Terrible emptiness

14082012.1629

I feels so empty inside it hurts...
This place feels so foreign it hurts...

Biking with group of friends, two people to a bike
Hilly and challenging route
I sped forward and going very quickly
Others arguing and one being a pain and slowing everyone down

At one point everyone climbed a great big tower-like structure
I got on top and tower started wobbling... It collapsed
Terrible, terrible fear...

Pain

07082012.1240

I never imagined it would be so painful going to see mum again. I started crying as soon as I saw her little shrine... The pictures of mum, one smiling on the train, the other of mum laughing because a cat climbed on her shoulder, made it more unbearable. The gilded maple leaf and the pink tulip are there with her, reminders of the Canada she so enjoyed visiting and the Netherlands she so loved living in.

I promised her i would be strong, and that I'd be happy and go be myself. But truly the loss of a parent cannot be easily consoled, the pain cannot be easily soothed. And the void inside cannot be so quickly filled. I promised mum I would not cry, that I would be strong and find myself again. But truly, my body and mind is so tired, so very tired, and therefore so very weak.

I wiped away my tears, knelt on the floor and bowed deeply. "Be well, mama, be happy..."

I will try and try to be the same.

Turbulent seas

07082012.1123

The waves are jumping in the wind, flying and tumbling and roaring as they crash their way onto the tranquil shores... Such roughness! Such turbulence!

Heading to see mum and dad on my own...

Orphans

"I feel like an orphan now..." brother said. My feelings exactly. And my brother has a family, a wife, a child. 

So imagine how I feel.
 

Visiting mum

07082012.0043

It's almost been a month since I put her to rest. I miss mum, more and more so, and more and more I feel an emptiness grow and grow inside me... An emptiness like no other that is causing me much grief and to want to withdraw.

After the failed attempt to bike around the island (and the great personal disappointment in failing to realise my dream...) and the emotional journey to mum's hometown, I feel a sudden urge to go see mum (or perhaps let her "see" me...). I want to let her know despite a lot of setback and repressed emotions, I'm hanging on, and that I will be alright. My heart may be heavy, my body may feel so tired and listless, but I will pull through somehow. I know I will.

And I want to mum things that I want her to know, and to ask her questions that only she can answer, even though she is no longer around...

It will be another emotional affair and perhaps painful experience. But as someone reminded me a day or so ago, this is only the "VERY" beginning of losing someone, really losing someone. This is not like losing a friend or losing a lover... This is losing a part of your life, a part that is so fundamental to who you are and how you grew up. The pain and loss will get worse before it gradually, gradually dulls, I know. I know.

And however fatigued and drained I already am after the months leading up to mum's death and the weeks after her death, I need to toughen up and be prepared.

Deleted

07082012.2321

I dragged my feet and only at the very last moment did I press "delete".

Deleted were all her personal data, her email account, her Facebook account and her skype account. Deleted were all the music I uploaded onto the pad for her, music that would make her calm and less bored at the hospital, music that would send her to sleep.
Deleted were the pictures I uploaded onto her pad to remind her of just a little bit of what wonderful trips she made throughout her life time.

Deleted was all trace of mum, as If she never existed. Deleted forever, never to be retrieved. Gone.

I touched the screen gently, and closed my eyes... She once swiped her fingers across the same screen. She once scrolled up and down Facebook pages of her grandchild... She once looked into the camera and smiled and smiled as she video chatted with my brother and his family...

I bought the pad for her, especially for her. But now she's gone, what use is this pad now? I have no use for it, even though I remember at the time when I bought it for her (really, it was for her...) I told her I would take it with me when she no longer needs it (so she wouldn't nag about how I'm wasting money...). Now she no longer needs it, and I have no use for it. Looking at it, using it would only bring back painful, painful memories...

So I sold the pad.

Restaurant

07082012.1912

Brother choked on his tears as he mentioned how he and mum went to the restaurant together sometime last year. It would be his last time with mum. "We sat over there..." he said and pointed to a table behind us.

"And I sat with mum there," I said as I pointed to the table next to the one he pointed to. Last time mum and I went there was in February. Just after a visit to the hospital in southern Taipei, I believe it was after a routine check up after her CyberKnife treatments. I mentioned the Thai restaurant as it was on our way home. Mum agreed to go. And surprisingly she ate quite a bit, even though she had been vomiting for some time already.

Tonight I suggested to brother to go to the same restaurant, knowing fully well that the place has a special place in our hearts. Mum brought us there first over ten years ago. We fell in love with Their shrimp pancake and water crest with shrimp paste. These are two dishes we order every time we frequent the restaurant. And we ordered the same dishes today as well. A tribute to mum, in a way.

Mum was on both our minds.
Mum is on both our minds...

Grief

06082012.0336

Grief and regret can keep you awake at night...

Grief and words said in a fit of anger can keep your mind burning when your body needs to calm down and sleep...

Grief, grief, grief... Let me sleep...

You are the apple...

05082012.0029

I first watched this movie with mum when it premiered on tv over four months ago. A bitter sweet comedy with some dirty jokes and a dose of romanticism and reality.

I am watching it again now, or at least parts of it. It seemed like such a long time ago, sitting there on the sofa of mum's private hospital room. Mum was still relatively alright back then. She could still get up and out of bed on her own, even though her health was already steadily declining due to the fact she had not properly eaten for weeks at that point. I remember watching the movie, feeling a bit awkward when there were sexual references and scenes of masturbation, and I remember laughing at the funny bits, and turning to look at mum who also smiled quietly.

We watched the movie till the end together, which was a surprise, because the movie was over two hours long, and by the time it ended it was already past eleven. She turned to me when the movie ended and said: "This is how it was in those days..." By "those days" she meant the days of her youth, the days of her high school years when girls and boys beginning to discover one another, but are still too conservative to make moves. I remember thinking to myself how lovely it is for mum to have a look back at her youth...

I watch the movie by myself now, sitting in the living room all alone. Mum's portrait and dad's portrait are the only signs of company, for my brother already retreated into his room (which was mum's room...). Back then, just four months or so ago, I could reach over to touch mum whenever I wanted. And I believe I even massaged her arms and legs, as I did nightly before bedtime. Back then, she spoke to me when I spoke to her, even though her voice and lifeline was already weakening. Now when I speak to her, there is only a deadly silence...

This bitter sweet movie is bringing me bitter sweet memories...

 

How do I keep from crying?

 04082012.2354

These days, I feel this heaviness in my heart, a heaviness that brings me close to tears. Someone I know wrote me an email and reminded me that it is still "VERY early days". This means the real mourning and pain is yet to set in. I realised today that it has only been a month and a week or so since mum passed away.

I watched a moving movie today, about an elderly woman and her final journey facing illness and death. It is moving especially because I saw and experienced that deterioration, that steady decline and move from a 'normal' functioning lady to one bound to a wheelchair and dependent on others. This is life...



Earlier I spoke to the priest who (claims he) can communicate with the deceased. I have not spoken to him since the funeral, which was almost a month ago. I asked him how mum was, and whether she said anything. And I told him about the dreams I had with mum in them.

"Your mum is worried about you..." he said, "She was especially worried that you went biking when the typhoon was approaching." I heard that and almost burst into tears. Whether you believe it or not (and I choose to believe), mum is still around and is still caring about me, looking after me like she always did. She is just not able to tell me so much in person, but she still looks out for me and worries about me.

"Don't be too sad and think of her too much," the priest told me, "The more you think of her, the less willing she will be to let go and leave this world. And she should move on." I know that. I know she should move on, and I also told her to move on. But I cannot control myself or my emotions. I cannot help it that many things I see or remember bring me such painful memories and bring me to the verge of crying... 

How do I keep from crying? Maybe I should just cry...

Dad's passbook

04082012.1322

When I was down in my parents' hometown, my aunt (dad's older sister) handed me a green booklet. It is dad's passbook from the year 1971, when dad was just 24.

He was in university then, studying Economics at what is now part of National Taipei University. There was a large deposit of over five thousand New Taiwan Dollars.

Broken

01082012.2221

"Auntie was broken..." In a four year old's mind, the world is simple and uncomplicated. Broken means ill, and my second cousin was referring to my mum when she went to see my mum at the hospital around a month and a half ago. "Auntie was broken, auntie was broken. And she's dead." It was a surprise to hear that word, first of all because she, a four year old, seems to understand already what dead means.

And it was a surprise also because for a long time seemed to be a taboo word. But that's what mum is. In the mind of a four year old, there are no niceties and pleasantries of euphemisms and trying to find words to make things sound less serious or severe than things really are.

 Dead is dead. "Auntie is dead. Like grandpa!" My second cousin lost her grandpa, my aunt's husband, back in March.

Nanshi

I began to feel pain in the knees about yesterday afternoon, and the left was more severe than the right. It's strange, for normally it's my right knee that aches when I bike. And last night, when I went to bed, I felt pain when I straightened my left leg.

I slept for over seven hours straight and was waken up by a call. It was my uncle, who had so kindly arranged for me to stay at a very luxurious hotel, which gave the the opportunity to have a nice soak and such long sleep (though, the sleep was disturbed by disturbing dreams...)

After biking for around twenty kilometers or so this morning I saw a bike shop and went in to get a knee strap. I only have, and didn't know I would need two for both my legs. The nice guy at the bike shop and I chatted a bit. It's hard to hide, especially with my bike and luggage carriers and flag of the shape of Taiwan, that I'm on a long bike trip. The guy recommended not only I get straps, but also get some glucosamine for my joints.

So i went to the pharmacy, and the kind lady there showed me some products. She suggested I stop biking altogether, to prevent further staining u knee, for the pain is already a warning that I need to take more care... She gave me some painkillers and also additional sachets of glucosamine for free. "I'd give you an applause for your efforts but your knee is injured...!" she joked as she sent me on my way.

After a break at a convenient store just after leaving Miaoli. When I tried to walk and take the bike up a steep hill, my left knee felt so very sore. Unbearably sore... More so when I straighten my leg entirely. I walked on a bit more, and got on the bike to peddle for a bit, but the pain did not go away...

Then I are a sign pointing to a station. Curiously I went to the empty platform and coincidentally saw the bright headlight of a train coming my way. It was a train I needed. So I hopped aboard.

The pain truly is unbearable, and I really need to quit while I'm ahead to avoid a terrible I injury. Quit, at least for now...

Another funeral

The most touching, and also painful, memory, is when my (extended) uncle held mum's hand at the hospital and told her: "We have to be strong together... We are friends in illness..."

When I think of that scene, I can easily cry. Though he was undergoing treatment himself, he insisted on going to see her at the hospital. He was incredibly thin, more so than I remember him. Before he was so athletic, regularly went hiking and mountain climbing. When I saw him a he walked up to Mum's bedside, he was so frail, and a bit slow. Several surgeries in the brain weakened him, eroded him to just bone. And yet, he showed such warmth and such compassion. "Older sister, you are so much better than I am," I remember her telling my mum, "You only have one cancer to deal with. With me it's all over the place..."

My auntie (my distant relative's older sister) told me a story. When mum passed away, nobody dared to tell this uncle, perhaps fearing that it would sadden him greatly. But somehow he felt it, somehow he felt that my mum had passed away. He told his wife the news of Mum's passing, whereas nobody else knew at the time except for mum's immediate family members. Perhaps in suffering, perhaps in having this common illness called cancer, there

Tears

30072012.1734

I arrived at my grandma's place, but she was out at the market. the next door neighbour, a 93 year old lady who had poor eye sight, heard my voice, she immediately recognised me as my Mum's child. "Did your mum come back?" she asked.

"She returned..." I quietly said. "returned" being a Taiwanese euphemism for passing away, returning to the heavens from where we all come from.

"Returned to Holland?"

"No, she returned..."

The old lady, her face full of wrinkles, raised her hands to her eyes and broke into tears when she realised what I meant. "So young... She used to come visit every so often, and was always so kind..." The sadness and pain kept on building up throughout the day. "She was so kind..." Yes, mum truly was, and every reminder of her kindness, every memory of her shared by Mum's family members added to the pain and sadness.

My grandma (mum's (step)mother) returned, and soon enough she was wiping away her tears as we sat down to chat. It was the first time i saw her since mum's passing. I too had difficulty holding tears back. "I didn't go to the funeral, because it's too painful... I was afraid when I start crying I won't stop..." she said, "I hope you can understand..."

I understood. What it must be like for a mother to lose a child, even if it's a stepmother. I looked at the empty chairs in the living room. Mum would sit on the chair opposite me or sometimes beside me whenever we visit grandma together. But today, it was just my grandma and me, and the sound of the ceiling fan cutting through the emptiness of the air.

Throughout the morning and even during lunch as we talked a about mum, my grandma went silent and shed tears several times. I sat next to her during lunch, so I could see clearly how tears streamed out of her eyes. What she must be thinking about... What she must be remembering about mum...

I went to see her by myself in the morning, for I had a mission. Mum had included grandma in her will, and it is Mum's wish to leave some money to her (step)mother as appreciation for bringing mum up. I went to my grandma's with a red envelop full of cash and I explained to her Mum's wish.

She became sad and did not want to take the money. With a shaken voice: "Her thoughts and kindness I have received but I cannot take the money..." We sat down and for a while went back and forth on the issue. I insisted it is Mum's will, but my grandma said she has means and didn't want to take anything. Her regret is that she did not have a last chance to see mum before she passed away, for my grandma was herself injured after a fall in the month of June. "Your mum was such a caring and filial daughter..."

"And like your grandpa, she really loved to travel, really enjoyed fine food. My grandpa was disabled from the waist down about fifteen years before he passed away. So almost as long as I could remember he would sit in this rattan chair and smile everytime mum and I went through the door, and cry everytime we left. Mum brought him his favorite foods everytime she visited. "And he could tell which food stall from another..." grandma said, "He could take one bite and know that where you bought the food. Your mum also had a fine taste for food. Like father, like daughter..." I smiled as I learned a bit more about mum, and also in a way about where I came from.

"I'm worried about you most of all, as was your mum..." grandma said. For a good while, she went on about how she was worried about how I will fare now that I am parentless. "You have no one to turn to now, so you have to be strong and brave..." Her regret is that she did not get to see mum before she went, for she herself was injured after a bad fall back in June. "You have to do good and not disappoint your mother..."
I nodded and said I understood.

I know myself how much mum (and dad) have given me, and how fortunate I am, even though they are no longer around. I know I am blessed, even though I can no longer turn to them for advice or call them up.

At one moment, I snuck away to let the pain and tears drain out of me. I wandered to a small temple close to where my grandma lives. In the basement of the temple my grandpa's (Mum's dad) memorial is sheltered.

I stood before my grandpa's little memorial plaque and held an incense stick and prayed. I shed more tears as I silently prayed: "Grandpa, now you and mum are reunited, I hope you will take good care of her, and show her the way..." in my mind, I saw my grandpa and mum, saw them sitting in heaven and laughing... It was a beautiful image, but also so very sad... So very sad.

Another victim

29072012.1621

He came to see mum at the hospital, I remember, back in April. Mum was on the eleventh floor, and I believe it was just after her digestive bypass surgery.

He is the younger brother of my uncle's wife (mum's first brother), so in a way, he's an uncle too, albeit a distant one. Growing up, when I was much younger, I would spend some time in the south, and this uncle would often pass by after work and bring lots of goodies and dessert. I remember him as a strong and athletic man, a medic in the air force, always so cheerful and energetic.

Cancer changed all that. It has been over a decade since I last spoke to him. I saw him once only in this period of time, last year and from a distance, as he was just about to leave in a car after going to see my grandma (Mum's side). I was shocked to see how thin he'd grown, and how on his scalp there are the markings of a surgical incision.

I had heard that he has cancer and has been battling it for several years, perhaps for longer than my mum. His is a rare form of brain tumour, and he went through several surgeries and treatments, but still the cancer kept coming back and getting stronger.

When he came to see mum, he sat down next to her and held her hand. "We must be strong together..." It was such a touching scene, and I was almost crying when I saw that. He said he's become a sort of lab rat, and the doctors are giving him clinical trial drugs at no charge. In his stage of advanced cancer, you just try to do what you can. Or as they say here: "treat a dead horse as if it were still alive".

Before heading down to the south, I called my aunt (my uncle's wife) to see whether we could get together with all of mum's siblings for a meal. She told me the news then. I was speechless.

But in a way I knew also its for the best, for he no longer has to undergo treatment and pain. The saddest is that he still has two young children...

Mum's youngest sister

"Even though she's gone now, you still have to come back and visit me..." my aunt said. There was sadness in her eyes, in her voice. She said she watched me grow up, took care of me when I was a baby, took me in whenever I visited mum's hometown. And throughout these years, mum's youngest sister stayed with mum on and off for extended periods of time to be there whenever mum was doing chemo. Though there are differences, I am very grateful toward her for her presence and help, even right up to the end.

We sat in my auntie's living room and chatted. She told me the story of how she got her new TV. "It's because of your mum..." Mum came here sometime last year, and stayed a night. When mum saw that the old TV was displaying images double, she urged her sister to get a new TV. So she did. When it was delivered at the end of December, my aunt rushed to the north, to Taipei, to be with mum as she was admitted into the emergency room for spinal surgery. So for a long time, the TV was unopened because I was with your mum at the hospital..."  Every thing holds a memory, everything, if you think a little, can be tied to mum and to a memory of when she was still around... This trip to mum's (and dad's) hometown will be an emotional and difficult one. Today mum's sister, tomorrow mum's (step)mother... I must be strong.

My aunt told me she saw mum in a dream. She grabbed a tissue as she told me about the dream. "Your mum was just in front of me, and I was talking to her. She did not say anything but she was smiling back at me. She looked peaceful and was healthy..." It is similar to a dream I had of mum, just three days or so after she passed away. I too saw her, smiling before me, in a dress I chose for her. 

"Don't be a stranger. Come visit and stay over, because you're always welcome here. You're far too modest and never want to trouble anyone. You're like your mum..." she said.

I smiled, but deep down, I was tearing. I am my mother's child, and now a motherless child.

Invitation letter

(Liberty Times, 29 July 2012)

"You are again thinking of that person who made you unhappy, thinking of those words he said that made you hurt, and also thinking of the things ge did that made you upset.

Thinking, thinking, your mood depresses, anger then gradually, gradually rises.

So then an originally good morning or evening is again ruined by this person. No matter where you go, no matte what you do, this person is closely lint to you, following you like a shadow.

Darling, whenever you are thinking of the person who made you unhappy, it is like sending him an invitation letter, silently allowing him to come accompany you, disturb you, destroy you.

So, let him to, let him be, and do not allow the person you despise be your company...."

Dashed dream

It was supposed to be along anticipated dream come true. I was felt so alive yesterday, and that first hour or so I got on the bike today. But truly, the pain is unbearable and unlike any I've experienced before...

I went to a specialist pharmacist and explained my problem. He told me to stop my biking plans and to really rest, or otherwise the injury might get even more severe than it already is, for the more I bike on the more strained my muscles around the knee will be.

Perhaps it is difficult to imagine how devastating this news is to me. I have been really planning this, been looking forward to it, believing and telling myself (and others...) again and again that I can do this. But my body cannot... Simply cannot... My body is too weak and I am too weak to do something like this...

Maybe as my brother said, I biked too far and for too long on the very first day. And this after not having exercised for a long time... But still, the disappointment is great, for I had this entire journey planned out, and was all prepared and imagining the beautiful things I would experience and see. The pharmacist (and also the bike shop owner) told me I should really rest and not over-do it...

This was a dream, a personal dream, and a promise to my mum. In fact, I have a "bit of her" with me, symbolically in the form of ash from the incense we offered her those two weeks from her passing to her cremation. And I feel I've let her down, and let myself down...

I need to rest, I know that. I need to train better and prepare myself better for such a strenuous trip. And I know I may most likely have to give up this dream, at least for the time being... (or for ever? I'm not sure...)

But it hurts and is so devastating... Because I placed so much of my hopes and dreams on this very journey...

Memories

28072012.1322

It was merely a split second, a moment when I was getting food at the buffet restaurant where I last was about a year and a half ago.

I saw the fruit platters, the wonderful chocolates and cakes.... And I remembered. I took a few pieces of handmade Belgium chocolates, and they were so good, I offered some to mum for her to try...

Similar types of chocolates are on offer inside a refrigerated cabinet... But there's no one I could share that sweet bitter taste with...

Misfortunes

29072012.1542



This is turning to be a terrible trip.
Perhaps I expected far too much, and so can only be disappointed...

First my knee became terribly sore (better now, but still unable to walk, let alone bike, long distances...). Then as I planned to take the bike on the train further southward, to the hometown of my parents, I was refused entry to the train-- for a reason I do not understand, because last time it was fine and no questions were asked! And now the weather is changing, and a terrible typhoon is approaching closer and closer, with torrential rain and strong winds expected...

So I'm limping when I walk, my morale and spirit is wounded, and making my way to the train station to take the train (or bus... It's terribly crowded and the height of the summer holidays). Not what I planned at all... But is anything ever as planned?

I just want to get away, to go somewhere where I can be myself and stop pretending, stop smiling and keeping up appearances. I just want to spend time alone or with someone dear so that can pour my heart out... Because it's so tiring to carry a heavy heart around and so tiring to mourn without really crying...

But life cannot always be what you want it to be. You cannot get what you want, and will just have to make peace with that...

Long awaited journey

27072012.2333

I've been thinking about this day for years, and been planning it for months. The dream to bike around the island (or at the very least as far as my legs and energy levels can take me...) is supposed to be a life changing experience, something I need to rediscover the meaning of life and to spend some time on my own. After Mum's passing, this is perhaps as good a time as ever to embark on this long awaited journey.

So I set a date, today, after much of Mum's after-affairs have been dealt with (now we are just waiting for confirmation from her former employee to pay out some of her retirement fund). I probably should have train Ed a bit, or at least biked around the block, for after all, it has been over a month since I last packed away my bike and placed it under Mum's bed to store.

I got the bike out, dusted off the dust, and assembled it together late last night. And eight hours or so later, I was on the bike, beginning my journey.

There were moments I sang to myself. The excitement of hopping on a bike and the freedom that comes with that is so exhilarating and liberating. As I peddled southward (going around the island anti clockwise...), my thoughts drifted to mum, to various moments in the past few months. I saw mum, watching me from afar, goading me on. Before, when I told her about my dream, she told me: "go for it. Go realise your dream." I'm doing this right now, mum!

Feelings of joy were mixed with feelings of loss and pain... Sometimes so strong I could almost feel my tears mix with the almost incessant downpour (terrible weather, but at least it's not too hot...yet.)

I needed this time alone, time to myself to think over events and experiences, or at least let them wash over me and see what impressions are left behind. I need to know I can be strong and determined, and that I can do something so many people when they hear about it say: "That's crazy!" I need to show and prove to myself I can do it, I can exert myself and tire myself and excel.

Of course, there have been various moment during the day when I felt I couldn't make it. My legs and knees ached badly, probably from the lack of exercise and sudden repetitive motion for hours. My body needs time to adjust, not only to the strenuous exercise, but also the humidity and the roar of cargo traffic on very busy interstate roads and exprssways.

A "brother"

Trying to remember

When I try to remember, my mind is blank. Can I picture her face, can I replay the sound of her voice or laughter? I fear with time I will forget her, because when I try to remember her, my mind is a terrible, terrible blank...

I wrote to a friend that this is more or less how I feel now. There are moments of terrible pain and indescribable feelings of loss. And then there are moments when life just goes on, as if she never existed-- and if she never existed, then she never did leave. Then there are moments when I long to lie next to her and watch her sleep. And there are moments when I long for her motherly advice and warnings. (which I admit at times I readily dismissed because I'd heard these warning over and over again...). But those memories, those moments appear to be so very vague now, even though she has been gone less than a month or so. How much has happened in these few weeks!

Is a part of me trying to block out mum's memories, trying to drown out and suppress the past and mum's existence so that I will not feel, so that I will not hurt?

I want to cry... I want to hurt so that I know I am alive and really living!

At the dentist

25072012.1623

There are going to be moments, and today I had such a moment, when I will forcefully feel the pain of having no parents... And I can only say, it is so very, very painful...

I went to the dentist, one recommended by mum, to see what can be done about my wisdom teeth. There are four which should be removed, for it will only be a matter of time till they start hurting. The big problem is, the bottom two wisdom teeth are growing horizontally, which is rare and will prove to be tricky (dangerous) to remove.

Back in Canada, the dentist told me to have them removed. But the dentist I saw today, who had helped my brother almost a decade ago with his wisdom teeth removal, told me an alternative and better solution. He recommends keeping the wisdom teeth but instead removing the teeth which are directly next to the wisdom teeth on either side of my jaw. After that, I can adjust the wisdom teeth to fill the gap left behind by the removed teeth. The roots of the teeth he recommends removing are already damaged by the horizontally placed wisdom teeth compressing on them, so he says if you remove the wisdom teeth, it will only be a matter of time till you have to remove the damaged teeth. "Why pay more and go through teeth removal twice if you don't need to?" he told me to go home and think about things, and somehow even though I've just met him, I have a lot of confidence in him. Perhaps because he came so highly recommended by my own late mother.

A lady, also a mother who was there with her son, overheard our conversation. Out of good will, she said: "Go home and ask your mama about it. You don't have to remove the wisdom teeth as other dentists tell you to..."

I know she meant well. I said nothing, but her words made me feel sudden pain and loss. I have no one to ask now. No mother who can advise me, no parent with whom I can consult from now on whenever I make a life-changing (or in this case, potentially life threatening...) decision. I really felt like crying, and telling them: "My parents are both gone... Who can I ask now for advice...?"

I thanked the dentist for his expert opinion, and said I'd go home to consider things. I left the dentist and became so sad. The streets of Taipei just felt emptier, much emptier...

Surge of emotions

It just dawned on me again... Who can I turn to now for advice? Who can I just call up and ask for an opinion on important decisions and not feel like I'm imposing my feelings and insecurities on someone? My mum was there, always a phone call away. But she cannot be reached anymore.

Just the thought of that can send me tearing

Brother's check up

My nephew climbed around me, shrieking with innocent joy and laughing so loudly and happily. There is an innocence that is so invaluable, so beautiful, so admirable, and nobody and nothing (except perhaps by growing older...) can take that away from him. I watched him play, and looked at my brother sitting on the same chair that mum used to love sitting on. My brother saw my face become sad, and asked: "What's wrong?"

 Nothing is wrong... Everything is fine, except I envy my brother, for he has a family, a beautiful child. These can mean so much at difficult times, and can add to the joy and bliss in happier times. When he goes to sleep at night, he is surrounded by his wife and child. Of course, married life and family life is not without problems, and I should not idolise his life for I have little to complain about... but really, at night when I am alone in bed, I sometimes find myself reaching out into the darkness, reaching out for human companionship and a warm body to comfort my tired, tired body and wounded mind and soul.

"You really should pay attention to your health. Look at him laugh and play..." I said. My brother came home after an entire day at the hospital for a very thorough body check up. A lump was found in his intestines, too small to be of worry, but still, it is a lump. Otherwise, his weight and layer of fat around his tummy is the greatest cause of concern, and the doctor told him to exercise more and loose some weight. Moments earlier, my brother held his son and they rubbed their cheeks against one another. My brother kept on asking his son: "Did you miss daddy? Did you miss daddy?" The baby giggled so happily and shrieked. It was already half past ten in the evening, but still seeing dad for the first time today made my nephew somehow so high. That was so moving and beautiful to see.

"Two people are dependent on you now, so you really have to be more careful," I said, "So really, take good care of yourself..." I hope what I said didn't sound like nagging, and I do hope my brother heard me and is more alert. Because what he has, as I have told him a couple of times before, is so precious, and he should take better care of himself so he can take better care of his family for a long, long time to come...

Will

Mum wrote a will on my birthday last year.
I first read it the day after she passed away. I was trembling as I read it. And I immediately put it away after I read it. I did not want to read it again...

And now I have the "honour" of translating it for official purposes.

It is so painful to touch and read these pieces of paper which bear mum's very own handwriting.
It is difficult to imagine this person is no longer around, and that these wishes come from beyond the "urn"...

Pain of loss

There are moments when the pain of loss is too unbearable, when even crying is not enough...

There are moments when you realise again the significance of not having any parent to turn to, and are reminded that you are on your own now...

Yes, this is the ultimate, ultimate feeling of pain and loss, the ultimate, ultimate feeling of longing. Nothing, nothing is as painful and, at the same time, as numbing as this.