Long distance friend

For close to a year we lost touch,  but she suddenly wrote to me yesterday and we connnected again.

Two weeks apart our birthdays are and we share so many feelings and experiences, the most intense of which is the loss of our mothers through cancer.

It is so comforting to hear from her and to write to her, because she will and can understand. Because she will not look at my words and expressions and call me socially inept or antisocial. She knows what it means to lose someone, she knows what it feels like to lose all ambition and to break down, even two years on (she lost her mum a year or so before mine.... I remember that day well when she wrote to me. She was distraught, and I was with my mum that time. I cried for her loss, even though I only met her twice in my life. I cried because I know her pain will be my pain. And perhaps better than anyone else, I can share and feel that pain, and she can feel that pain of mine...)

How comforting to hear from her thats I'm doing the best I can, even though I break down and my mood dives. Nobody can understandd why I at times choose to shut down and shut everyone away. Do i not have that right? She said she dors that too, even to her fiancee, just to cry, just to be alone , just to try to find some semblance of sanity and normality again.

Death robs you not only of your loved one, but also of your ability to make sense of things and of the world. Death makes you see so clearly the futility of so many things we get so upset about.... Death makes you wunder how people can spend hours discussing such trivial things. Losing some one you love makes you special, it's a rite of passage not everyone has experienced (but everyone will experience one day, one day...)

Loss isolates you from people who cannot understand, from people who have no patience or who are afraid to talk about it.

But, as my friend said, experiencing loss and death can also be so empowering. It charges you with this sense of "I can achieve and face anything", for better or worse . It doesn't make you superior to everyone else, just makes you more sensitive and sensible about life and how much time we waste by taking each moment for granted.

She wrote to me and empathised with me about how lonely I am. She encouraged me to seek out someone, a significant other who can feel me, who can see through the sadness and see the potential and the warmth in me. Nonesense that I must learn stand on my own now. How can I even stand when everything and everyone I've known and cared about fell apart and disappeared? 

Now more than ever I need love. I've heard this before, even (and surprisingly) from the monk I occasionally talk to in times of desperation and need. Love does heal all wounds, love and the touch of another who has a special place in your heart can do so many wonders...

My friend said her fiancee has saved her so many times from giving up and losing it all. She expressed concern that I am facing all these emotions alone and lack support to fully make me heal.

But go on I must, day by day by day, even though there are so many moments I don't want to go on anymore and choose to drown out emotions and anxiety and pain with sleep (or drink...). I must go on, even if I feel such emotions that just exhausts me deeply and that I cannot share at all except on this blog?

One day, I will be stronger.

One day.

One day.

Ian Kelly Take Me Home

gratitude

I dragged myself out of the house and into the yoga studio. Today's afternoon session is a special "karma" session, where students pay a minimum of  $5 for the usual class. I emptied a bunch of coins which I gave to the designated donation jar along with a twenty dollar bill. The money would go to a charity called "Share the Warmth", which provides food and warmth and tutoring to underprivileged children in my area of the city.

The yoga session, 90 minutes of it, was intense and I had difficulty concentrating. There was one pose, ironically called the "awkward" pose where you have to half squat and stand on you heels and stretch your arms out, pretending you are sitting on an invisible chair with your back straight, which was extremely intense. But the yoga teachers encouraged us, and said whoever can hold the position like that for a minute, they would donate extra money to the charity. I strained to stay in the pose, strained and strained and felt my arms and feet breaking, felt sweat beads flow down my cheeks and chest... But I did it. I conquered the time, conquered the strain and stiffness, the muscle aches and sweating, conquered my own willpower and succeed. And it felt wonderful. Wonderful.

The rest of the session, I struggled through, tried the best I could to strike the poses and hold them for thirty seconds. Focusing on the breath helped. Focusing on one point n my body or one point on the wall in front of me, helped. And I pulled through the ninety minutes, and was so relieved to do so.

The last pose was the relaxing pose. Everyone lay on the floor as the teacher told us to relax. She read out a poem. A beautiful, beautiful poem about gratitude...

Gratitude that I am breathing...
gratitude that I can see the birds flex their wings...
Gratitude for the arms and legs that I have, gratitude that I can practise yoga and have this time (and the means...) to develop my spiritual self and connect with my mind and my body...
Gratitude for family, for the season of warmth and sharing with loved ones...

At that point, I closed my eyes and cringed.
It was a raw nerve that was struck. I felt heavy and could burst out crying. Perhaps the intensity of the heated yoga room got to my brain and emotions... I could hardly bear it.

I feel gratitude that once I had family, once I had my mother and my father... I saw my mum's loving face, saw dad's smile and felt the way he used to pat me on my head growing up... I saw mum's eyes, face, felt the way she used to grab my arm when we used to walk side by side... Gone now. All gone now. Lost forever. All's gone now, all but memories that will fade, and fade and fade... All experiences and emotions that can never be replaced.

How do you go on, how do you face the music, face the world, without love...? How do you go through it all alone?

I feel gratitude that I have a nephew, have my brother and sister-in-law. But they are far away. Far away, and I cannot feel the joy, simply cannot feel the warmth of the holidays.

I simply cannot.

Collapse

 I slept.
Slept.
Just slept.
Woke up to use the washroom, watch tv, fill my growling stomach, and climbed back into bed again. 

Damned be all the work I need to to do, damned be the books I need to read and study.
I just want to escape, hide under my blankets, hide under my closed eye lids.


It's freezing out there, and the snow keeps on falling. I cannot find any semblance of warmth. I turn inwards, turn to pornography, turn to my writings, my words, by they desert me.

This most festive and family-oriented season of all is the most painful and difficult experience of all. How do so many people go through this season alone? How do they shut away the lights and colours, shut away reminders of pretty little shop windows and pretty pictures of mum, dad and the kids sitting in front of a fire place?  How do you tune out of christmas music about love and togetherness , warmth and family?

I dread the coming of the holidays, dread the reminders of get-togethers and having to pretend that everything is well and dandy.

I miss my parents so very dearly and so painfully...
I miss the soul mate and one true friend I thought I had...

if only for a second...

I came home and watched a video a friend had shared online. I clicked on it, and it made me cry.

What can you do in a second? Make someone laugh. Make someone forget. Make someone realise how wonderful it is to be alive.

In the video, twenty cancer patients are taken to a studio and asked to close  their eyes while they are made up. The reaction the moment they open their eyes again is immemorable, a moment of joy and surprise (pleasant one for a change...) they will not easily forget. But at that very moment, they also forget they are ill, they are terminal, they are dieing

I cried because it reminded me so vividly of those moments I tried to make mum laugh in those tense and difficult, difficult moments battling cancer. The moments I tried to make a joke, tried to massage her and stroke her, tried to give her her favourite food or drink or showed her all these places we had been to before... Moments when my little nephew walked into the room and spoke babble, moments when my nephew smiled and giggled at any little thing... These were moments that made mum forget that she was leaving this world. These were moments that made mum feel fortunate, and made us feel grateful, for every precious moment we had together.

If only for a second.

Christmas tree!

I sat by the Christmas tree that I had just decorated for a friend and his daughter. the lights were spectacular and mesmerising. I admired my own creation, and thougtht to myself how creative and beautiful I made the tree. My friend sat for a while and thanked me repeatedly for surprising his daughter with the spirit of Christmas.

I was pleased to help give them something special to celebrate and remember by, for it will be the girl's first Christmas in Canada, and most of all, first Christmas away from her mum. I wanted to give her a reason to smile and give her a greater sense of belonging here, for I can only imagine what she must be feeling now being away from her mother for the first time in her life. 

The tree and decorations were given to me by the ex. But I felt someone else could make much better use of the tree. And seeing my friend and his daughter happy made me smile and glad I did something grand. Christmas (In fact, most of December to January, the ending of a year and beginning of a new one..) is for me a muted event. It has been for years, perhaps beginning with the year mum left me to live alone with my brother. I was fourteen. When I was thirteen, it was the one and only time we had a Christmas tree, a real one that filled the living room with the sweetness of pine. Dad had sent over boxes of decorations abd lights from clients of his to beautify the tree. It was a magical year... One I can harldy remember now...

.the  most recent memory of Christmas was an awkward dinner with friends, and the sudden call from my cousub saying num had been admitted to hospital for emergency surgery. The Christmas of 2011 will forever be etched as one of the darkest of my life to date. It was the Christmas to mark the end of everything I knew was familiar and beautiful. It was the Christmas that marked the beginning of the end of my dear mother and the bond I had with her.

I sat by the tree and these thoughts crossed my mind. Earlier, as I searched the cupboard for the tree and decorations, I came across a box. A box like one from the post office in my home country. And on it, the distinguished handwritting and signature of my mother. She sent the box to me in the Autumn of 2011. A little package from her filled with goodies like my favourite  plums and moon cakes. Earlier that summer she visited me in canada and met my friends and colleagues. She was touched by the way I have been cared for, and the moon cakes and assorted pastries was her way of thanking these friends that at the time surrounded me and were such frequent visitors to my home.

The box is empty now, but her pen marks abd signature remains. The box is empty now, and the emptiness reflects much of my emotions deep inside. I have so much I want to empty from deep within, but no one who can really listen... The box is empty now, but the sentiments and emotions triggered by the sight of the embodiment of mum's unending love and care filled me with pain and this dread of the coming few weeks when the whole world seems to pretend everything is fine and we are so nice and kind...

I smiled at the tree, and at my friend who Sat in the half darkness with his face illuminated by the colourful lights of the festive tree. He looked deep in thought. Perhaps thinking of his wife, of his other children, perhaps replaying scenes of Christmas as a child with the parents. There was a pensive quiet that wafted around the room, and the beautiful atmosphere of warmth and togetherness...

For a moment, we were bound together by this unspeakable loneliness. 

Right to feel, right to get better...

Damn the criticisms, disparaging remarks, name calling...

I need, more than ever, warmth and love, care and encouragements.I need a little grip of my hand to tel me "You are doing remarkably well on your own. Go on like this!"

I need recognition of what I am feeling. I need the ability to express my feelings without fearing that someone will become upset or angry or even bored. I need the ability to empty my grief without having the impression that I am talking about the same old things again and again. I need patient and understand.

When when everything I say is labelled as a complaint or dismissed as negativity, then I cannot speak. When you cannot speak, I would rather keep silent. It is a shame that in friend of someone you thought you could trust and completely confide in you must keep silent and pretend everything is fine and dandy.

And when I keep silent, the suppressed emotions and tears will turn to bitterness and rage, will with time develop into physical manifestations like ulcers or tumours.

Remember when....

緣盡時要懂得放下...
Remember yuan.

Grand unveiling

The setting was grand, with wooden staircases, carpeted walls, stone fireplaces, and a tall lit Christmas tree. We could not have asked for a more beautiful setting, the set for various movies including the Aviator, for the institute's annual Christmas reception.

This year, as in the past, it was held in conjunction with the 100th birthday of a well respected member of the air/space community. And it was this evening that the publication I have been preoccupied with and under pressure to publish was publicly unveiled...

Alumni and students and professors and professionals gathered around the professor. Though he looked so well for his age, he also looked very dazed, as for several years he has been suffering from the onset dementia. He was surrounded by his family members, even though flying in from overseas, and his grandchildren. Three generations all gathered to celebrate a milestone of a great scholar, philanthropist and who had such care and passion for the development of air/space affairs as well as for students who come to learn at the institute.

A lot of the time, his daughter knelt next to the great man and held his hand, "translating" what was happening around him, summarising the speeches and words of congratulations into language the professor could understand. It was extremely touching. I also took the opportunity to introduce myself and shake his hand. It was such a great honour, it truly was, to be the editor in charge of a publication that is (partly) dedicated to this renowned and respected man whose life and work coincided with the beginnings and thriving development of aerospace as an activity and as a study.

My boss gave me some credit and there was a round of applause for my achievement. I smiled and nodded, and felt embarrassed. Should I feel proud? What should I be feeling? I smiled, but inside was this hollowness, this void. It has been a tough struggle, countless hours of work night and day to pull it off and get the publication to press in time. I cannot complain, because as I was told "this is what working life feels like". I stood there, saw the crowd of a hundred or so gather and applaud, and I felt so empty.

Later the moment I walked through the door of my apartment, I would be overwhelmed with sadness and aching. Why do I feel so much? Why do I associate events so much with the past? This night, a night I should be proud of myself, a night my parents would be proud of me perhaps, felt so empty.

I cried.

It felt like the moment I received a standing ovation and recognition for the work I did organising a competition in the Great Hall of Justice of the Peace Palace. The grandeur of the surroundings, the people cheering and applauding did not, could not, take away the ache I felt at the painful absence of my dad. And tonight, I felt doubly that loneliness, that emptiness because of the absence of both my mum and dad...

Earlier in the evening, I had a long heart to heart conversation with the wife of my professor. She shared with me the pain she felt from the loss of her mum some thirty years ago. As she spoke, even thirty years on, she could not hide her tears. For ten years, she dared not visit her old family home. In fact, for ten years, she could not bear to return to her country of origin. It was too painful, too much to handle... It took her ten years for her to muster the courage to visit, and by that time it was with her child. But even then it was difficult... She patted me on the arm and said to me "I understand, I understand..." and urged me to find friends who can understand and be supportive.  "Loss is so very difficult," she said, "Even after so long."

Mum, dad... if you are out there looking at me frantically typing alone on the floor of my bedroom.
I hope I have done you proud.

How I wished I could tell you both in person what happened tonight, how they applauded and congratulated me on my achievement.

How without you this achievement feels so empty and meaningless...

I am sorry I am crying...

another dream

Another dream left me crying and longing for mum... There was something with flying, and at some point someone said the line "reason to live, reason to go on living..."

 The details have disappeared now after waking up and sobbing and hiding under the covers that eventually made me fall asleep again. It seems sleep is my escape these days, my escape from the world and escape from thinking and anxieties... But sleeping makes me dream, makes my longings and fears appear that torture me in my waking moments. This is such an unhealthy vicious cycle I cannot get out of.

must get out of bed and try to make myself smile.

ex's birthday...

Just wrote a message to the ex. It's his birthday today. There was a time when he would be here with me at the stroke of midnight... when he would fall asleep and wake up next to me. But it is all so quiet here. Same bed, same apartment, some old stuffed animals lying around. Same me, filled with the same old undying sentiments... where is he now? Does he still remember? Would anyone still remember the old days when you are in the embrace and showered by the affection of a new someone?

Probably not. why would anyone torture themselves with sadness and the past after moving on? Why would anyone look back at the unpleasantries and shouting when they have made a choice?

And what am I doing? Still dreaming, still getting worked up about someone who is history... I wrote him a message wishing him all the best of happiness and joy, hoping that someone else can give him more than I was ever able to give him. That is the greatest gift I can give an ex. The only gift I can give someone is my blessings.

It does not matter I am still languishing with feelings, fighting bitter, bitter loneliness and still trying to mend.

I need to drink something or take some sleeping aid so I can be knocked out and fall asleep. I dread this will be a long, long and torturous night. Another long and painful night in bed.

Hugging mum...

I burst out in tears the moment I woke up...

In m dreams, I was with mum. I was hugging mum so tired and crying on her shoulder. It was such a tight and warm embrace, like I have not felt in such a long , long time. I miss mum so much, so much... especially now in this holiday season when people are coming together with loved ones... Winter, and the month of December and beginning of January, has to be the most painful, most upsetting and lonely season of all... I dread this coming month. Dread the festivities and holiday music, the shopping crowd and the families and gatherings and scenes of Christmas trees and fireplaces...

Hence this dream. Because deep down inside, I miss all this, and have nothing, no family, no good friends I can call family, nobody I feel close enough to that can make me feel the care and affection I so long for...

In the dream, mum and I were traveling. I seemed to be some kind of indoor amusement park, and we separated so she could have her fun, I would go my own things. We agreed to meet together again at 8pm. But as soon as I went into the section of the park I went into, I lost myself... the lights, the enticing arcade games, the thrill, the boyish pleasures... I lost track of time, and the last thing that really amused me were these toilets that were completely automatic and put on a wonderful display the moment you're done with your business.

I must have spent over two hours there, and then suddenly I remembered mum was waiting outside. How guilty and anxious I felt! How horrible...!

I ran outside, my heart raced so, I felt like crying already...

And then I saw mum standing there under a clock. The hand showed close to nine fifty...I was almost two hours late. She looked worried. She lost agitated and lost.... but as soon as mum saw me run up to her, her face changed and became a smile...

I hugged her and burried my face in her body. And I started to cry. "I'm sorry mum, I'm so sorry," I said...

"It's ok, it's ok... You were enjoying yourself and forgot the time. It's ok..." she patted the back of my head. She comfort me  with soothing words. She hugged me tighter to tell me it's alright.

But I could not stop crying. All I could think of was I let her down and kept her waiting for me... all i could think of was that I was selfish and didn't think of her, maybe even disapponted her...

And how lucky I was (in the dream...) to be in her warm embrace, to feel and touch her, to hear her, to be in her embrace and feel her body hear her motherly voice. How lucky I was in the dream to feel the protection of her arms, to feel the strength of a mother protecting her young, to feel the forgiveness and understand of a mother...

I could not stop crying in the dream...
And I cannot stop crying now in bed.

Drifting

Two days into my new life in Canada, and I have been bogged by such heavy feelings. I lie in bed and close my eyes, and just sleep... I just want to sleep, close my eyes and pretend that nothing matters. I am so tired. So tired. And so dreading the month of December, supposedly the most festive month of all, which is also the coldest and most lonely month of all.

I tired to make known to someone how I have been feeling since my return from my trip, but it did not seem to echo. I have become very cautious nowadays voicing my emotions and feelings, because a number of attempts at voicing my feelings to people were just met with remarks along the lines of "everyone is going through the same thing..." or "there's nothing new here". I need encouragement from people I can talk to and trust, not disparaging remarks that make me feel like I am a whinging lazy layabout who cannot bear to work 14 hour days for over a month...

No, my feelings are more fundamental than just griping about life and discontents... There's simply a lack of true friendship and care, true affection and human contact that makes life beautiful and worth living at the moment. I put myself out there to be seen and recognised, to try to connect with people on different levels, to forge new friendships or other relationships, but nothing... nothing.

So I got on the phone with the monk back in Taiwan tonight and we spoke for almost an hour. Something he told me touched me. It's been four years since he lost a loved, in fact, it's coming up to the four year anniversary. And yet he feels this void, this bitter sweet memory. It will never go away. It is a void that cannot be filled with work or passage of time (though the numbness and pain will fade...). It is not a void that people who have not lost anyone can understand or care to really understand.

He said at the weekly meeting between him and some disciples, they happened to talk about mum, talk about how brave she was, how she struggled and was such an inspiration to us all. I could hardly contain my tears...

That was my mother... my dear, brave mother who braved it all and lost her fight. She is at peace now, she is at rest. and yet what tattered and traumatised state am I still in? How hopeless and lonely have I become? How fragile have I become that even seeing her phone number could unleash tears?
And do I dare tell this to anyone? Can I tell anyone who can take my hand and say "It's alright... I will be with you till you no longer feel this way..."? Can I describe how I feel without feeling like I am a fool, without having my emotions thrown back at me and my grieving dismissed as my desire to unnecessarily linger and dwell? Nobody, not even my brother, can listen to me and just let me speak, just let me empty my emotions, let alone acknowledge my emotions without judgment, without criticism...

"One day at a time," the monk reminded me, "All we can do is live one day at a time..." One day, one moment at a time. Face the lonliness, face the pain, face the void and face that seemingly deep sense of betrayal and loss of friendships and relationships because people simply do not understand and you simply cannot muster the energy any more to explain yourself... "It's only been so long, and not long enough..."

It's been almost eighteen months, eighteen months, since the last significant loss, but it feels at times so much longer, at times as if it were only yesterday that I was kissing mum's forehead and cheeks for the last time ever. And ever since there's been losses, of my favourite monkey and bear, of my dear cat, of friends who have grown distant... Eighteen months may be a long time, but eighteen months may as well be simply a portion of the length of a long and painful struggle against depression and solitude. Depression and solitude that will get worse as the winter months and "festive" month of December sink in...

What else can you do but take one day at a time and tell yourself things will turn out better?
What else can you do but tell yourself, even falsely, that change and hope is just around the bend?
You can only take it one day at a time, and hope for the best.

Landing

The hall filled with the sound of sobbing of the girl. She was in her late teens, perhaps early twenties, and not in control of her emotions. A little boy, most likely her younger brother went up to her at the immigration desk. They hugged. The girl sobbed even more as she buried her face in the boy's shoulder.

The border agent directly opposite me (who later would be the first official to welcome to Canada) watched with a sweet smile and quite bemusement. The parents sat on the bench next to me. It was a family of south Asian origin. Next to them, laden on three carts that look like they were about to tip over from the weight, were old fashioned leather suitcases and an assortment of bags of all shapes and sizes. How do you pack u a life, or indeed a lives of ap family members, and replant your roots in a foreign country? The girl's little sister was dressed in a colourful

I watched the scene and was deeply moved to tears.

Approaching Yul

221113.1331

Plane is descending slowly. Overcast skies, 4C. 22 November 2013. The day I land in Canada (pending approval by the border agent...). 

I do not know how to describe my Feelings at this very moment. The other that, while I was packing to go on this trip, I picked up mum and dad's picture. I felt this pain. I have dreamed of this day, the day I can bring my mum here and for her to live the rest of her life in relative peace and beauty. It was something I wanted, the real reason why I rented a two bedroom apartment. But she has gone already. Just me now, only me landing by myself.

At the same time, there is this joy. Two years of waiting and finally it is going to happen. finally, I get the official endorsement that I belong, that I am welcome.

IAD

At Dulles Airport, Washington DC. I slept the entire way from Miami. Exhausted, as  only managed to sleep four hours or so last night. Woke up at the moment I descended third floor of the motel To the parking lot, the shuttle bus pulled in. Perfect timing.  

It was pouring, pouring with rain. The Kind of downpour I've seen in typhoons (or hurricanes, as this was Florida...) The driver, a seasoned trucker of over twenty years drove and chatted. Whether any of the passengers were listening is another story, but he seemed keen to tell his. Even at five in the morning. 

Check-in and the flight was uneventful. I sat and walked around. I went to the bookstore and bought two books. it's been while since I read something, and I mean a physical book. One was on happiness, how to reach and live a happier and more appreciative life in a year. The blurb appealed me to greatly. A lawyer, who once clerked for a US supreme court justice sat in the bus and realised her life is passing her by and that she wants to be a writer. she has all she could ever want: living relationship, two children, a great home, but she's not happy... Do I have all I want? maybe not. but still I am not content and yearn for so much. Is it due to the general temperament of depression brought on by loss and grief? Is it my defence mechanism to shut down emotions and feelings activated by the years of abuse? Or is it something more fundamental? I have been accused (wrongly or rightly...) Of not being appreciative enough, of showing so little emotion in the face of joyous events. It pains me to hear that. because I do not and did not ever choose to be underwhelmed or unappreciative of life and all around me. 

The second book, by acclaimed author Mitch Albom who wrote Tuesdays with Morrie, seems go be a grilling tale about loss and finding life again. I love his simple yet profound style of writing and use of words. And the first twenty pages moved me almost yo tears already.  What if one day you receive a call from heaven and it's your mother, lover, cchild valling to  dat everything is alright? Is that bot the ultimate closure? Is that not the closest one will ever get to the lost lived ones after the final goodbye? Is that not a sure sign to you  that it is alright to move on, it is alright and you should not be afraid or guilty to smile, to laugh, to live again?  

And I did need the ability to be happy, to laugh and smile again... A whole new beginning awaits me. 

In Canada.

Paddling at John Peenekamp

At a local artists' fair once, some three years back, I bought three little canoes... Two had two people inside, something I thought was very symbolic of two Leopold paddling in the river of life together. I sent one to my brother and sister-in-law, who in the September of 2010, became engaged and would wed in January. The other one, I gave to my ex, as a symbol of our relationship, and with the strong and beautiful hope that we too would paddle through life together, paddle through thick and thin, through difficulties and happiness... It was a gift to remind him of how beautiful we are, and what potential we have together..

I bought three, and the last canoe was a solo kayak. A gift to myself, from myself. Whatever happens in life, are we not alone at the end of the day? Do we not go through much of life alone, unable to fully share our thoughts abd experiences? However strong and beautiful any relationship, it must fade and die. and so it is with all things in life, as the principles of Buddhism teach us. Did I buy that gift for myself, from myself as a potent reminder of this life lesson ?

I'm not sure. but today, as I paddled solo in my kayak I certainly felt it. I alone chose and charted my course, I alone controlled the speed and direction (though at times challenged and almost overturned due to hidden (or perhaps deliberate?) mangrove roots and branches. I got lost at times, a little frightened even as these waters were known for sightings of crocs (not the plastic sandals...). 

But when you just stop moving, when you lut down the paddle and let yourself drift, just drift with the waves, everything becomes so still, and you are one with it all...

I was afraid I would not make it, for my arms were sore and I was perpetually afraid of tipping over and ruining everyithing (most worried, very materalistic of me... Of my new HTC one phone...). And the heat, even though it was afternoon, was searing and the air was so humid.

But I paddled and paddled, followed the buoys and signs in the water, and navigated the little streams that eventually opened up to open water. Seabirds, floating like pleasure boats, greeted me. The horizon was so vast, and the waves become an choppy, making the kayak produce sucking sounds with every up and down motion. I sat still for s while, admired the blue sky and open sea, admired the rocks that have for eons had the furor and gentleness of the sea and wind slap and soothe its faces...

This is life... Steady on... You are on your own, paddling through the unknown and chartering unvisited territory every single day.

Same gate

I walked toward my gate, and as I approached, my heart and memories raced. It's the same gate as the one I left from on that fateful day on 27 December 2011... The trip to end all trips, the trip that began Operation Eternal Happiness and foreshadowed the long lingering period of pain, loss and emptiness that I still feel to this day.

I remember that morning, just before boarding I recordeded a video message. It was just  I spoke to mum. she had been taken to the hospital hours before. She was being prepped for surgery. She sounded weak.  I was afraid I won't see or speak to her again the next time I can communicate, which would be in over 20hrs or so...

The rest, the nights at the hospital, the surgery, the recovery, the vomiting, relapse, vomiting and jaundice, the thinning to bone and skin, the decision to put her on morphine drips, the passing... The rest became history. history. History i and I alone seem to be unable to shake away. History that I can only now quietly recall because in all honesty, who else cares? Who else still remembers or cares to remember? 

I walked quickly through the gate, left behind the airport hall where I once recorded a message, almost two years ago. The beginning of the end, the beginning of the beginning of the state of affairs and my mind today. Muddled, tired, empty and feeling so very Isolated and lonely... 

Who would have known leaving canada that day two years or so back I would return here to nothing, to no one? Much my own doing perhaps...? Who would have thought when I left that time, I was surrounded by friends the night before, and now... where are they all now? 

I boarded the plane and found my seat. Window, as usual. I looked out the window, the plane began to roll back. 

Leave it all behind now.

Quietly leave all this, all this and all these people behind now. 

I have a new life, a new uncharted path before me. I have the chance to begin afresh, to sweep away all that is shallow and unreal and temporary and an opportunity to start something more permanent and settled.

Farewell history, farewell sadness.

Same gate...

I walked toward my gate, and as I approached, my heart and memories raced. It's the same gate as the one I left from on that fateful day on 27 December 2011... The trip to end all trips, the trip that began Operation Eternal Happiness and foreshadowed the long lingering period of pain, loss and emptiness that I still feel to this day.

I remember that morning, just before boarding I recordeded a video message

Historic trip

 

I was packing my bags last night, and the heavier my little carry on luggage became, the heavier my emotions felt. It's just a little trip of a few days, which will go by so fast before I realise I'll be back home again. But it's the significance of the return, for I will be returning as a permanent resident. 

Five years (or so if you count the days I was away --- and there are many, many months) in Canada, and finally I received my permanent residence status. Nothing really changes, except my official status here, and to be honest my return may not be all that dramatic given the fact I'm not arriving in the country for the first time, but returning to a place I've more or less been calling home for the past five years.  My address has only changed once since I arrived in Canada, and it was literally to another address around the corner. 

I took two favourite items of clothing with me... a red Canada hoodie, and a tshirt with "Love" on the front, the same one that I wore on the day mum passed, and on the day of her funeral. I wanted to take an animal with me, but since the loss of my favourite bear, the one my mum gave me (still missing, and I know now forever gone...), there's really no other animal that is so special. Until I found a little "rainbow bear", one that I bought for myself three or four years back when I was back home in Taiwan. "Rainbow Bear" is special, I guess, because just before my nephew was born, mum bought two large towels with the character, and one she gave me. I still have it, drapped over my arm chair in my bedroom. It's been there since last year when I returned to Canada...

I took with me also a picture of mum and dad, with mum holding onto dad's arm... It will be very significant, very meaningful when I return in a few days' time and have my parents with me as I enter Canada...

crazy...

I began shouting, crying, banging my head on the wall. I had become mad, insane with anger and frustration. The person just stood there and watched, did nothing, said nothing. Just watched as, me, the  madman, go mad and bang his head incessantly. Before he would come grab me, hold me, comfort me. Now he just watches, shakes his head and smirks...

"Nobody understands! Nobody knows what it means to loose your loved ones one by one!" I screamed and was foaming. I sense of desperation was beyond words, the intensity of feeling so abandoned was too much for words. You know what is worst then feeling like nobody cares? When you  try to tell somebody about how you are feeling and the person shuts you up or diverts the conversation away.... when the person says to you "Is this the same feeling as before or something new?" as if your feelings are not worth recognising because he has heard it again and again...

I banged my head till I was faint, cried out for help and attention till I was coarse. And then I just collapsed.

Too much... too much. I cannot take it any more.

.

Nightmares...

Two extremely intense nightmares within the span of an hour...

The first one, I saw myself sobbing. The intensity was beyond words... I lay on the floor of my own apartment alone, huddled together like a wounded animal. I howled and cried, reached out into emptiness for comfort and solace. I was missing mum, missing dad. The intensity was simply beyond words.

How loss kills you... How loss affects you so deeply and robs you of joy, of the ability to muster strength and energy in the face of difficulties. How loss isolates you and puts you out of reach and the comprehension of people...

The next dream, I saw my cat. She was looking so sordid and sorry. A large patch of her normally black and beautiful coat had been bitten away. She was bleeding. She was suffering and moaning. I cried and tried to touch her, tried to comfort her, but she growled at me instead. She did not want to be touched. She was fatally wounded and dying...

chaning of the weather

There are moments when I feel like crying, when the silence of the night haunts me so, even though the radio is playing in the background, even though I have a lot of work to do...

There are moments when I see memories and images flash across my mind, when I see faces and smiles of dad, of mum, of the way we were, of the family I once had which all stand as a stark reminder of the isolation and the loneliness I feel all alone here in the world...

There are moments when I feel like cry, and even more, feel like and long for someone to appear out of nowhere to comfort me, to wipe away my tears and to tell me, remind me, to hold me and tell me "It'll all be alright..."

It will all be alright, because the loneliness will not last. It will all be alright, because someone cares, because someone understands and is there for me to listen without judging me... It will be alright, because there is someone who will hear what I want to express and empty out of my mind without throwing the my emotions and venting back at me as mere whinings and complaints of someone who has it too easy in life because I already have a roof, a job, and all I could ever wish for.

There are moments when I wish I could be surrounded again by the warmth of family, of celebrations, of laughter, of joy, of love, true love only family can provide and offer...

There are moments I cry, a whimper at first, then a sob, then a full unleashing of emotions and tears.

This is one of those moments.

Music and memories

I haven't heard this piece of music for such a long time. A twenty something minute long piece of chanting in Pali set to moving music. It is soulful, melancholic and beautifully soothing.

It brought a sudden sadness to my heart and unearthed this sense of loneliness within.

I thought of mum. If I just closed my eyes and let the music take me, I see myself back in mum's apartment, I see mum sitting there relaxing or doing housework, or using the computer... I see mum, I could almost go and touch her, speak to her, hug and laugh with her.

But it aches when I open my eyes and realise I am listening to the same piece of music on my way to work on s cold November morning two years on...

Yesterday, I was speaking to a colleague and reminiscing the years I've been in Canada. Five years. How I came here just months after losing dad, how in the months and years after being in canada I would make so many trips home to be with mum.

"How did you get through it all?" The friend asked.

I felt emotional just thinking about it. hoe indeed? How indeed!

The same piece of music so many years on. the sorrow is still there, the desire to call mum, call and speak to dad and tell them how I am doing, ask them how they are doing, is still so strong. Yesterday,s devastating news that I failed an exam made me feel so fragile and so in need of support...

How can I keep from feeling? How can I keep from remembering?  The other day, someone asked me this question which I received as being so lacking in understanding and compassion for what and why I at times feel lonely and abandoned and crave family and love. People just cannot understand. Just cannot understand and yet try to say something that can come off as very insensitive. I cannot erase emotions, I cannot erase memories, i cannot even after a year, two years or perhaps as long as I live, erase the times I had parents and received unconditional love and care.

Who can? Tell me who really can...?

The music plays on. The music plays on years later after people are long gone.
I cannot cry. I cannot cry, not in the metro.

Fail...

I don't know how....

Just got a meSsage informing me I failed the exam I had such a difficult time studying back in August.

It's devastating, no words for it.
Not only did it cost money, but it's a huge blow to my self-esteem and confidence

Intense grief

I thought the feelings could be put at bay... But they came back, with a vengeance.

I found myself sobbing on the floor, grinding my teeth in intense pain and grief and trying to get back on my feet. But I could not. 

The sense of pain and loss is so intense, it is beyond words and beyond soothing. Tears shed when no one is there to see there... Are they tears at all?

Grief expressed when no one is there to hear the cries or calls for help, is that grief at all? 

Within a span of a  few minutes, I was reduced from someone who could do, do, do; work, work, work... To  some one who could not and who is so traumatised and frozen.

I dreamt we were together again.... That I could fall asleep in his arms, and that he was with me again. In his eyes, I could see the truth, not just lies and deceit. In his embrace, I could feel the love and emotions that once brought us together and made us both feel complete.

He said he had "dealt with things", that he was ready. He touched me in a way that nobody else could.

It was a dream. All a dream.

Seeing dad

It's been so long I have not seen dad, just see him and spend time with him.
Just before waking up, I saw him...

He held my hand, we walked side by side, as we were going somewhere. Where exactly, I wasn't sure. But somehow we were at "Adlerhorst", the bunker complex that served as the Nazi's military command, or at least saw signs of it. There were highways, forests, and we just walked side by side together through this all.


Then somehow, we got on a train/bus, and travelled through a city. It appeared to be Taichung... Dad disappeared for a while, and I couldn't find him. Then I noticed him sitting at the front carriage... I looked at him from afar... he was such a little, thin man, a sweet man, my father... my sweet father. Throughout the dream, we spoke little, or perhaps not at all...

But I felt the love and affection, I felt the bond between us that I miss so dearly...
 So very dearly.

Otherwise, I would not be crying now.

Dying again

It was a dream, but it woke me up and left me panting and trying to catch my breath... It left me on the verge of tears, and pulled me to the depths of sadness and loneliness. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I sat in bed and in the dark, dazed by the dream, and felt the loss and pain all over again...

I saw mum lying on the hospital bed, obviously in pain, groaning and unwell. The doctor came and spoke to me. He shook his head and said few words. It was not good, she has to be "let go", the doctor said. I think brother was there next to me as well.

 I knelt beside mum's bed, grabbed her hand and paced my head on her shoulder, burrying my face in the little nook of her shoulder. I sobbed quietly, but was so afraid she would hear me or feel my tears moisten her. She said it was alright. She said it was time to go.

I didn't say anything, just looked at her and weakly smiled to give her confidence and give her some strength in this difficult, difficult time. But inside I was so weak, I was wrenching and breaking apart. 
When is it time to go? When is it ever alright to leave your loved one?

I held tightly onto her hand... I rubbed her fingers on my face. Soon, this will become an impossibility. Soon, I can no longer touch or feel her. Soon, she can no longer touch or feel me.



Whatever people say to comfort you, whatever people may think a year, two years, maybe even ten or twenty years,  after that eventful day, loss is loss, pain is pain, the sense of loneliness and abandonment is still strong.

The longing to be held is so powerful...

The desire to receive love from another, to receive genuine love and care and not being able to receive it, is breaking me down bit by bit.

Can barely keep awake. My head and back is hurting. How long can I go without proper sleep, with stress and tensions?

Just want to close my eyes and forget it all...
Just want to close my eyes and drift away till it is all over...