', and, most important of all, I made it myself.

Flare up

Who would have thought at breakfast early in the morning a heated discussion would flare up? I sat and just listened to mum and brother talk back and forth about the upcoming wedding.

Mum is somewhat displeased that the new couple seem to take things for granted, and seem to expect things to be arranged and organised and (most importantly) paid for. There are things that the groom side should pay for, at least from the point of view of the local customs, and Mum has no problem paying for most things. But she is somewhat upset about the fact that my sister-in-law (to be) went out and bought an expensive wedding dress, and called mum one day last week basically asking it to be paid for.

"Why does anyone need to buy a wedding dress?" Mum is dumbfounded, but brother is defensive of his wife (to-be), as is expected. There was no shouting or tempers, but I could sense things were heating up. As we walked home, mum complained almost the whole way about how irresponsible the couple is, how they seem to expect mum to do this and that, even though mum is in no condition to (given her treatment...).

It saddens me to see all this, especially since they've not even gotten married yet. It doesn't do any good for mum's health, and it seems to be creating some bad vibes between the people involved.

"Don't get too involved", I said. And I just hope before and after the wedding she will heed my words.

Hope in hopelessness

My eyes turned moist as soon as I got the appointment. The minutes, seconds before the receptionist told me the answer to my question, I stopped breathing.

"Yes, he has a spot available in the morning."

I was so relieved, and became immediately emotional. He is supposed to be an avant-garde neurosurgeon specialised in spinal injuries. When mum went into the hospital today to start her latest chemo treatment, she had asked a nurse about which doctor she should see. A nurse with whom mum had developed  friendly relations with told mum the name, and said that this same doctor recently operated on a patient with similar conditions as mum, and the patient has now left the intensive care unit and is now in a normal ward and recovering well. The news, and also the prospect of having a second opinion about how to deal with the spreading of tumour on her spine gave mum hope.

I quickly ran to the receptionist to try to change her appointment. Originally, mum had made an appointment with a doctor to see the results of her recent MRI scan, but she wasn't too confident of the doctors abilities. It was simply a doctor her main physician referred her to. Now, with the more reknowned neurosurgeon, who also happens to be a professor in the field, mum is more reassured.

Sometimes in the midst of hopelessness, there is an inkling of hope. I guess that's what made my eyes moist, for I was simply overwhelmed with emotions of gratitude. What are the chances that someone knows someone who may be able to help and provide better diagnosis and treatment? What are the chances that the nurse who was assisting my mum today in the chemo ward is so willing to share valuable information with my mum?

It's not certain yet what the new neurosurgeon will say, and what treatment mum will undergo, but at least mum is feeling more confident than I've seen her in a long time...

Painful dreams

The ground swayed, and I was swaying with it. I could see the wooden floor boards move apart, and slide against one another in opposite directions, in back and forth motions. The walls seemed to buckle and crumble like dust. Mum was with me, and I told her to quickly get under a big wooden table for shelter...

The last thing I remember was the ground continuing to sway, and sitting under the table with mum.

I stirred from my sleep, and heard mum get up to use the bathroom. It was just after 5am. As she laid down, I could hear her twist and turn in bed. Occassionally, sighs and groans would escape her mouth. Painful sighs, painful groans. I heard her rub her arm, as she twisted and turned in bed, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep in.

The minutes seemed to last eternity... each passing minute, filled with the sighs and groans of pain of a loved one lasts an eternity. I cannot imagine the pain, the soreness of her arm that is causing mum to be  so restless, so agitated. I imagined the source of the injury, which as far as I know is the C-7 section of the spine compressing on her nerves. The pain and soreness comes and goes, but sometimes it is especially acute, causing her to groan and sigh.

I cannot describe how much I hurt deep down hearing her sigh and groan... I really cannot. What can I do to take away her pain? What can I do to soothe her agitation...?

In my head when I close my eyes, images of surgery, of being paralysed, of her slipping away, of her motionless body in a hospital bed flash and flicker like scenes from a terrible nightmare...

Visit

It was drizzling outside. On the way to the temple, the waves looked rough and wild, reminding me of the boat trip back from Green Island I took a week or so.

I stood a few steps behind mum, brother and my future sister-in-law. The scent of incense sticks filled my nose as we worshiped our ancestors. My eyes became moist. In silence, I spoke to my dad, and asked for his blessings. Somehow that was a very emotional moment... "Dad, please bless them, and offer them lots of happiness, luck and prosperity in their marriage. Please also bless mum, take good care of her health and her wellbeing".

I do not know if dad could hear me, hear my prayers and hopes. As I stood before dad's urn, I felt a spur of emotions swell up inside. This is the day that many have been waiting for. My brother and his wife-to-be 'meeting' my dad for the first time. I could see mum was also moved. I could see her murmur something, no doubt asking for dad's approval and for his blessings.

They look like such a happy couple, laughing, joking around, and poking one another as we had lunch together at a restaurant. I was reminded of the wonderful time I had with my friend last week, and was reminded of how I miss the intimacy, warmth and comfort of having someone close close to me…

In the afternoon, I was back at the hospital with mum. The soreness in her left arm has gotten worse, and I can see her often rubbing her arm, hitting it with her fist, in a way to relieve her pain. Sometimes when I’m next to her, I hold on to her arm, hold on to her hand, silently wishing that the physical pain she is feeling can passing through my hands and into my body. But of course, that is but a childish and senseless fantasy… for I could never feel or bear her pain for her, however much I want to…  More and more, the hair on the top of her head appears to be thinning. More and more, I find myself trying to sweep away the strands of hair that are on the floor of our house, in the hope that she won’t feel too saddened seeing her constant hair loss.

Mum was supposed to have a chemo session last week, but she had been weakened by a strange bout of diarrhea, and her white blood cell count was too low. Though her blood cell count is still on the low side, the doctor recommended she continue the chemo treatment, especially as the hospital will be closed for the new year period next week.

To start chemo now will be exhausting for her, for a session lasts around 3 days, and in 4 days is the engagement, in 5 days the wedding. I’m really feeling apprehensive about her state of health, and how she’ll cope…

Mum looked sad as we walked home, and I could not but be affected by her sadness. “So is life…” she said. I reached out and grabbed her hand, held onto it tightly and stroked her fingers softly, in the hope that she could feel supported and ressured. My other hand was empty, and felt cold in the breeze.

First impressions

Back home, feeling somewhat tired from the trip. I did not sleep at all, instead, looked out the window of the plane a while, admired the changing colours as the sun retired for the day. And I started to write a few things, in my diary, for this blog too.

I quickly made my way home, and within one and a half hours of landing I was home again. I gave mum a hug, she appeared a little tired, but looked more or less the same. I did notice that there was hair on the floor, and she tried to sweep the strands away to make room for me to sleep on.

Brother is now home, and I too greeted him with a hug. "It's been a long time," I said, and patted him on the back. Indeed, it's been a long time since we spoke or saw one another, and many things have changed since. He looked the same too, and seemed to look happier. On the table was the menu and the wine list for the upcoming wedding on Saturday.

Need to wake up early in the morning to go see dad. And later in the afternoon, another visit to the hospital with mum. Back to life here in Taipei.

En route to TPE

Flying away from the sunset into the darkness of the night, as the last rays of the day cast a beautiful orange glow on the wings of the Boeing Triple Seven. Heading home after a few days away from home. Ironically, sometimes I must leave home in order to return home.

All too quickly, the eleven days or so of the time together with my friend has come to an end. We’ve traveled to many places together, crossed physical borders and emotional boundaries, and engaged many fun, romantic and intimate things together (and of course, as with all relationships, there were also little personality clashes too…). It brings a beautiful small smile to my face to reminisce the many laughs and jokes, the little sweet talks and moments together in which I felt as if there were no one else in the world but him. I can only imagine he felt the same…

It’s hard to describe it all, and even harder perhaps to describe how I felt as I said goodbye to him at the airport of Saigon. It felt bizarre, somewhat surreal, that after all the nights and days spent together almost constantly at one another’s side, we’d be saying goodbye in a foreign country, at a foreign airport, unsure when we’d meet again. Tonight, I will surely miss the warmth and heart-warming scent of his body when I go to bed…

We hugged one another, and gave one another kisses on the cheeks and neck. Even though throughout our time together, I often felt the urge to just stroke his hand, touch his arm, smell his hair, somehow at the airport just before entering the passport control area I felt conscious of people watching us, and, as much as I wanted to, dared not venture onto his lips.

We’ve had conversations about the possibility of him coming to visit me again in March. It would be good to see him again, after a separation by vast distances and of a long time. But truth is, I’m not sure what will happen in the coming period, so I have been non-committal. Maybe he feels my hesitation about setting a reunion date, and perhaps he feels like I’m putting our relationship on the sideline…

But…deep down, I’m very scared of the results of mum’s latest MRI scan. I’m frightened  that if things turn bad, I may be in Taiwan for a long time to come. Of course, the rational part of me questions the necessity of worrying and fearing about something you do not yet know, and can even less control. But the emotional part of me—that part that worries and thinks too much perhaps— feels like it’s not fair to my friend to ask him to wait for me, even though we both know that recent bout of intimate time together and developments in the past week have made us more of a couple than ever before. I would like to be with him, to finally start a new chapter in our until now has been complicated and tumultuous at times… but am I really worth the time apart and time spent waiting for the next moment when we are together again, whenever that will be?