12 June

You can have all the things you've ever wanted, all that you have strove for and dreamed of... Yet at the end of the day, you feel empty inside. Empty and sad, empty yet the tears flow like there is a boundless source deep down inside...

A little to eight at night, and I was in the metro heading home. I looked around me, and somehow the world felt heavy with emotions (it'd been raining more or less the whole day). It was a busy day, did lots of work, and spent a lot of time on the phone with my agent, with the mortgage broker, with the bank, and with a friend, trying to finalise the last nail that would solidify the  acceptance on the condo I saw and agreed to buy last weekend. A long week of emotions, paperwork, and it came to be. The deed has been done. I also spent some time making arrangements to visit a friend's parents (the mother had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and I waned to visit and give her a boost of support... in a way, like I used to with my own mother).

So in many ways, many emotions and new experiences, new territory this week. And on top of it all, this morning, while scrolling through facebook (I know, bad habit in the morning, but I do it mostly for the news and to know what's been happening since I "signed off" a few hours earlier). And there was that picture. That famous, or infamous, picture. Of me sitting next to mum at the hospice. Me holding her hand, one that had tubes and tape on. Me with a graduation cap, carrying a forced, forced smile. Mum looked tired, thin, and frail... Maybe I should not have taken that picture, she didnt look too well. But the nurses were so happy to see me, they seemed to have heard much about me. And I wanted to capture that moment at that moment. A moment of joy for my mother, a moment of pride, and perhaps even relief for my mother. I , the prodigal son, had returned and had finally graduated. 

It was to be my last return to her side. 

She would take her leave around two weeks later.

How it seemed to be all so well timed.

That picture stayed with me most of the day, even though my mind was chatting with my friend's mother and firming plans to visit, even though my mind was calculating interest rates and monthly payments, even though my mind focused on the ITU and regulation of radio frequencies and protecting them from unlawful interference... my mind was etched with that moment three years ago. 

A friend commented "It has already been 3 years? Time has flown". In a way, yes... unbelievable. But in many ways, time has passed by at times, particularly in the first year, particularly at night when (as we say) "the night is deep and people are quiet", when I have to muffle the sounds of my own sobbing so as not to stir the world. Time has indeed flown. But there are grueling, painfully emotionally and longing moments what I wished time would pass even quicker so that I do not have to feel the pain and loss so much more. As my friend's mother said on the phone to me, "You will always feel it, it stays with you". She lost her father suddenly some forty years ago, and it still is difficult. 

I'm not sure how I will get by the next week, or the week after that when I am going to see mum at her final resting place. I have so much to tell her. So much has happened since I saw her last, since we parted three years ago. No longer a fresh graduate, I am a "prof" now... no longer so directionless and lost, I am slowly making my path and found a place where I am somehow feel so comfortable to call "home" (even though I have yet to sleep or live there)... 

How I have grown, have struggled to stand still and stand tall, though at times, like earlier tonight when I got home, when I lay down next to my cats (how blessed I am to have two wonderful cats...) I just curl up in a ball and cry... Just let the tears flow out of me like there is no end to the saltiness and to the tears of pain and longing. 

When I look at the pictures of my mum, I am reminded of how much I miss her, of how kind she was, of how caring she was as a mother, as my rock, my support and my guide in life. She is in a better place now, I know that. Anywhere is better than those last few months in the hospital, those bouts of vomiting and sickness, those treatments and sessions and appointments... Anywhere is better than then, than those dark, heavy and uncertain days. I know so. I know for sure. 

What has happened in the past year? What have I done? I ask myself that, and I struggle to find an answer in the same way I have been struggling to find joy, find meaning and a reason to really smile.

People have questioned why I still am "this way", why I withdraw, why I still cry. I have even been questioned on why I am making a big deal out of the one year anniversary and even the purpose of flying home to commemorate my late mum. I have no real answers, and perhaps there are no answers for loss and grief are such personal experiences. Experience loss, real loss, and one may come close to knowing really why. Experience loss, and maybe one will come close to feeling a void as vast, endless and empty as the world looks like from a jetliner at 35,000 feet.
12 June 2013.

 

 But there are moments.

There just are moments I feel so weak, so prone to tears. There are moments when I just break down all over again. 

But I know I will stand up again. And again.

 

Waiver

Today is the date I waive a so-called financing condition, basically guaranteeing I have the fnances and will commit to buying. If I back out now , I lose the deposit.

But there's no backing out now. I've found a yoga studio new my new pad, I've gone in google maps and mapped the way to get to the showrooms for my new kitchen countertop, and even mapped the way to get to the airport. There's no backing out now, because I'm excited and committed. Somehow this place feels good, just right.

Is it any wonder why the building is on (and actually named after) Adelaide, the city I'll be going to in two weeks? Is it a pure coincidence that I should get a CD of the music Alegria when I went to see the building for the second time?

I wrote to my brother, despite the initial negative response from him, and his second email was much more supportive and understanding. The economics, of having to pay a lot of rent and using the same money would cover fees and mortgage, just makes sense. Even if I don't live there, I can rent the place out, and get some additional income from the property. This is what my parents instilled in me: real estate, immobiles , are the most stable form of assets. Buy, buy, buy, mum told me

(Facebook today, incidentally, showed me a pic of me three years ago with mum... Sitting by her side, minutes after I rushed home after the graduation I never wanted to have, wearing a grad cap and a forced smile...).

Coincidences and signs

Two weeks or so ago, I was called into a bank I don't really deal with much. The representative told me because of my "loyal" custom, they decided to offer me a line of credit. I was hesitant at first... but after being told I don't lose anything, and have only to gain (and seeing pictures of two young boys who belong to this bank employee), I gave in. I was given the line of credit, to use (or not) as I wish, against a very low interest rate.

I never thought of ever using this. Ever.

Fast forward two weeks or so, and tomorrow, the deposit for the house I made an offer on (one that was accepted) is due by close of business day. How much? Exactly the same amount as the line of credit I was offered.

Coincidence, or just random facts? I will not really know... maybe I will look back and reflect how foolish I am to be looking for signs and connecting dots where there are none. Maybe, just maybe, my Piscean/Rat senses are just intuitively strong and see the signs that others do not see.

This week, end of the week, it is make or break on whether I get the financing sorted for the house I would like to have. I can afford it, comfortably with a mortgage, and I can make payments for the mortgage for at the very least a year and a half. But I just hesitate to part with a great deal of all that my parents have left me. Am I being too rash? Being too careless? I am afraid, particularly of making a wrong move, of diving head in only to find myself stuck and feeling oppressed with mortgage payments and debts I cannot pay.

In times of uncertainty when you are seeking guidance and signs, the foolish (or perhaps the very wise) seek the counsel of tradition and the unseen. So I called up my mum's spiritual adviser, and asked his opinion. I had not spoken to him for some time, and when he answered the phone, he asked about my work and immediately about whether I had bought a place.

"Your mum wants to know if you bought a place! How you done it?
 It was as if I heard her voice, through the voice of another, and I was moved immediately to tearing.
Mum's care and concerns still linger three years since she left this world, left me.

I remember her telling me days before her departure, I should buy something quick, I should settle down. "Money melts", as she and dad used to say so often. It goes away and loses value, and the surest way to keep value is to "invest" in property. Nothing is more certain and valuable, they told me. It is a time-tested wisedom.

And yet, I am so afraid. I wish I could again seek the counsel of my parents, hear from their voices the voice of approval and advice on what to look out for and what to look for. But I cannot.

And so I told the spiritual guide and sought his advice. "What do you feel? What is your first intuition?" Follow that, he said. Just go with what you feel, especially after weighing the options, weighing your finances and the location. "You know your mum would want you to settle down."
Again, I was so moved. My intuition seems right, but I am still anxious, still unsure and wondering...

Am I foolish to look for signs where there are none?

Just as I left the apartment building Of the condo I really liked, at the door was a stack of CDs to take (freebies). The first one was Alegria, one of my all time favourite pieces of music (and performances).



"Alegria
As the light of life
Algeria
As a clown who cries
Algeria
The great cry
Of crazy sorrow
Serena
As the rage of love
Alegria
As an assault of happiness"


It was the same show I watched with mum days before she left this world. 

dream : missing flights

I was packing bags in  such a hurry and ready to leave home. In this world, mum and dad were there, so was brother, and somehow I had had enough and was desperate to leave. Why, I don't know... I think they were both ill in this world, but still, that didn't seem to faze me or deter me, I just felt like it would be such a relief to get on those flights and fly away (back to Europe, in this world).

I rushed around packing bags, grabbing whatever I could. The flight was scheduled at 1249pm, flying through Singapore, then with the latest new planes, in Business class, to Zurich then to Frankfurt then to Amsterdam. I remember telling dad this itinerary would take me to all these cities where we had made beautiful memories together...


Mum was sad that I Was leaving, for it was days before another visit to the hospital. But I Did not feel any remorse whatsoever. Nothing seemed to bother me... all my thoughts were about getting on those flights I had meticilously planned and booked, and what was going on at home did not figure much in my mind... Brother was evidently upset, angry that I was leaving so quickly and leaving our parents behind...

I was packing things, and under the cupboards found my suitcases. I also found bags of moments, toy cars of mine... I remembered distinctly I felt like I needed to take some toy cars with me, just for keepsake... but then I put then away and told myself I'd be back home soon and that here was no point. I just wanted to get away, had no time for sentiments .

Then, I checked my flight schedule... the flight was at 1. And it was already 1230. I swore and cursed. I was so upset my plans were frustrated. Mum came to calm me down as I frantically tried to call the airline and to change my flights to the next day, but there were no flights, at least nothing like the perfect itinerary I had planned. I was rude to her, didn't care about her feelings, and she became visibly sad and hurt that I was in such a hurry to leave...I was so selfish, so spoiled, so angry in this universe, this reality...

I woke up and hid myself under the blanket.

Thank goodness it was all a dream...but my mum and dad were there... why didn't I treasure our moments together? Why not?... why not?

Dream: mum dying again

I woke up whimpering and almost in ye
tears. The images were so real...

Me following online zokmthing my brother posted about the signs before someone passes and how long someone has.
The latest update was a few days.

I was away from them, but I broke down seeing the post and knew I needed to face the facts. But it was unbearable... It was so painful and so difficult to realise it is happening again....

The emotions were overwhelming.
I cannot take another day again.

Rejected

http://www.buzzfeed.com/chelseamarshall/concerned-kitten-is-very-concerned?bffb&utm_term=4ldqpgq#4ldqpgq

One day before my second last exam, an exam which I took and  failed a year and and a half ago, I got an email from the university. About my doctorate degree  application status.

Rejected.

I didnt know whether to cry or laugh. In a sense, I am relieved. I have now no excuse to keep on staying where I am and would not feel any more shame to tell my boss I want to leave after some six years of studying and working at the institute. In a way, I am relieved also because my rejection means someone else (perhaps more capable, more deserving...) Is able to take my place.

But still, any rejection, even for something I am not fully sure I am committed to and want, is hard to digest. Am I just not good enough? Am I just not the candidate they want? Why do they not want me given my record of good academic standing and having worked at the same place so many years as researcher and as editor?

It does beg the question of who made such a decision... My bosses, one of whom was my masters level supervisor , wrote my recommendation letters. Even with their endorsement, I cannot get in? And perhaps even more absurd... I am not qualified to study at the doctorate level, yet I am qualified to teach at the same university? How bizzare, how twisted is that?

Someone mentioned perhaps it has something to do with the fact it took me four years to complete my masters degree.  It can't be, could it? In my application I clarified that I had personal circumstances that caused the long delay.

...maybe this is a blessing in disguise. A way of the universe to tell me to look elsewhere, and that academic life is not for me. It does prompt me to really look to look elsewhere and seems to be a sign that I need to move on .

Dream: Leaving home

It was somehow the last night of a trip to Taiwan, and I was packing in my hotel room.
Somehow it just occurred to me out of the blue that I should head home to pay respects to dad, and at least spend the last few hours, as much time as I can, with mum.

I was pressed for time, and the travel home was long, and it was close to eleven at night. But I needed to go, I insisted on going. There were others in the room, like my cousin and two uncles, and they tried to convince me not to go .

But I left anyways and rushed home by taxi. It was to my old home, the one with a rooftop garden...


When I got there, I found the place to be empty, deserted for many years.
Where did everyone go?
Standing in the living room, it was when I somehow only realised then that everyone had gone. Dad, mum... everyone who mattered had died already.

What was I rushing for?
What was I going there for?
Why do I still stress myself over rites and rituals and worry myself silly about the need to spend time with people who have already died?

Sudden flashback

Studying just now, and I had a sudden flashback of a day way back when I was probably around 8 or so... We had just moved to the Netherlands, dad worked at the WTC and commuted daily to work.
One day, mum and I went to look for dad at his office. I was so excited by the large glass building he worked in, so proud of my dad and his own office (even though later I found out he had very little to do and people shunned him, for (office) political reasons...).

That afternoon, they decided to buy a bike, our first bike in the Netherlands, and mum said she would ride it home. I was concerned, as it seemed very far to ride all the way home. At the time we lived in Uithoorn.

Curious, I looked on google maps, and it occurred o me only now that the distance was around 17 km. Doable, according to my standards, especially after so many years of biking, and so many long-distance trips... I looked around the map at the area we used to live in... at the street, Rosmarijn, we used to live on... So many memories of driving down the Amstel (river), of going to a nearby Chinese restaurant called Jade... of driving to local farms and buying dairy products and watching cows being milked... I was young then, so naive and so innocent. Life was beautiful back then. My family was together (though tensions were to build over the years...at least this I got to know with age...)

Looking back, did I ever think I would be more or less alone in the world some twenty years later...?

long lost mother

Underneath all this normalcy,
All the smiles and seemingly hard exterior
Are the memories, longings and deep sense of loss
That still lingers and flows,
That occasionally surfaces through dreams like I just had,
That occasionally rears through images of sobbing, of a boy lying in bed and reaching out his hands to touch the imaginary face of his long lost mother.

commemoration

Easter Sunday... This year it happend to fall on Tomb Sweeping Day (ching ming, 清明節), the day we traditionally remember the deceased and our loved ones.

I woke up and went downtown to have a quick lunch with friends and then went shopping for groceries... Chicken is a must, and I saw the squid my dad loved so much, and the barbeque pork (char sau) was enticing too... Together with some veggies, shrimp and eggs, I fixed up a feast.

This lunar New year I didn't really prepare much for them as I was on the plane (fortunately my brother's in-law family helped cook a lot of food...) So this meal is important, as a kind of "make up" meal...

I hope mum and dad like it... Their favourite cups are there. Together with some drinks (Perrier, mum's favourite...) And alcohol.

I hope they will like it, and 'visit", and answer my prayers to watch over our family, my nephew and the little niece to come...

It was so real....

I saw mum, she was so alive....

We were chatting and reminiscing our trip to the Canadian Rockies. How beautiful it was, how sublime, how grand the tours and stays at such lovely hotels!

She told me about her latest diagnosis, it isn't good. She probably needs to do treatment again...

"Lets go travel again, mum! Let's go!" I was hurting and breaking down inside, but I felt I needed to be strong again, for her sake.

She smiled at me...

I woke up  crying...

How I miss her so much.
How I miss my late parents so much still.

Where to go from here?

What do you want to do in life? Do you want to go another year, go  through life doing today the same thing over and over again? It is too easy to get comfortable in a place and position (even one that pays so poorly and in which you feel so underappreciated...). Wake up...

Stop "riding the wave", start thinking about ( better yet do actually !) Making waves. Year after year, for three years almost it is the same job, same people, same kind of routine. Are you not tired? Are you not feeling stifled and stunted in your growth and in life?

I am. I truly feel it. No wonder there are days I just feel like sleeping and am just so demotivated to do anything at all. Because there is no joy I derive from work, no passion which fuels my very being and everyday life.

Decide what you want... Make a choice, make a decision. Cut away the weed and toxic parts of life, and work toward a goal, a destination, a greater good and greater future than just getting by and getting till the end of the week.

My life is worth far more than that. 
My parents would want far more from me than just living a mundane life of being mediocre and lacking in passion and excitement.

Condolences

How do you write a condolence letter? How to you write  in  a way that the other person knows you feel their loss and "live with them" (medeleven)?



I searched my email for the word "condolence". What appeared were messages from three years ago... from my colleagues, from friends, from the ex. I read them, and emotions flooded back. People write words and they can be so powerful still when you read them years later. But do they mean them? Do words lose their meaning with time? Do people forget their good intentions and the compassionate understanding they expressed with words?

One wrote that the coming weeks, months and years will be difficult as I process the emotions and realities... One wrote about how he admired my strength and courage over the years... another wrote about being there for me no matter what...



As we experience loss, personally and also through others, do we learn how to deal with loss and how to comfort those who have lost loved ones? What words are appropriate, just, and lasting that will still retain their meaning through time and space? 

May the souls and minds of the departed rest... may the living and those left behind heal and learn to cope with that void and loss. Nothing is easy. And no words, however comforting they are meant to be, however beautiful and eloquent, can do justice to emotions and the depths of memories and lives we have shared with loved ones.

Saying goodbye

I picked up my bags and made my way to the high speed station. The visit home is ending soon.

The days here felt much longer than before, and there were moments I was agitated, even bored and hoping that I could go home soon. Even at the monastery in the mountains, I felt so impatient and disturbed, much more than before.

My brother and his family came to visit me two days ago, and together we journeyed to our parents' hometown to see relatives. It's been beautiful seeing my nephew and spending time with my immediate family.

I learned how smart and perceptive my nephew was. The other day from an auntie. Last week, when I went to visit my parents' resting place, I broke down and could not stop my tears. I didn't realise my nephew saw that. When the auntie asked what he did that day. "Did uncle take you out to play?" he said "shhhh, I'll tell you something. Uncle..." And he rubbed  his fists around his eyes, to simulate someone crying. That someone was me. It was some surprising, and heartwarming to hear that story recounted.

It really has been great spending some time with my nephew, and the past two days went by quicker. We went to the night market together, and he became so excited playing games from my childhood... Pinball machines, fishing for rubber duckies, bumper cars... Exciting games that fillled his eyes with joy, and at the end of which filled his hands with toys. I rode bumper cars with him, as he is still too little, and I sat behind him as I turned the steering wheel round and round. He wanted to play again and again, and in the end we stayed at the night market close to two hours just letting him play different games. And reliving childhood memories. My brother and his wife also smiling and laughing seeing how excited their son was. I bought him a nice school bag (a nice red "Cars" backpack....he's going to pre school later this year)

Dream

A horrible dream that woke me up sweating and made my heart racing...

My brother was in it. We are orphaned children, our mother had just passed, and it was terribly sad as we were left to the evil ways of the world. We endured financial difficulties, we were subjected to attempted assaults and kidnaps. In the last scene, we wanted to enter a taxi, I got in, and the driver immediately locked the door and drove away, leaving my brother running after me trying to catch up. The driver was mean spirited and tried to violate me, I bit off a bit of his finger.... I saw myself crying from having been sexually touched... Brother tried all he could to rescue me. Our parents were gone, it was just us versus  the world... The dream  was depressingly filled with a sense of dread, fear and desperation.

I woke up and it was only 4am. Another 15 minutes or so till wake up time at the monastery. I heard the waterfall closing, heard the light chirping of birds.

I lay in bed and thought about the dream.

Were it only so... Were it only so...
I have not seen my brother and his family for over a week , even though this is the season of family reunions and togetherness.

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. .