It sucks...

It really sucks. You meet someone and have to leave. And that someone meets someone else. And you come back to nothing. 

But perhaps that is the way it is. 

In the end, there is just nothing.

Nothing left. Nobody. No one. No one. Not even me. 

Tears....

I could not help but cry...
Seeing mums pictures, hearing my nephew call out "grandma", "grandpa"... It was all too much.

Tears just streamed out of my eyes.
The tears stung, they were so painful , so heavy, and so easily shed. I miss mum... I miss dad... I miss being able to talk to them, I miss that feeling of home, that feeling of belonging. I miss the dinners together, the smiles and slaughters (but won't /don't miss arguments and tensions!).

It was another painful visit.
I miss mum and dad sorely.
Every single day.

Visiting parents...

Mum, dad,

we're coming to see you now,
Coming from Europe, from Canada
Together,
The four of us,
As one family.

I hope you are happy to see us.

Dropped wallet

錢包掉在路上，後面的人看到把錢包撿起來趕緊跑... 到掉錢包的人，叫著:『錢包掉了！』

這就是臺灣的美。

A wallet dropped on the road, the person walking behind saw it, picked up the wallet and ran... toward the person who lost the wallet shouting: "The wallet dropped!"

This is the beauty of Taiwan.

巛SIN-tpe

SIN-TPE

flying over Taiwan, ten minutes or so till touch down. I can see mountains , roads like grey capillaries cut across the land. 

Before, at this very moment of descent, I used to be filled with anticipation and excitement. Now? This emptiness of feeling, and moments of dread. Crossing passport control still fills me with such dread... The dread of being drafted and prevented from leaving until I complete military service. That fear has never subsided. Whereas before, I had a real purpose, the purpose of seeing mum (and dad), now what is the purpose of my visit? I ask myself that too...

Student occupation of parliament, food safety scandals, an unpopular government, dominance of the media by pro-China forces... This island and the people of this island has endured so much since I was last here. And somehow this place, this place of my birth, feels so foreign now. What am I doing here, I find myself asking. 

Twelve days to go... How do I fill these twelve days with meaning, with purpose and joy?

Fourth day in Istanbul

Fourth day here in Istanbul. Not really done much sightseeing, as I've been feeling not too great. This very bad stomach upset, most likely from stress, particularly after that blunder of a first lecture the other day. It really was horrible, but the four others that followed were much better, so maybe that saved my face. It was just so embarrassing in front of my boss...

One day, I took the boat to the Princess Islands, though it was beautiful sailing through the Bosphorus , the rest of the hour and a half trip (one way) was pretty unremarkable. The weather was (and still is) pretty horrendous. Sleet, and blowing snow, something like back in Montreal, the only difference is that it is not as cold. 

So I've spent the last three days more or less just spending time at the university I'm lecturing at, or in my hotel room. It feels kind of lonely here, not the same sense of excitement or adventurousness I anticipated before I started this trip.

My colleagues are pleasant, but they remain my boss and superiors, so I do feel there's a gap whenever we converse (I still call them "Professor"...) So dinners with then are awkward events. This social phobia, this social awakedness seems to be getting worse with age (and I'm turning 31 in less than two weeks...)

IST-SIN

On board SQ 381, IST-SIN.

 The long and often socially awkward and stressful week is finally over and I'm on my way home. 

There were so many moments I felt like I was a fraud, and wondered why I was even invited to join my boss and two other very capable people (one who has over thirty years of experience working at two organisations specialised in aviation....) I just felt at times they were probably judging me and regretting asking me to join them... I did what I could but felt so inadequate and like I was not performing as much as they expected me to. At one point, my boss said they had faith in my abilities. I responded, jokingly, but also partly true "perhaps too much".

The week in Turkey has been somewhat uneventful. Most of the time was spent at the hotel or at the university teaching or standing by to help students. There were only two days I had time to go out and explore, and even then the weather was pretty horrendous. I did get to take a long (too long...) Ferry ride to the Princess Islands, and visit the Aya Sofia, which ich was very impressive and temporarily got me lost in time and allowed me to be absorbed in the piety and grandeur of past religious glory. 

Heading home... To be honest, I'm not looking forward to it, even though it's only going to be 12 days tops. Just thinking of the emptiness I'll go back to, that home I cannot even return to, saddens me greatly.

 Of course, who knows that? Who has actually asked me how I feel about this entire trip? I tried to tell someone about how I feel, but again I get that sour dismissal which makes me feel like a complete fool for feeling how I feel. 

As soon as I head back, the very next morning brother and I agreed to go see our parents. I'm not even prepared for such a trip, and I'll probably be very emotional and breakdown...

I've not even begun to write my annual letter yet...

lecture...

Just gave me first lecture in a series of lectures in Istanbul.
I feel so horrible after the experience.
I was so horribly bad, tripping over words, confused sentences, couldn't find the words I wanted to say to express myself... and the students looked at  me with blank faces and bored looks.
How did I do so poorly? I just went blank and couldn't remember what I was talking about, where I was going with the materials I meticulously prepared...

Why do I get so nervous in front of strangers? How can I be such a poor public speaker?

My boss was so encouraging, but I felt so apologetic. An embarrassment for the institute, a personal humiliation and low point. He was so encouraging and said he was the same before when he first started lecturing, and that it will get better with time. He told me to relax and to not put too much pressure on myself.

But I am so burdened with such guilt and frustration... How am I so bad in public speaking? What happened to all that confidence I had when I first lectured last year?

I have to be better.
I mean, I cannot be much worse than this morning.

storage

I emptied it all.
Three years, almost, I kept all those boxes in storage, afraid, reluctant, to touch or see the things inside the boxes.

How much and what can a box hold?
A life? A story? Millions of stories?
Pictures? Toys? Clothes? Memories? Nostalgia? Tears? Moments of bliss? Moments of a time gone by?

It felt strange sorting through the boxes and getting them out of the storage space (one that cost $90 a month, much too much for a tiny space, hence the move.) It's about time, I am somewhat ready, though the boxes will take much a lot of space in the spare bedroom (I guess there's a use for the spare bedroom).

I flipped through and rummaged through some of the folders and documents, and came across some papers, handwritten and computer-typed dating from 2000 or so. Analysis of my parents' lives. Mum was a believer in fortune-telling (not a big one), and at times, she would go seek out advice and direction.  I browsed through the papers. To be honest, I didn't really understand it all. But the irony struck me... these are directions and advice for someone who is living. What use are they for someone who is dead?

I saw a picture, a group photo from probably fours years ago, taken in front of the high school where mum took adult "life"classes. She said she enjoyed those activities and get-togethers with local retirees. I looked for her, and when I found her, I could see this frailty... I could see illness has eroded her of much of her glow, her colours. Maybe I am imposing my thoughts and knowledge of what was happening back then, behind the scenes, back then in late 2011. Though she attended the classes and these weekly gatherings at restaurants around where she lived, she told me sometimes the pain of her tumour pressing on her spine made the classes so unbearable. She told me how she would sit there and sweat because of the pain and discomfort, and how towards the end she stopped going altogether because she could just no longer bear the pain. I remember getting upset at her because she would go out less and less, and I was afraid she would become a recluse and do nothing, making her even more and deteriorate even faster than usual. But what did I know? I meant well. But she was the one who felt the pain and discomforts, She was the one who needed to lie down and rest her sore, sore neck and arms and regularly take pills (that eventually lost their pain-numbing effect...) to beat the cancer and the pain cance brought. That picture, that group photo, told a whole story.

And there are many, many more items, pictures, items of clothing that could tell many more stories.
Who would know these stories? Who would care to listen to me reminisce?

All these items of clothing, pictures, pieces of papers and documents from mum and dad's workplace... what do they really mean? What significance do they hold? I sometimes can, now, hardly know their significance. Imagine ten, twenty years, imagine at the end of my life when I look at them again... what will these objects and papers mean to me then? What will they mean to anyone? Their memories of their  lives are fading away with each passing day, each passing month and anniversary of their passing. For as long as I live, I will remember, but those memories will (and has at moments already become) spotty and patchy...

The storage locker has been emptied now, and my house is a bit fuller. Fuller and laden with memories, with items and with bits and pieces of my parents' lives, with the symbols and meaningful objects that shaped and were there at a time when we were together as a family.

Accident

It all happened so quickly. All I could see was this figure in front of an approaching train. Brownish the jacket was, or was it grey? And that shape, that figure, that living and breathing human being , just disappeared under the carriage. Barely five metres away. So close to me. We were breathing the same air. For a few moments we stood on the same platform before... Before the person fell? Before the person got pushed? Before the person jumped? I can still hear that piercing  screeching sound as the train came to a halt, with the front carriage and driver's cabin immediately  in front of me. The driver came out, his face full of fright, pale and his mouth muttering disbelieve. How he must be feeling at that very moment... 

"Personal injury at track level" the driver just announced. That is what they describe it as ? I walked out of the station around 15 minutes after I saw it all play out before my very eyes. I felt so sick, so sick! I was shaking, felt my stomach churn and chest sucking in. I am still feeling sick, and for lack of a better word, shellshocked. 

I cannot shake off that image. Horrendous image and the thought that someone got crushed under the wheels, got run over and swallowed into that dark abyss under the belly of the subway car at North York. I had jitters and pangs of falling off the platform when I just stepped into another subway car. 

And I cannot shake away the sound of two ladies wailing and crying immediately after that. "It's not a dream! It's real..." One of them kept saying while she sobbed and teared. She was so shaken, visibly much more than I was, perhaps it happened right in front of her. The station staff came and just ushered people out and told us to go find the replacement shuttles. The two ladies were visibly shaken and traumatised.  A fellow passenger, in a show of genuine human  compassion, hugged one of the ladies who could not stop crying, who kept on saying "It's not a dream... I saw it! I saw it!" Trauma and raw emotions do not know the boundaries of racial or cultural differences.  

I look around the metro car now. For most people the interruptions to the routine service, and occasional announcements about the interruptions, are just a nuisance and inconvenience. For the people who were on that very platform, at approximately five to one in the afternoon, me included, the world has somehow changed and become more shaken, dangerous and filled with a sickening, sickening aftertaste. 

Later, I heard a station staff casually say to a passenger who complained to him on an overcrowded platform: "Someone jumped the tracks". From his tone, it was as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. Would he say it so casually if he saw it with his own eyes and cannot shake that image? Would he shrug it off and just go about his daily life unaffected?

Silence

Again my feelings dismissed with silence, and worse still dismissed with a redirection to another issue that is so trivial and unimportant. 

Dismissed as if what I feel does not matter. Dismissed as if my existence does not matter. Dismissed because I am not justified to feel what I feel, to react how I react? 

Again, this is a moment when I think to myself "Go through it yourself, and you will know... See it for yourself, and you will understand..." 

Is that mean spirited? Is that revengeful? No, it's just one can never really understand or know until some things happen to you. 

This is when you ask yourself why there is a need to maintain whatever relationship there is with people who do not seem to listen, who do not seem to care, who get so carried away by such trivial things and when you tell them your feelings about life and death, there is but an awkward silence.

"You say it best when you say nothing at all..." 

In this case the person is saying the opposite I what the words of that song really means.

3 January

Riding the "Rocket" through downtown Toronto to visit friends for brunch. 

It's been a quiet few days here in te new city. A symbolic new beginning in a new place in a new year. I wanted to have it this way, for this is where I aspire to be, one day.

Hopefully that one day will come very soon.

I feel there is hope and future here, at least more protects than where I am now.

Salaries are higher, it's anglophone, it's really multicultural and -racial. It's the biggest city in Canada. It's where jobs are.

One year from now, would I have my own place? Would I be feeling at home here and have an established base here? Would I own a place, a place I can finally call my home after so many years of "home-lessness"? 

I hope so. I really hope so. 

 

Gift and sand...

It was such an intense dream, filled with oppressive emotions and longing, filled with such deep sadness, pain and desperation.

I don't remember the details, but there was a lot of sand, and in the sand I found buried memories and remnants of mums presence... I couldn't bear it but broke down. A lady, someone familiar but I can't say who exactly, approached me an gave me a toy, something I've always really wanted. It was something like Lego, and I was so thrilled and grateful to receive it... Yet before turning to go the lady said the gift was a gift of pity because I'm an orphan, because I lost my mum. 

I woke up on the brink of tears...

With parents at the night market

They has such beautiful big smiles.... Dad was dressed in his light blue chequered shirt, trousers, looking so smart and dashing... Mum in a nice dress and nicely made up . 

We waited for the light of the day market to turn off, and within seconds the light of the night market switched on. Te hustle and bustle began!

They walked toward a fish stand with all sorts of fresh produce and ordered a plate of fish and fried stinky  tofu. 

Such beautiful smiles and laughter... I felt like I was the luckiest child in the world surrounded by my loving and lovely parents... The joy was so intense, so warm, so cozy...

Happy new year

.Happy new year...

You wouldn't think it's a new year unless you look at the date and the clock, unless you open the window and hear the sound of fireworks crackling and people rejoicing. For most, the first day of the new year has already come, for some they are still in the old year and expectantly awaiting the dawn of a  new time.

May it be a peaceful, and truly happy one for one and all around the world. .

Birth of a new year

Just spoke to my brother and sister-in-law, it's been a longest time, and it was really pleasant.

As we were talking, my brother sent me a picture captioned "new family member".
I opened the file, and it was a sonogram, with clearly a figure of a baby.
12 weeks already.

I was surprised, but also a little cautious. The first few months are always precarious, and my sister-in-law described how this time around it's been more painful, and she experienced an episode of bleeding (but this was after she was lifting things and handling my nephew). I told her she must be very careful and told my brother, who stood behind her, to be more caring and help  out more (he jokingly patted her on the head!)

I'm really happy for her, for them. They've been wanting to have a second child for some time now, and now their wish is coming true. My parents would be overjoyed. I  pray that they will protect the mother and child and that the next few months will be safe and well. Being pregnant, giving birth and the first few months and years are all very fragile. I really hope things will turn out well, and that at the end of July in the coming year, my brother's family, my family, can welcome a healthy newborn.

Nobody, except me and perhaps some colleagues of my brother, know the news. Not even my sister-in-law's parents. I'm privileged to be one of the first to know this. May they be well and happy.

Grief does not...

"Grief does not change you... It reveals you".

(John Green, The fault in our stars) 

Last days of 2014

It's amazing how much I can sleep, and how much sleeping I've done in the past week or so. It's as if I could just sleep and not do anything except sleep. I don't even feel hungry at times. It doesn't help that I caught a cold a few days back, which left me and my body aching and just feeling extremely weakened. But am I, fundammentally, really so tired, or is it because of the accumulated lack of sleep over the past few months? Or is it just another bout creeping depression, refusal to get up and face the world, refusal to wake up and feel that anxiety of being alone most of the time? Even in my sleep, I dream of family, dream of seeing mum and dad... 

December is almost over, in a way thank goodness. No more cheesy music on the radio, no more decorations and festive lights in the streets and stores. This holidays reason went by without me noticing much. I just stopped caring, like Mr Scrooge. Except perhaps Earlier in the month, a friend and I bought some toys with the intention to give them away to charities (I began doing this three years ago, when I first visited ikea around this time of the year and saw they have this annual soft animal drive... Every toy bought is a dollar donated to UNICEF). (But it didn't go as planned... I had trouble finding places I could donate toys to, and in the end put the animals in a donation box... So much for plans and having good intentions). The only festive thing I did was get together with some people for a dinner on Christmas Eve (traditional roasted turkey and all...). It was pleasant, and we ended up watching YouTube videos and reliving songs and artists from our youth, which was amusing and nostalgic.

I haven't heard from my brother or his family for over a month. Just makes me think again if something were to happen to me, when would they find out? I'd probably be injured (or dead) for some time before they find out... Which is part of the reason why last month my cousin called me suddenly just after she lost an uncle to a sudden illness. She said she immediately thought of me... What would happen if something were to happen to me? Who would find out? Who would tell whom? It's what happens when you live so isolated from people and don't feel close to anyone any more... 

I can't really live like this, I need some kind change, need to infuse my life with that sense of awe and wonder I used to have, that sense of magic that made people feel like I'm "special". Now I'm just a faded and self absorbed star, one of countless many out there. Change comes from within, I know... But I so wish there were someone close who could encourage me, help me and gently push me forward. It's hard and a constant struggle to have to "fight" just to get up, just to go about the day like a "normal" person. If you've lost someone, if you've lost people, you'd know exactly what I mean and how much true and loving relationships mean. 

So I leave home and head to Toronto. First step to making a change. I'm not sure what I'll be doing there, but after a week cooped up at home I feel I need a change of scenery and need to get out of my comfort (depressed) Zone. I have this vague idea of wanting to buy a property somewhere, this thinking that I should live up to the promise I made to make a home for myself with all that my parents left me. I know I've been thinking about it for years now, been trying to find a place to buy, but nothing much came of anything. The property market just seems too inflated in Montreal, and I just don't see a future in that city (neither so my local friends...) Toronto seems to be the better bet, but I don't really know the city all that well. Lucky that a friend is leaving the city for a bit and ha kindly offered his apartment for me to stay in while he's away. That should give me a nice base and foundation to start looking around and get to know the city better... 

So this trip may be the first concrete step to moving away from Montreal and establishing myself somewhere else. A change is due, long overdue... Living in the same place, same city where all the events of the past few years took place cannot be healthy, and may be a reason why I'm often pulled down and struggle with depression. There are just too many ghosts and memories that I still struggle with and am reminded of (the house is a mess, a real mess, largely because I just don't have the energy to clear up and deal with all these things, pictures, letters, memorabilia all lying around the house...) 

Almost there. 

The deed is done.

Let life do its work.

Home bound

On the flight home, it's been a long ten hours or so since I departed Kona, and finally on the final leg of the journey back to Montreal. 

I love the exhilaration of flying, of looking of the window at the airport and seeing all these planes... The calm and quiet of the blueness of the sky an clouds and the world, as much as you can see of it, outside the window. And having taught a course on the airline business , I feel even more enlightened when I see planes, the time board displaying all those connections,  cancellations and delays. And a part of me felt pity for the pilot who sat crammed in the middle seat at the back of the plane and told a fellow passenger that he still has three sectors to fly for the day. 

It's been a relaxing trip, with some biking and exploring place I've wanted to visit for some time, and now I have. I feel like ill be back there soon. There is still so much to see and explore, and the Buddhist monastery I stayed at was simply charming and welcoming. And I made a big decision there too, about my future and life. Who knows what will transpire in half a year from now...? Who knows what I will be doing this time next year?

I began reading that famous book turned into a movie, about young love between two teenage cancer patients. Beautiful an quirky, well written and engaging. The girl describes herself as a grenade waiting to explore, and everyone around her will be wounded by shrapnel the day she does (die). She tries her not to fall in love or let others fall in love with her. But how is that possible? 

Reading this again brings me back to memories of hospitals and treatments and consultations with doctors. I don't think it's unhealthy to read these kind of books, or to have a bunch of DVDs I call the "cancer collection" (though some people may think otherwise...). In being touched and reminded again of what cancer patients go through, and what I went through as part of the side effects of cancer, I feel I can feel again and better heal. It may be hard for people to imagine, deep down I still hurt, deep down I still feel this emptiness I cannot describe. These feelings are made worse by the fact that there is nobody who is willing to listen , nobody I know around me who is prepared to understand. People are just too occupied with trying to say something, even if that something sounds or is received as being so awful and hurtful. At the end of the day, I just stop talking, stop sharing , and have nothing to say anymore. That is when you know that the friendship has really died. 

I look forward to connecting more with this friend who went through extremely similar circumstances and experiences . 

In hawai'i

The view of the ocean from the outlook point is spectacular. Lush green hill coasting the seashore, turquoise waves crashing against rough, jagged brown cliff edges. In the distance , covering the hills was a shroud of fog. Or perhaps vog, a mixture of fog and volcanic ash that often blankets this part of the Big Island. The volcano cannot be seen, and I doubt I will have the fortune to see it this time around, but Mauna Lea is out there, is alive and bleeding lava through pores of the face of the Earth. This island is alive, no wonder the original inhabitants of this land have such strong connections with the land and nature. For millennia they have lived at the mercy of the volcano's fiery breath, and have had to fled the bleeding lava that oozes out of the wounds of the Earth and shows no remorse to consume and destroy everything in its path.

Day five of my stay on Hawai'i (the island). What a charming and diverse land. The first few days were spent on the west coast, in a barren landscape "freshly" created from lava (still dozens if not millennia old...) The landscape is extremely dry and much devoid of life. Jagged lava rocks strewn over the land as far as the eyes can see, with mount Mauna Kea, the highest mountain in the world, if you count from the ocean bed, ever looming in the background. 

The land is pretty much barren, like the lunar or Martian landscape. In fact, NASA took their lunar rovers here to train before launching tem to the Moon, and more recently for the Pathfinder mission, they shipped rocks from this region of Hawai'i to simulate the Martian landscape. But in an enclave called Waikoloa Beach, developers have somehow managed to create a green oasis filled with high end hotels and malls, lush greens and tree lined avenues and artificial lakes and waterfalls. This in an area that see very little rain every year. 

I biked around a bit, the searing heat and gradual incline making it (literally) an uphill struggle and battle for my lungs. I haven't exercised on ages, the last time I went on a long bike ride was in the summer. But perseverance, constant hydration, and the "mission" to go to the local post office some 6 miles away, pushed me onward. Even before arriving in Hawaii , I had planned to see the monk I frequent in Taiwan some goodies from his birthplace as a lovely gift for the holidays and pleasant surprise. In the end, having battled sweat and exhaustion (a good thing, as my body is in dire need of a good detox and sweating after all those sleepless nights I pulled over the past few months), I managed to buy bags of dried fruits, coffee and macadamia nuts and paper leis and package it all nicely into a box and sent it on its way. A lady in the parking lot saw me pack all those goodies and laughed, saying "You did a great job! Someone will be very happy!" 

On one of the days, I booked myself onto a tour. I was told earlier that this particular tour would be all booked out. But luckily, by chance, I came across a company (THE company, as recommended by my taxi driver from the way to the hotel from the airport) still had a seat available on one of the nights I was in town. So off to Mauna Kea I went.

Yes, the mountain crowned with the highest astronomy telescopes in the world. I was excited, as I have come across many pictures of the stunning sunset from the top of the mountain. And the real thing was breathtaking ( partly also because it was over 4000m in elevation...!) The mountain seemed to be the roof of the world, a sacred site of the Hawaiians. A dozen or so observatories were built there, through the cooperation of a host of nations (including Taiwan!) The domes of the observatories listened in the dusk light, golden at first, then turning into orange as the sun descended slowly to eventually be consumed the horizon. The world changed colours from moment to moment, a dazzling, spectacular and mesmerising display of splashes of reds and oranges and violet with a shroud of dark grey and black gradually clouding over the entire sky canvas. I stood there dazed and silent, unaware and lost in the beauty of nature, the most creative and touching painter of them all...

With the sun set, stars slowly emerged to twinkle and play. Pale and faint at first, with the deepening darkness and my adjusted eyes, there appeared more and more. The guide set up a telescope, and a hot chocolate and brownie stand, and we all gathered to listen to him talk about amaze us with weird and wonderful facts about the universe. The nearest star is larger than the distance from the Sun to Earth... The blob of light out there is a cluster of galaxies, each containing billions of stars like our own Sun... Wonderful stories of how the Greeks came to name and place the astrological signs an constellations... It was eye-opening, and made me wonder why I never got into looking at stars or knowing how to read the heavens... Perhaps because I always loved in a big city, but even so the skies never ceased to fascinate me. 

I sat on the bus next to a lady in her late forties (I presume...) who is on her "sabbatical" year. Taking time out to travel an figure out what she wants to do next... She taught at a university in Wisconsin ( of all things Chinese  politics, great conversations with her!) , and a few years ago began pursuing a doctorate degree. But for a variety of reasons she never completed it. "It's not for everyone," she said. Is it for me, I wondered. 

So she is as lost and trying to find a way, much like I am, and she is older and more experienced than me. After the magical sunset and star-gazing, we proceeded to head back. In the bus,  we fell silent, and then at one point I said to her "Look how small we are compared to it all, and we are so consumed by our own problems. And we're trying to find our place and reason for existence in the universe..." How true. How true.

Fast forward two days, and here I am sitting in a guest house surrounded by the echoes and singsong of crickets and frogs in the middle of the forest. I could have been in a big city, elsewhere, in fact I arranged to stay three nights in the capital of the island called Hilo. But I cancelled it all at the last minute as soon as I arrived by plane and while I was transiting in Honolulu. The night before, I called the monk in tAiwan and told him of my plans to come to Hawaii. "There's a Tibetan monastery in Pahala!" He said, talking about the town he was born in. 

I was excited as soon as I heard monastery. I had planned a trip for this time to go meditate in Thailand, but I was /am simply much too tired to go all the way and spend three weeks wandering around, so instead opted for somewhere "closer" and a shorter stay. And the opportunity to visit and stay at a monastery was simply too good to pass. At least for me... I know most people my age wonder (and have even asked me expressly...) why I put myself through boredom and doing nothing by going to spend time at a monastery. 

But the stillness, the "just being", the joy I feel and feelings of being touched deep down inside, those are the reasons why I enjoy retreats so much. Listening to the sounds of nature, falling asleep under the cover of complete darkness, and living in a community of people with like minded thoughts and radiating kindness and compassion... Is there anything better than this in the world out there?

The resident monk is an old yet kind, kind Tibetan who speaks broken English. Yet his smile and kindness needs no explanation. I have had the fortune of meditating with him (only been two days....) , whereby he would chant Tibetan prayers and sutras and I would sit and follow in a book. It is a very different tradition compared to the Thai tradition I am used to. But still, Buddhism is largely the same the world over... Compassion, understanding, kindness, ceasing suffering and pain... Who do not want these things? Everyone. Who goes out in the world seeking these things? Most people do, because they know not better. 

I sat there with my eyes closed and was again renewed with great spiritual lift and vigour... At various points I felt so moved, close to tears even... My mind drifted to the trips I have made, particularly the trip. Made to India two years ago (as I was narrating it to the monk over breakfast). My mind drifted to mum's image and the warm feel of her presence (now, absence...), to dad's face and to his kindness... Yes I miss my parents still, I miss them dearly. Somehow the chanting by the old monk and the indecipherable Tibetan words hit a raw chord and brought out this strange mixture of joy, liberation, sadness and longing. Blended together like a nectar of bitter-sweetness , making me ache yet at the same time long for more. 

If only  I could keep this up this practice when I get home! If only I could always remember how beneficial and mode I am when I sit and meditate... Never too late...! And as I bid farewell to the monk earlier, as I am leaving very early in the morning to catch the last bus of the day...) the monk turned to me And said "Keep the practice! You are a good man..."

I left the monastery uplifted and feeling rejuvenated. I may be made fun of and seen as strange to go an meditate on my holidays, but if it helps me, if it is something I enjoy more than lying on a beach and doing very little all day, why does it matter? Sometimes you just need to the time alone and time to disconnect from everything and everyone because life and people do weigh you down. 

The bus ride through the hills and one side the view of the sea  was spectacularly open and inspiring. There is so much beauty in the world, so much to be enjoyed and cherished. If only we knew how and did that every single day. 

Tara tature

End of the class

hey applauded, actually applauded. I stood there with a broad smile and saw smiles of appreciation and interest reflected back, and I was touched. One or two even stood up as they applauded. I felt awkward, not the first time I felt awkward in front of the classroom, but this time I felt awkward even though I knew all that hard work, the dedication and time I put into preparing for this course paid off. Paid off in their smiles, in their intriguing questions, paid off in the ways many of them approached me at the end of every class to thank you for the wonderful and thought provoking way the course has been designed and taught. Or perhaps they were just especially glad because there were juices, fudge brownies, croissants and pains au chocolat to be enjoyed in the very last class. 

It has been a long, and exhausting three months. And I imagine this must be how it is to be a first time lecturer. I remember still how I dreaded the first class, and for the past three months my weekends were basically extended working days. I would stay up till four or five the day before a lecture and be preparing power point slides and flipping through the text book for information and all I can find on a particular topic. It was intense, extremely intense, but at the end of the day, when I see students engage in the materials and present on a topic of their choice and when I see how interested and that "spark" in their eyes, it is all worth it. 

Over the past day or so, I've received emails congratulating me on a job well done, touching messages that soothe the amount of work and sleepless nights I've put into preparing the course. It was all worth, it definitely was all worth it. ("...so graceful, respectful and learned an instructor", was one email).

After class, as I cleared up the room and packed up the decorations, I looked back at the empty classroom. When will be the next time I have another opportunity to stand there, I wondered. And I thought of my parents... Were they there too? Were there at my side in those brief moments of glory, sharing my pride and listening to the applause echo in the room? Were they smiling too? I hope so. I so dearly hope so. 

In fact, on the very last slide, I acknowledged all the people who have helped me, and on the original slides, I put my parents on there (I removed it after someone said it was too personal... But I'll add it again and upload it to the online learning platform for students to download). I stood there and smiled at the students, grateful to them for giving me this opportunity to learn and to grow, and to be "better". As a colleague told me, I have become so much better and have a new found confidence that was not there in the immediate aftermath of losing mum... Yes, the past two years have been dull and grey, and this experience in teaching has allowed me to spark and shine again. A few times, while in front of the classroom, I would look at the back of the room and imagine mum and dad sitting there side by side and smiling back at me. How sweet, yet quietly bitter, that thought is! 

And what now...? 

 

I just finished a grueling few months of work and helped to publish two books, but nothing I can really call my work. I taught a course, and seemed to have inspired students to look into this field as a possible career option. But what about me? What is my career future? 

For some time I have been restless and wanted to move away from here. I just felt I've been staying here in this city for far too long. And I'm on my way to complete the equivalency exams to be eligible to take bar. Yet I so dread to go into legal practice. In fact, the more I hear people in legal practice talk about their work, and the more I see them change and become different people, the less I am inclined to go into that field. 

So what now then? I've had my taste of academic life, and been more or less in it for the past ten years. I've had my experience of teaching and research, despite not having produced much work of my own for some time, and I do generally enjoy this environment. Most of all I enjoy the freedom to come And go, to do things at my own pace and have no real boss or pressure behind me. 

But am I really willing to commit another three, four years of my life to study and to books and research? Do I really want this? 

Dream. Disappointing mum

I saw mum in my dream...

It was so beautiful seeing her again. we were going somewhere together, what a pleasant outing.

Then she suddenly turned against me, scolding me, telling me "you'll never amount to anything! What are you doin with your life?!"

I was hurt, and I talked back. "What about all those four years? What happened those four years of my life???" The years I spent traveling back and forth to be with her, to make her strong, to go through illness and death... I threw a tantrum and broke down there and then. And I saw mum's face was full of regret, full of guilt.

It pained her to shout back at her. But I was hurt. Have I not done enough? Am I not doing enough? Am I not breaking my back and hurting my health working night and day to achieve something, to produce a volume of the journal that's taking so long,  and to teach ?

I broke down.

Winter jacket

With the temperature dropping to below zero degrees and frost forming on rooftops in the morning, I got out a winter jacket, one that my brother bought me a couple of years ago. This was the jacket I wore first to brave the winter in Canada (until it was not warm enough for -30C temperatures...).

When I put it on, I heard a little tearing sound.

I opened it up and looked inside. I had forgotten about that episode, but the stitches reminded me of it.

At the seams were these threads that mum weaved and sewed. She noticed that the place between the arm and body of the jacket was torn one day when I was visiting her. She took it and before I left, she sat there and mended the tear... that brought a tear to my eyes. The jacket felt warmer and warmed by her touch.

Seeing that just now made me realise again how empty my life has been since she left. I do miss the phone calls, the chats on Skype, the visits (not so much to the hospital...), and the excitement of going to see her every few months. It's all stopped now. Nothing. Gone. History.

All that is left, beside the memories and her belongings sitting in a storage space I dread to enter (but must soon empty...), are little signs and moments like this that remind me of the dear motherly love that I lost and can never find again.

Why am I crying again...?

I should be much stronger.

I should be! I must be!

The other day, a college friend of mum's posted wooden clogs mum gave him once as a momento of Holland ,where we lived. Under that picture were the words "How we miss you so though you have departed..." Another college friend of hers, a caring auntie, commented and shared her own sadness and said she also had a pair of wooden clogs just like those.

Moments like this make me wish I could sleep and blink away that lingering pain.
How my heart wrenches and aches again now 

"Oh what I'd give for a hundred years..."

"Oh, what I'd give for a hundred years,

But the physical interferes,

Everyday more, my Creator.

Oh, what good is the strongest heart,

In a body that's falling apart...?"

The actress half lay on the floor, weakened and defeated. Illness has robbed her of her strength, her courage, her fame and glory. Death is lurking and stalking her, life is fading away. How Evita must have felt toward the end of her life? How powerfully it was captured in song and on stage by the performance of Andrew Lloyd Weber's musical, one of my all time favorites...

The musical was a delight, and something I'd looked forward to some time. In my late teens, I listened to it repeatedly (without realising the true meaning of "dressed up to the nines" or "at sixes and sevens"). One song in particular, "another suitcase, another hall" I felt poignantly described my life.... Always moving, never stable, my family spread across the world, my destiny so unclear and unknown... And for those many years when (first dad and later to a greater extent) mum was ill, my suitcase was always close by and half packed ready to go at an instant's notice. 

Seeing Evita succumb to (as I realised only this weekend) cancer brought back a lot of emotions and memories... For the couple of months, I have been so consumed with work i feel like I've not even had time to "feel". Being someone who is normally in tune with and driven by emotions, I began to feel uncaring and detached from life and the rest of the world. I feel so drained and so very unhappy, even though I was busy and making more money than usual. Soon after the show, in my friends apartment, I stared out the window at the night cityscape, and described how I feel... 

And I sobbed. The first time in a long, long time, even though often at night, when all's so quiet when the world is asleep, the feelings of emptiness and longing flood my heart and bring me close to bursting out in tears. As I told my friend, more and more mum and dad appear before me together, whereas before it was either one or the other. 

Is it so that after some time the dead just get lumped together? Is it true that after some time you just blur death and all those memories of illness and hospital visits together? I've tried hard not to think of and let my thoughts drift there... But seeing evita on the floor and lamenting her body succumbing to illness, I could not do anything else...

Those long nights, and difficult days at the hospital seem like an eternity away now. But I can still see it, smell it, feel it. It was overwhelming, traumatic and horribly painful to endure. And that was just for me, a bystander. How it must have been for dad, for mum! For my friends. For my uncle... For all these millions of cancer patients, and other sufferers of chronical and terminal illnesses, and their families. 

What kept me sane? What kept me alive? The belief of love that will heal me. The belief  that one day I will find someone who will truly heal me and pick me up and fill that void inside. A void that is still void. 

And now, two and a half years on since mum's passing, almost seven years since dad's passing, I am still standing, seemingly going strong. But at times I wonder what holds it all together. Because in moments of solitude, at night and in moment of silence, I can hear the darkness and painful memories echo, I can feel the void vibrate. 

There are moments after my lectures when I stand in the empty classroom and wonder whether my parents are there sitting in the back, smiling at me on the sofa in the back...

There are moments at work when I am so stressed and my eyes so tired that I think of my parents and just doing that would give me a burst of perseverance... Are they proud of me? Would they be proud of me and what I have become and done since they left this world? I sure hope so...

Dream

Second time this week, I dreamt of both my parents...

Somehow they were older, still coherent and "normal", but just older than I remmeber them. One scene, they we're getting out of the taxi in front of the home I grew up in, the one with a roof top garden, where we kept a dog named Hali. Brother was there too, and there werewolf a lot of suitcases everywhere. I was returning home from somewhere.

I helped them with their bags and went upstairs (five flights of stairs ...) Mum sat down on the sofa, dad retired to his room (where he stayed a while, but came out later as he couldn't sleep...). I saw myself taking care of them, holding them by the arms and comforting them. In doing so, I felt so comforted too...

They have been gone so long, and yet somehow I feel closer to them than anyone alive... How is that possible? Perhaps I just don't feel any connection and so distant toward people around me. I just don't make the effort any more to maintain or show that I care.

It happens, I was once told. You become mellow and tired, of things, of people... And you just want to be alone.

Can't sleep...

5am... Need to get up in three hours to get ready for another lecture. Over half way through the course, and it's enjoyable, yet extremely exhausting, especially with the other commitments and deadlines I have going on...

I lay in bed just now, and mum and dad's faces flashed before me. I guess I've been too busy , top occupied, too sleepless to think of them much. Would they be proud of me? Of all that I'm doing? Of all the reputation and name I seem to be making for myself?

But I'm sacrificing my health for work, sleep so little and pushing my body to the limit to get things done and be perfectionist... I don't dare tell friends, because too often I just get the slap in the face response "Everyone works hard! Everyone is busy!" It's disheartening, frustrating, makes me feel like I should just shut up and say nothing... What kind of friend tells you things to make you feel like you have n right to speak, no right to complain? What kind of friend makes you feel like you cannot voice anything, because everything is just interpreted as a complaint or thrown back at you?

But I can feel my head aching, and these rashes and spots spreading on my body that were not there before. I seem to get that when I sleep poorly or too little. I feel so unhealthy that I'm turning into this workaholic and don't do anything but work...

Back to mum and dad... I saw their faces, and again this emptiness filled my insides and I could not but suddenly shiver and shed a tear . Again, I feel the pain does not go away, but is simply hidden. And now nobody asks anymore... Nobody wants to hear about something that happened over two years ago.

People are tired of listening, or just inpatient... Or perhaps I need to find more people who is more patient and kinder with me who is willing to take the time to be with me and won't dismiss me when I try to express how I'm doing...

Home again

I never realised I would feel such a sudden sense of sadness at the moment of departure, but I did. Jacob looked so innocent (though s times he's far from it...). Moments earlier, he sat in the back of the car with me as brother drove me to the airport. He pretended to sleep, pretended to snore loudly, and I would then have a peek at me and burst out in laughter. Adorable, simply the cutest, and I felt sorry to leave him (even though at times he can be very difficult and whiny...). 

In many ways, he is like my brother, or at least I can see beginnings of being like my brother.... Bossy, demanding, wanting to be in control and tell everyone what to do. My sisterinlaw and I talked about this and joked how she has to pander to two people who are so alike...

It's been only two weeks having them around, and admittedly there were times  that were unbearable (like the condescending way my brother talks down to me and treats me, and the way that he tuts and shakes his head when I have a difference of opinion...) But at goodbye, I gave him a hug, and patted his arms  as I told him to take good care to take care of his health and body. Despite conflicts and difficulties between us, we are still siblings, and the loss of our parents and the birth of my nephew has certainly brought us closer together.

At one instance,when he opened his wallet to pick out his credit card. I saw inside a pocket, he had placed a picture of mum. He misses mum, I know he does, but I never realised how much (still?), and have just assumed my grief and pain is so personal and are not shared. Like dad before him, brother is not one to express his feelings or emotions. Perhaps they think that is being week, perhaps they believe some things are best unsaid and they'd prefer to suffer in silence... But seeing that picture of mum made me realise more brings us (my brother and me ) together than divides us, even more than the distance between us and the turbulent history behind us. 

I stepped into my apartment and in the laundry basket were the sheets and duvet covers that they used but have not been washed. In the washroom were their towels. In the spare  bedroom was the balloon I laid on the bed to welcome them to Canada, and the bag of Reeses pieces I bought as a welcome gift. 

My cat miauwed and welcomed me home as she lay lazily on the foldable sofa bed my brother slept on.

Home again. Home alone again...

Life update

Been a struggle being home alone since my brother and his family were here. For two weeks, you get so quickly used to the presence of others, to having breakfast together, to cooking together, to the constant laughter and sounds of banging made by my nephew. You get so used to all that... Suddenly, silence. 

Fortunately, a friend called me yesterday afternoon and asked if I wanted to go with him to spot planes next to the runway. I was reluctant at first, but was I glad I did in the end. Watching those powerful machines land and take off, land and tak off on their way from/to far flung lands filled me with joy.

My friend told me my parents would be so happy and so proud, so peaceful, knowing that my brother and his family came and knowing the lengths I went to make them feel welcome. Whatever tensions and feuds we had, there are bygones. Important are the memories we made together, and memories of seeing them so happy and seeing their eyes light up at the sight of the lakes, the mountains, the wilderness and bears. Important is that I bonded with my nephew and made him more part of my life, and that he made me more part of his life. 

I got home last night and started to work on articles that need to be finalised for publication. Two more weeks till it all has to be put together and printed, and yet one more article is missing. I've asked for it long ago, for i don't want a repeat of last years experience where I had to stay till close to midnight several days at the office just trying to finish off the work and meet the deadline... It drains me so. And I want to start early so I can control the time, especially given I've got a teaching assignment on the side now. 

Then I got messages from a friend I met some months ago. Distressed messages , pleas for help. The guy's been having tensions at home, and his parents want him out of the house. He doesn't have anywhere to go, and asked if I could him stay a while till he finds a place and gets back on his feet. 

I'm reluctant, but a friend in need is a friend indeed?

Return to Lake Louise

Seeing these mountains, reminds me the first time I saw them back in 2011. It was with mum, the trip of her lifetime perhaps...

There's a Crow crowing on the spruce tree behind me, and the mountains are reflected in the emerald waters of the lake before me. This is paradise, this is where mum sat on the lake shore and told me how peaceful she was, even though at the time she was occasionally, or perhaps constantly, tormented by the pain and suffering of her growing cancer. 

I saw it as a "mission" to bring her moments of peace and being able to forget. Forget that's she's in pain, forget that soon it will be the end of her life. I sought to make her remember, remember how life is so beautiful, how in the end everything is worth it and has much meaning. 

When she told me that she sat on the lakeshore and thought of nothing (there's even a picture of that... A hauntingly beautiful picture of her small figure against the backdrop of the beautiful lake and mountains...), I knew I had somewhat succeeded. 

Yesterday, my brother and sister-in-law sat on the lakeahore, almost the exact location where mum was. They seemed to be contemplative, reflective as they looked out at the lake... Perhaps they imagined what mum was looking at. Perhaps somewhere in the lake were ripples that contain her memories ("mumories") and her life beyond this world. 

This air, this wind, this whispering of the wind. Mum is gone, but the presence of her absence fills us still.