天祐臺灣

天祐臺灣！
Formosa forever...

Stubbornness

How does not wanting to trouble someone with having to pick me up at the airport become a sign of stubbornness...?

No blame, no praise.
Let it go. Let the angry words and raised voice go. They are not mine. They are gifts I do not accept, and should not bother me

Minutes to midnight

A few minutes to midnight, to the new year. Outside you can almost already hear the abated noise of fireworks and revellers, of popping champagne corks and party horns. An old year is leaving soon, a new one is about to dawn.

My cousin is in his room talking to his girlfriend, they want to 'spend' the new year together, sweet. So I'm just here on my own with the two cats, in the new apartment. It's not quite all ready yet, actually just two hours ago we were still painting parts of the kitchen, but it's falling into place. And what a way to begin the new year in a new home, filled with hope and starting life afresh. After all the troubles, all the fatigue of getting to this place, of getting to this point in my life, I sit back and feel a sense of fulfilment, finally, of quiet joy and contentment. I have come so far... so far...

Here is to all the people who have helped me along the way... may they be happy and at peace. May the world be happy and at peace.

Peace, joy and love to the world and everyone, every being in the new year.

Packing away

(was this 2014 or 2015?
Reads like it was packing to move from Montreal to Toronto)

 

 
I stopped and suddenly felt this sadness creep over me. I am surrounded by a mess of boxes, wrapping paper, and two cats who seem to be having the time of their lives playing hide and seek with plastic bags lying around on the floor. The apartment, my home for the last seven years, is slowly emptying. The cupboards,  drawers, and even the fridge, are all being cleaned out and cleared.

It feels as if I am re-reading the story of my life, replaying the records of my family's life. The fragile memories of the past are all being carefully wrapped and packed awei. The delicate momentoes from trips and classes I have taken, dates I have been on, restaurants I have dined in, funerals I have attended, are all being sorted and boxed.

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You'll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley
You can tell the sun in his jealous sky
When we walked in fields of gold
--"Fields of gold"

Packing is like retracing traces of how I got to be where I am and who I am now. Packing is shifting through the evidence of the brevity of my thirty something years on this big, big world and piecing together the significance of events, dates, challenges which have given meaning to life. It is an opportunity to meet people again, some of whom were once so very, very dear to my heart and soul and yet have already parted. It is an opportunity to connect, even if momentarily, with the ones have given my life lasting memories of warmth and beauty.

Unhappiness where's when I was young,
And we didn't give a damn,
'Cause we were raised,
To see life as fun and take it if we can.
My mother, my mother,
She hold me, she hold me, when I was out there.
My father, my father,
He liked me, oh, he liked me.
Does anyone care?
--"Ode to my family"

Some items, in order to save space and reduce weight, need to be binned, others need to be recycled. Packing is judging, it is deciding what (...or who) matters, what will continue to matter, and what deserves a chance to continue to be part of me as I make my wei forward in life. Some things that cause too much pain or embarrassment, things associated with people or events who have long faded and paled in significance, are to be  buried and forever disappeared...

Clothes not worn for ages, still lingering with the scent of my youth, my being, are being bagged in the hope they will eventually find they wei to those who can make better use of them. Even after years of neglect, hidden in the pockets of these items of clothing are gems of my past. Crinkled pieces of papers, ticket stubs, half-used chapsticks, packets of tissues and wrappers recording little, bitter sweet  days gone by...

The collection of model airplanes are being disassembled in preparation for relocation to the new hub. Pictures on the wall, some yellowing a little already, others cringing on the sides, but all covered with the dust of time and grease from dinner parties and many countless nights eating in the company of Netflix, still need to be taken off of the walls.

"Written on these walls are the colors that I can't change
Leave my heart open but it stays right here in its cage
I know that in the morning now I see us in the light upon a hill
Although I am broken, my heart is untamed, still
And I'll be gone, gone tonight
The fire beneath my feet is burning bright"
--"The story of my life"

 I pick up another book, another photograph, another magnet from some exotic destination, another stack of letters, papers, statements that together make up the pieces of my life, and I continue to pack.

 

Last night in Montreal

One last night, last couple of hours in Montreal...

The cat is sleeping on a heap of my clothing. It is cold, not horribly so, but chilly (surprisingly 'warm' for this time of the year...). The room is a mess, but at least the rest of the house is somewhat emptier.

A few more hours, and I am out of here. Home of the past six years.

Gone.

Last night in Montreal

Final night, final few hours in my own apartment in Montreal. Seven years here, and tomorrow I will be relocated to Toronto.

The house is a mess, at least my bedroom is. I've had to move all the remaining things into my bedroom, which now is just a pile of stuff. Boxes, papers, plastic bags, odd appliances and clothes all strewn over my bed. It's a horrible mess. And I'm in a pretty foul mood... My cousin is here, and fortunately he helped me a bit. Friends came by, just to say goodbye. Need friends even ask for help to get some help...? It's just been three, four weeks of packing, packing and sorting through things, and I am dead, dead tired. As someone said, it is even tougher doing it all by myself, having to do it all alone.

Last night in Montreal, and I am in this foul mood... sadly, this is the case, perhaps because I am just so exhausted mentally and physically (my jaw hurts from over grinding... my head aches from getting by with very little sleep...) Does anyone care or ask how I am doing? Not even my own brother or his family reached out to ask how I am doing or what I am doing this Christmas period...

Flying "home"

Flying back to Montreal after a few days in Toronto. The move earlier in the week went smoothly. 30+ boxes of personal belongings and my bed all moved in a truck within a day. I'm settled now, at least the majority of my belongins have been moved. That was always the biggest headache. A headache that caused me much worry and stress, and even my night time grinding to intensify... Now it's just a matter of unpacking, and that will take some time. But I have time. Slowly, things will fall into place. Slowly, my home will be more and more personalised and my own. The arrival of the cats will be a giant leap in that regard. The cats will make things covered with hair but also with such warmth and sense of belonging. (Just hope the move next week will not be challenging....)

The last of the renovation work was completed with the delivery of the kitchen appliances and setting of the counter top for the kitchen. And yesterday, inadvettently while just walking down the street, I came across a store that had furniture made in Canada that were perfect for the condo. Deeply discounted and quality wood , made by local woodmakers. It was chance, it was fate. I didn't even have to go looking for it, it was just there, with a sign pointing up stairs. Like so many things associated with the purchase of this condo, it all happened so smoothly and flowed... 
Delivery of the furniture should be next week. And then I'm set (painting still needs to be done, but that can take some time...).

As I was unpacking some of the boxes, I careful unwrapped mum and dad's cups and bowls. The ones I use to offer them food and drinks on special days. I was again reminded of their absence, and imagined their joy of only they could see my place and stay at my own home... If only. Amid the joy and pride of owning my own home, I felt a tinge of sadness too. They worked so hard, and I have so much thanks to them... I am so fortunate to be able to buy and enjoy luxury appliances and poeceliain (all discounted of course, but still... ) Quality and living the high life compared to so many years of living so modestly in my previous apartment in Montreal. I imagine they would be happy to see my pride and joy, living on the top floor of a lovely little buidlinf in a great location. They would be assured, I am sure... 

As the plane banked away and ascended into the clouds, I felt this jubilation. I have a home. A beautiful home I can call my own. It'll be so personal, it'll be my private castle, shelter from the world, and my little private corner of the world . And it is no one else's. I have to be very careful to guard my place against others. My mum told me that, I remember, as friends in particular might try to take advantage of me seeing how I live alone, so I must be vigilante. Whatever people may say.

A few days in Montreal, one last Christmas celebration and then that's it. A new beginning at the end of a long year, and waiting to welcome the new year.

First night (with a bed)

It's not my first night here in the new condo, but it is going to be the first night with a bed.

What an exhausting three days it's been since the weekend. First had to finish a 20+ page paper (co-authoring with a very renowned scholar, what an honour!) And then packing and packing till yesterday after 3am. Had to get up at 7 to prepare for the arrival of the mover (yet another night with so little sleep... I'm averaging 3-4hrs these days, causing me headaches and dizziness... Really not healthy at all!)

The mover was honest, professional, and we chatted a bit on the long 7hr journey, about my home, about his home country iran, regional politics , the rise of extremism... 30+ items, two dozen boxes. All had to be moved.

It seemed like a dream

Flurries

I opened my eyes, the suddenness of the captain's announcement made my heart jump from the slumber I'd fallen into as soon as I boarded the plane. Tired, exhausted even, as I made my third, or is it fourth, trip to Toronto in as many weeks. Fatigued from staying up till three in the morning preparing for my lecture in the morning. Normally, after the three hour lecture, I would be so drained I would go home to nap (or even just sleep...) . But I had a project I wanted to finish, a book totalling 770 pages...

Before rushing to the airport just in time for the luggage check in cut off time, I frantically packed my usual two suitcases. I filled it with DVDs, books, whatever else was lying on the bookshelf in the spare bedroom under a layer of dust. Some DVDs have never been opened. Some books have never been fully read from cover to cover. Some momentoes bought, or stored, and never touched again. Why? Perhaps I was busy. Or perhaps I was afraid to see and flip back at the pages of days past.

One, or at least one, of the books was a photobook. A collection of ticket stubs, brochures, photographs and whatnot from trips over the past few years. Just a few years ago, when mum was still around, when journeying around the world had a goal, had a purpose, had meaning....

Loving can heal
Loving can mend your soul
And it's the only thing that I know (know)
I swear it will get easier
Remember that with every piece of ya
And it's the only thing we take with us when we die

We keep this love in this photograph
We made these memories for ourselves
Where our eyes are never closing
Our hearts were never broken
Times forever frozen still

The plane slowed and made a gradual descent. The skies were clear, or at least clearer than before I fell asleep. Looking out, the headlight installed on the wing cast an intense beam of light into the dark of the night. Rain, or at least what I thought was rain, fell sideways and were captured by the beam of light. The rain, which turned out to be sleet or flurries, got sucked into the rotating blades of the Q400 aircraft as we slowly, slowly and carefully approached Toronto.

The lights and sight of the city never ceases to be dull and again filled with with such excitement and anticipation. A friend greeted me at the airport and helped me with the two suitcases I lugged from Montreal.

Later at night, I hauled a suitcase back to my new condo alone. It was flurrying slightly. A cold, yet romantic air hang in the air. Romantic in the sense it provoked emotions,  thoughts and nostalgia... I felt a sense of gratitude. After so long, I have a home, finally have a home I can call my own. After all the struggles, after all the memories, some captured in the photobook in the suitcase that groaned as the wheels slid over the pavement, after some of the painful and most difficult and challenging moments of my life (as yet, or perhaps ever...) I have a home to go to.

I opened the door and stepped into the warmth of the new condo.  The smell of  the newly placed laminate floor lingered still in the air. I saw a trail of footprints on the lightly dusted floor. It is a work still in progress.

But I am almost there. My home, a place to call my own.

No more

Last night, madmen (I assume they were all men...) gunned down close to 130 people in downtown Paris. People out enjoying Friday night at a restaurant, at a theatre, and in a nearby football stadium were suddenly thrown into a frenzy of bloodshed and fear. The city locked down, a state of emergency was declared, police and the armed forces were mobilised. The French president vowed to be ruthless against the perpetrators, who it seems clear are Islamic State ISIS. The Eiffel Tower turned off its lights, elsewhere monuments around the world light up in the French tricolore in solidarity with the tragic and senseless loss of lives. A few days earlier, and not much reported or covered, Lebanon suffered a bomb attack that claimed close to two hundred lives. ISIS again claimed responsibility.

What drives people to hurt and maime people on such a wide scale (or even at all)? How twisted and sick one must be to engage in such acts of violence against people you do not know and only interact with, perhaps just a glance of the fear in their eyes, perhaps in just hearing their scream of fear, before their death which you prematurely caused?

Terrorism is sick, and extremist violence aimed to terrorise and kill is mad. The victims in Paris, Lebanon, and throughout history, and in the future to come, deserve nothing less than our sympathy and solidarity. But what is the response to such acts of terrorism? How do you defeat or even engage in an enemy you cannot see, that has no addrress and no clear cut structure?

What is the world  becoming ?
We mourn the loss of innocence and for the victims of terrorism. I silently whisper "no more, no more..."

Flight to Toronto

The dusk light is casting a yellow and golden glow on  the land below, accentuating the colours of high Autumn. Below are the calm waters of Lake Ontario, and in the distance the shores of the city of my future home.

Almost in Toronto, fifteen hours or so until the exam, my last equivalency/qualification exam before taking the bar. Family law. It's been a grueling process studying for this (when has it not been?). I felt so distracted, stressed and concentrated. And there are moments I just want to lie down and sleep. How can I be so tired all the time? How can I just sleep through the day and want to sleep even more?

Is it the effects of the changing  seasons taking its toll on me already? Or the recent shocks to my life and state of mind from the series of events that have again undermined my faith on people and in relationships? All in all, it's been a struggle the past few weeks just to get out of bed, just to pull myself together and get myself to work , to study.

At least this time tomorrow, I'll be free of the stress of an impending exam. The last of nine I have somehow struggled through over the span of 4 years. Four years...

That will ease my mind somewhat, and the rest is just finishing the semester and trying to finish off the editing jobs that have been pretty much neglected since the begining of term.

Toronto is approaching... I feel it. I look forward to the change. Look forward to severing ties with reminders and memories that for a long time, for too long perhaps, have kept me so weak and isolated.

Crappy day

It's just one of those days. I found it hard to get up, and when I did, somehow the laptop screen just went blank. A new laptop, less than a year old. The other day, the big cat jumped on it and it fell off the table with a loud bang that woke me up. And somehow, it seems to have just died...

If that wasn't enough, the other cat went missing for a few hours, only to wander in like nothing happened close to midnight... Talk about trying to study for an exam in five days. I couldn't. Just couldn't. Between lying in bed and trying to find th cat and trying to get my laptop working again (to no avail...) I was just mentally drained and could not get myself motivated to do anything at all. So at close to 4am I am trying to salvage what remains of the last day, or trying to begin the day on a better note.

Nap

I woke up and in that moment I said:

"Mama you must take care of yourself. Papa you also..."

And I opened my eyes. Five to eight at night, the rain is pouring outside. Time to get up now.

Stay with me...

Why am I so emotional?
No, it's not a good look, gain some self-control
And deep down I know this never works
But you can lay with me so it doesn't hurt

Aunt's visit to my new place

Last week, my aunt (mum's cousin) visited me in Montreal, and this week her tour ended up in Toronto (where they are scheduled to fly out in a couple of hours...). I coordinated with her, for I knew she would spend some time in the city and do some sightseeing here, and I asked her to take some time out to come see my new place. She happily agreed. Goodness it has already been over two months since we first talked about today's plans, and the day came.

I met up with her at the base of the CN Tower, where she had a nice lunch. I took her to see my new, as yet unfurnished condo. And she was happy for me. She liked the brightness of it all, the spaciousness of the living room, the fact that there is a lovely old church building next door, and how conveniently located (and yet quiet) the building is in the downtown area. She walked around every room and inspected everything carefully, giving me ideas on how to decorate, things to bear in mind (feng shui matters, of course!), telling me all about the importance of positioning of the bed (not under a beam; not in front of a door), the furnace (stove; never in sight as soon as you enter, for the stove is the 'deposit' of wealth) , the sofa (must have a wall to have some kind of 'backing'; never in empty space in the middle of the room)... She took  a few moments to stand on my balcony and admire the view, which was particularly glorious on this sunny day.

We spent the afternoon together, walking around and I showed her a bit of downtown before going to the waterfront and buying some souvenirs to take home. We waited at the restaurant where she was supposed to rejoin her tour group and head to the airport. That was about half an hour ago.

I left the restaurant with a heavy, weighty heart and for several moments after our goodbye felt like crying. She and mum look alike (except the auntie is a bit shorter), and the way she speaks reminds me also of mum... In many ways, she is like her, and she even says she and mum were so very close. They were practically sisters, even though they were cousins, because my auntie doesn't have a sister and looked to my mum as her older sister. The bond was so tight, so strong...

"You have to take good care of yourself, you are on your own now..." she said. She held me as she said that. That really struck a cord in my heart. Her eyes were shimmering. That really hit a button that could have so easily unleashed some tears.

I walked home, to the condo I own, put music in my ears and walked through the busy streets and brights lights of the city. It felt so cold, so very cold suddenly.

I walked into the apartment. It was dark. The only light were the dim light of the city in the background.
 And even though the place I know is pretty much unfurnished (odd chair and table here and there...), it felt all the more empty. That emptiness really pulls at the heart strings.

Really does.

Sleepless night

I lie in bed and cannot sleep. Last night, I could hardly sleep from the excitement of preparing for my lecture. I am exhausted, but I just stir as soon as I am about to sleep...

I called "home" and spent some time chatting on the phone with the monk in the mountains I turn to in times of difficulties. I emptied my emotions, described how more or less since visiting Europe and my brother last month, I have been so disturbed and sleep deprived.  much to do with work-induced stress, but much also attributed to this renewed sense of nostalgia and missing induced by the holidays (mid Autumn). And then there's been that added element of uncertainty, of the impending big change in my life to come. I have just been agitated, diaturbed...

All these thoughts, all these images, these conversations being replayed in my head. I feel tortured by the lack of sleep, and this will no doubt affect again how I feel and how well/poorly I function in the day.

What's wrong...? How come I cannot sleep? I so want to sleep.... I so want real rest, sweet rest of my body, my mind, my soul without me being disturbed by dreams, images, fears and doubts...

end before it started

The end before it started

Just like that, it ended. Not the care and affection we feel for one another, because we both agree we enjoy each other's company and that we have a lot of fun talking and in and out of bed. But that is not enough, not for him. And he didn't want to mislead me or lead me on. He wanted to be honest with me, to be truthful, to prevent more and deeper hurt later on as feelings develop and as time went on. He is just not that into me, not as much as I am into him anyways.

It sucks. It does. Part of me feels hurt, deeply hurt, like another episode of abandonment and another harsh blow I have to deal with and cope with after so many storms and losses in my life over the past few years. But I MUST dissociate him telling me that he just does not feel that spark with me from everything else that has been happening in my life. They are not related, even though the small and hurt psyche in me may feel like I am like a victim and is for some reason being "punished" with lonelyness and abandonment. I am not being punished. I am simply living life, simply weather storm after storm as all people do in life, even though it may appear that other people have it so much easier than I do.... We all have it as it is, nothing less, nothing more.

We hugged. Twice. Tightly. It was hard to know when to let go, and I did not let go before he did, or at least suggested he was letting go. I felt a lot of passion and affection, but that may be accentuated and masked by my desire to fulfil a void in me that was left behind by the loss of my mum. That got me wondering, particularly after that deep conversation we had after a very passionate session last week. But I knew, somehow, after a response from an email I wrote him after that night, that the feelings were not mutual, and that perhaps he would want to cool it off. And I was right.

He showed up suddenly by ringing the bell tonight. I had just finished dinner and was sitting in the living room floor watching TV. He came in, I got all excited and expectant. We talked about our weekend. And then came the reality. And it hit hard. An hour or so ago, he cryptically asked how long it has been since we last met. But he was fishing for how I feel. I answered back: "Either you miss me a lot, or you do not miss me at all". I thought that was a clever response, and of course I wanted it to the former. But it was the latter.

He has fun and enjoys my company, but not to the depth and degree as I do. It was clear, I imagine, after that email I wrote him expressing and laying bare my feelings toward him. It was good, in a way, and I have to remind myself of this and rationally deal with this (loss it loss, feelings are feelings, nothing more, nothing less... I was alone before I met him, I am alone and living my live after he made clear things are not the way as I wish/want them to be).

He showed up at my door. I was surprised, and expectant. But hhe reality hit. It was not as I imagined it would be. He had to come clean. He is one, and that makes him all the more special, because he cares and cares about how I feel, to not hide or conceal and wants to be frank and upright and does not wish to live with guilt or the burden of misleading someone or leading someone on.

I was so reluctant to let him go, but let him go I must... I was reluctant because I felt like crying, falling and breaking apart, and I was scared to be alone, to be by myself and not knowing how to feel, how to act, what to do, afraid to lie in bed and be awake and sleepless. But what about him? How does he feel? How would he feel? I am sure I have done the same with others, I am sure I have rejeted others and made them feel dejected and unwanted, even though I did not intend it.

So we parted on good terms. I said I will miss him, miss his company and warmth. He said he would miss me and would leave to me whether we would meet and under what circumstances. It's not like he is going away or dying, but it feels the premature end of something before it even started...

It hurts, it sure does.

But I will survive. I must. I will. 

Visit

Pass in time...

 Facebook reminded me of a song I shared three years ago to the day. It was 3 October 2012. Three months a few days after losing mum. It was a hundred days after losing mum. The feelings were so raw, so real. They were kept at bay because I needed to be strong for the sake of those around me. I needed to keep calm, carry on, I needed to because mum (and dad ) in heaven would not want to see me cry and break down. How that would break their hearts to see their dear son all alone and crying.

But three months after losing her, I lost myself.
The emotions could no longer be held at bay.
I had changed. And who knew, grief would change me and perhaps play into that fear that I would forever lose my humanity and ability to care, to love, to give, to be who I am and have hoped I will always be...

Three years later , hearing this song, I am filled with bitter sweet memories. Mum-ories. I have come such a long, long way, I really have. I have a job (even if it pays poorly...), a  condo, cats, and all those memories and very regrets about how it all happened. I may not have it all, I may not be rich or may not have found the love I so want, but I am stronger, more together than ever before.


It will pass. Grief will pass. And the past will remain in the past. I must continually remind myself that... continually tell myself, calm myself whenever I have nightmares, whenever I feel the loneliness and deep, deep sense of isolation creep up and haunt my very being, my very insides and soul, that the past is the past, and I must let it all go. However hard it may all be, let things be.

I'm just "here for a while"...

"Oh darling, darling, don't you be like me.
You will fall in love with the very first man you meet."
But mother, mother, some will never know;
The love that you have is still holding my soul."

Indeed, how vulnerable I have become since losing mum, losing the people dearest and who are deepest in my heart and soul. And I must, perhaps for the rest of my life, perhaps for another year, another decade, contend and cope with that. Only in letting go, in moving forward with life and with all that has transpired will I truly be able to move on. 

"So much stays unknown till the time has come.
Did you imagine you could ever be so strong,
Then watch your fear just turn into relief?
Your sea of doubt become your own belief?
Though tears don't come to cry some grief away,
The tears will help to keep your need at bay.

So come on now, come on now, child.
You're here just a while.
Come on now, come on now, child.
You're here just a while.

A mother told me just before she died
My mother told me just before she died,
"Oh darling, darling, don't you be like me.
You will fall in love with the very first man you meet."
But mother, mother, some will never know;
The love that you have is still holding my soul."

Aunt's visit

She opened her suitcase, and there was a bag full of goodies. Tea of the highest quality, nuts and delicious cookies, and a carefully wrapped and fragile item (which I have not yet opened) which my auntie hand carried and packaged so meticulously to bring to me and to gift me for having purchased my new condo. Later, she stuffed an envelop full of money and insisted I take it...
This is kindness, hospitality and genorosity only family members, and dare I say Taiwanese people, are able to show.

She had flown thousands of miles to Canada and brought me all these goodies knowing that I am here all by myself, far away from any family or close relative. She said the message I sent her, wishing her happy Mid Autumn Festival, moved her... I said I miss my family most of all on that day. And she felt she wanted and needed  to do something to make me feel I am not alone, and that there are still many at home who care about and think of me.

We went for a walk, and I led them through the university campus and up to my office building. They were impressed with the setting of my workplace (a really old mansion, antique walls and stained glass windows... really fancy and prestigeous looking...). When mum came, she too went to my office and met some of my colleagues back in 2011. And my auntie stood in my office, for a moment (and I managed to capture that moment on camera) she looked around and it was as if her eyes misted... Perhaps she was thinking of mum, thinking about how mum stood there in that same building barely three years ago...

We went to dinner, or at least she and a friend of hers insisted on taking me to dinner for I had not eaten and was waiting for them all evening to arrive at their hotel. We chatted more, catching up on life and reliving memories. All those trips! All those memories/mumories of travels with mum... funny stories, one or two I did not know till tonight (when mum was in the washroom at a train station, and a drunk barged into the washroom and was trying to kick in the door because he really had to go... it terrified my auntie, but mum did not realise what was all happening as she was inside a stall and busy...)... beautiful stories of trips we took together, of restaurants we went to together... of such wonderful times we had together... When mum was still around... when mum was still all smiles and had that energy, bore with her that kindness and warmth as she took my aunt and a friend of hers to places all over Europe... My aunt got misty eyed again as she spoke.... spoke about their childhood together (they are cousins), about how my mum really looked out for her. And I reminded her of how highly my mum spoke of her mum, for were it not for my auntie's mum, my mum probably would never have that opportunity to go to university and get a good job. All thanks to her mum, who offered to pay for after-school tuition so that my mum could get good grades and excel and in a way escape from the life my mum's stepmum wanted her to have (that of a simple housewife, for in the stepmum's eyes,  women need not study...)

I have been feeling somewhat down and missing mum a lot this past week or so, pretty much since the full moon on Mid Autumn Festival. That date is so special, the day when families come together and sit under the full moon... The sense of nostalgia and the longing for days and childhood gone by saddens and weakens me greatly. Seeing my auntie and reliving some of those memories helped, and I realised again how not alone I am for there are those who miss mum and her warmth and her presence still...

Floating Thoughts

"Where do we go from here?
This isn't where we intended to be..."

How it sucks when you develop feelings too quickly and are left wanting and with unfulfilled emotions...

The night before yesterday, I had a long and deep discussion with the nurse , and we kind of came to the conclusion that "whatever will be, will be". I don't know why, I suddenly woke up at 5ish in the morning and couldnt sleep , and at around 7 I got up to write a long and heartfelt email about how I felt. The rest of the day I felt exhausted, and like crap. Perhaps partyl because I did not quite get the response I was expecting... But what was I expecting? It was a polite reply of appreciation and akcknowledgement, nothing more . What else could or did I expect? As we had discussed, it was all too uncertain, and we were just beginning to know one another.

Even so, after our talk, after he described how he met his ex and that powerful magic he felt from the first moment they met, I felt whatever is between us seemed doomed and would not last... How do I compare with that apparent confidence other people seem to have? How do I feel good about myself in a way that others would appreciate me for who I am?

Again, in being with someone, I find myself questioning and doubting if I am good enough... Good enough to receive love, good enough to give love in return... Good enough to be loved, good enough to maintain a relationship and have that sense of stability and familiarity that I so much crave...

But I am not other people, I am my own person, with all my insecurities, warts and beauties... This is not a competition.

What is meant to be is meant to be. What cannot be will not be.

Three months...

My boss called me today at the office and spoke to me for a long time. He thanked me for the great work I did editing a paper, and also offered me opportunities for getting my name out there. Toward the end of the conversation, he suggested that I consider applying to the PhD programme again, something that due to politics and bias (and unprofessionalism on the part of a decision maker) I was rejected from earlier in May.

Do I go...?
Do I stay...?
What do I do?

I feel my mind filled with such nagging questions, and a growing sense of sadness and heaviness as the days toward my planned departure approach. I set December/January as a deadline for me to leave this place, to bid farewell to all that I have known for over 7 years so I can start life anew and fresh in my new condo. But  things are uncertain... I feel my mind in flux. I feel tired and demotivated. I feel I lack support and guidance, feel that I am again drifting and cast in doubt.

These feelings have been exacerbated by the fact that I met someone early September. A simple, innocent message has over the past three weeks or so (since that Labour Day night, 7 September) turned into several encounters and three occasions we could not be apart from one another for 30something hours... He's smart, beautiful, doing his PhD while being a nurse on the side... He's kind, compassionate, loving and most of all listens. It seemed like such a wonderful match, and we enjoy each other's company a lot (and we pretty much enjoy the same things in bed, which has always been a huge obstacle for me to be with someone for the long term.

But I am leaving. And just before we met for the first time, I told him, for  I did not want to hide or conceal anything from anyone, that I am leaving. I knew that would kill the buzz, would unseat hopes and stunt whatever feelings may grow, but he needed to know, and I told him.

Last night, we had a deep conversation about where we are going. We seem to care for one antoher and treasure one another;s company... but is that enough? Where are we going? Do you invest more time together, or just recngise that this may all be doomed and just try not get too attached? Can I even consider being "the other" after a few months ago his first long term *3 years) relationship ended because of long distance?

Last day of ghost month

The past two, three weeks have just been busy... Too busy to sleep much, to write much, to reflect much. A new term starting, preparations for a three day conference that ran into late last night, not to mention my regular job of editing. And somehow I squeezed time in last weekend to help a cousin move into and register for uni...

I went to bed exhausted last night, and for the first time in weeks did not set the alarm. But the fire alarm suddenly woke me up , making me run to shut it off (there was no smoke, let alone fire...)

I fell asleep and saw mum... we were taking a train somewhere in the Netherlands. It was so vivid, so clear. I was on the train with her, and we somehow ended up at the airport Schiphol. She went in with me, and it became clear at one point I was the one leaving. She was staying. We came across a chocolaterie, and I recommended that she buy some chocolates.. but as I was the one leaving, only I could buy it (this was inside the duty free area... I don't know how she was there, as she was not travelling). She was next to me... I could see her face, full of smiles, just as I remember her...

I woke up , and was close to clears.

I have not seen her or dreamt of her (or dad) for some time.
I do think of them, and dreams like this remind me how much I am missing them still.

Life continues, day after day, year after year... where am I going? What am I doing?
Just living, going about my life, at times without much thought or reflection.

Pre departure eruption

"I'm going up to sleep," I said, "take good care of yourself. You have two children now."

There was a silence. He looked at me, as if wanting to say something. But he said nothing. Brother sat in his chair in his corner of the living room, where he has sat for the past ten or so years every night, smoking his ecigarette, and leaning back on the arm chair.

"Ok", he said.

I was disappointed. The whole evening, I hung around the living room, hoping we could chat and catch up. But we did not. Instead, there was the awkward silence brought on in the aftermath of a feud, an ugly and fragile silence that made my stomach churn and feel so much like crying...

There was a huge, huge fight after a really pleasant dinner. All over a stupid driving incident in which he accusedd my sister-in-law of not stopping for a pedestrian, whereas she insists there were two at the crossing and he only saw the one that came after she had driven through  the crossing. They were shouting for at least 15 minutes. I sat in the floor pretending to do my suitcase. But how could I really? My nephew came to me once and sat he wants to take a bath... He looked at me and pulled at my clothes as my sister in law pounded the table and my brother raised his voice (I may be biased, but he is in his same old mode of all-I-say-is-right-and-you-are-wrong...)

Jacob ran upstairs, and I'm sure the relatives (my sisterinlaws family) felt so uncomfortable and quietly cringed (as I did) while they fought... At one point, one of the aunties came down and broke up the fight, saying you've all said what you needed to say, there is nothing else to say.

Throughout I felt like crying. It was so much like dad and mum when they used to have goes at one another , which always made me want to disppear and not have to listen or experience all this... It always made me wonder why people cannot get along... Why is it so difficult to get along?

And I felt horrible for the children, my nephew and my little niece who is barely a month old. My nephew came downstairs to draw on his chalkboard, and he drew a head with eyes and dots below the eyes "mama cry cry" he said. It broke my heart... I took a picture of that moment...
Childrens' hearts and emotions are ever so fragile....

Brother and I said nothing more after that fighting. I'm leaving in a few hours. A week stay is almost at an end, and what an ending it is...

How I wish it could be more different. But alas nothjng ever really is

Reunion

It wasn't all because of the wind in my face that I felt tears flowing from the corners of my eyes while I biked down the path towars the beach, a route I'd taken hundreds of times living at the family-home turned brother's family home. My nephew peddaled fast in front of me , while my brother peddaled ahead on his own bike.

We were heading for an evening ice cream ("ijsje" as my nephew would call it...), and the setting sun, the route reminded me so much of the way things were. The bike I was riding on was one mum bought some years ago. It has now been transformed and has a baby seat in the back and a black basket up from for groceries. Mum would have been so happy being there. Mum would have been so at ease seeing us bike together, felt so proud of her little grandson's speed and determined look on the four-year-old's face... Mum would have been so proud to hold little precious Brianna Alison , named after her, in her arms like I did earlier that evening.

So fragile, so strong, so small yet so very beautiful. She is weak yet strong willed, her featured are all still forming, yet in the depths of her eyes you can seen curiosity and wonder. My relatives ( sister-in-law's relatives) say there is something that reminds them of mum... I don't see it yet, but I know mum would have been so proud, so overjoyed to hold a girl in her arms. She always wanted a baby girl , and here she is...

Funnily enough, my nephew calls himself and would rather be a "big sister" because he wants to be like a girl in his class who takes care of her younger brother... He doesn't yet understand that he can never be really be a big sister to his little sister... But he kisses her, goes to see her and touch her gently... The sweetest thing...

Poor Meanou...

I went to see Meanou, twice again, once in the morning, once in the evening.
He purred as soon as he saw me. The vet said he wouldn't purr at all, and was surprised he had the energy to purr.

He knows me, recognises me. Such a sweet and loving cat who is so full of love, and sadly so full of glucose his body doesn't know what to do with it and so is shutting down... He is more awake today, but still not eating much, if at all. In the evening, I held out a few dry kibbles and he ate from my hand. But that was that. He needs to eat more, otherwise cats tend to develop what is called "fatty liver" whereby the liver converts fat into energy, something that the cat's body is not designed to do and can be fatal if the condition continues.

I heard right yesterday, 30-35% chance of survival over the next few days, and the vet repeated it again to me. I did not really dare to tell my friend, for he would (and did...) break out in tears. I've managed to keep calm, but deep down I feel so conflicted and, just like thos moments with mum in the hospital when the doctor tells me the worst possible news and the low chances of recovery, I seem to be in automatic mode and just do not show much emotion.... I have not had the chance, I do not think, to fear or to imagine the worst or to imagine that he would no longer be there. I do not have that chance. Just as I never had that chance, that luxury when I was going back and forth between the hospital to see mum back then, just as I am going back and forth to see Meanou twice a day for the past two days now...

I am conflicted... for I feel such pity and compassion for the poor little (big!) furball, I feel such love, love that I did not realise I had for him until he fell so ill, and I feel such guilt too. Again, had I been more careful, paid more attention to him and not assumed that he was just suffering from heat or drinking a lot because of the summer, then I would have caught the signs and sent him to the vet much quicker than allowing him to languish like this and drift between the doors of life and death...
One more day, the vet said, and he would have easily died.

But the vet also reassured me that there was a cat who stayed hospitalised and under surveillance for 10 days and things became under control. And the cat lived for another seven years... May this be the case with Meanou...?

May it please be the case with Meanou.

There is so little I can do, and in the face of illness and in the face  of death , we puny human beings are so humbled and diminished to helplessness and dread... What can I do, what more can I do but provide him with/ make sure he has the best treatment there is and that he is cared for by professional vets and technicians (they have been so supportive and friendly... bless them...) ? What can I do except stroke his fur and rub his head and the length of his neck to reassure him that he is loved and cared for? All I can do is be there and visit as much as I can to show him that he is loved and that there is a reason for him to eat, to keep on fighting and to fight for his life.

I hope cats understand that... I look at his eyes, look into his soulful eyes, and I see a living, thinking and conscious being that is afraid, that loves, that remembers and has feelings just as any other human being has.

I pray and hope Meanou is at ease and not in too much pain...

pet hospital

I managed to get an earlier appointment instead of the 350pm one. Meanou, the big cat, still wasn't looking too well. He lay more or less in the same spot the whole night, by the door, on a foot mat. At one point, I grabbed a big cushion and lay down next to him and slept like that for a few hours, afraid that he may wake up and start convulsions or whatever serious symptoms... I woke up tired, exhausted, and with a sore back . He still did not stir or purr...

My other kitty, Sutty, is looking at me as I write this. Does she know the other cat is gone? Is her pacing up and down and meowing because she is searching for her companion for the past six, seven months...? We can only wonder what our furry friends are thinking...

As I looked into Meanou's eyes as he lay there on the vet's examination table, I felt such guilt... Was he looking at me and thinking "How did you let this happen to me?" Was he thinking "What did I do to you? I've been a sweet cat all this time..."  I felt more guilty that he lost his purr, that he lost the ability to even move his head and his limbs. All he could do was wag his tail, but only just a little bit... Did he know what was happening to him?


I stroked his face, stroked his body. Whereas normally he would purr, he did not this time. I haven't heard him purr in the last 48hrs, which should have been a sign for he is a purrer who gets easily purry upon touch. It was heartaching to see such a sweet creature just lie there, motionless, with his eyes half open, no quite sleeping, but also not quite awake either.


I waited in the  vet's room for almost an hour, stroked his body softly and placed my face on his back, silently wishing he would get better, get stronger. It seemed like a grueling process and wait period from the moment the vet took his blood sample to when he returned with the diagnosis.

The first few words were a relief, shattering what he had said earlier about perhaps having to make a "choice". That word "choice" made me weak and sick and feel all the more guilty... Who was I, if I had to, to decide the fate of another creature again? I did that with my previous cat, and in a way, I had to do that with my own mother.... and now again with Meanou? There is no heavier burden than to wield that power and being forced to make a choice. That in itself is not a choice anyone would wish to have a choice to make...

It wasn't a matter of choice under the circumstances. The vet diagnosed him with elevated levels of glucose, almost triple the normal amount. In short, Meanou has Diabetes, Type II, developed almost certainly from his obesity. This could only mean that his pancreas was not functioning properly and that his little (or rather, quite large) body is not producing enough insulin to break down all that sugar. So he loses energy, loses weight, and many other organs like the liver and even the brain when it gets to the extreme point, are starved of energy. Luckily it did not get to that point, the point of convulsions and seizures, but he was close, the vet said.

He needs to stay at the hospital for 3-5 days, for monitoring, for treatment. These are crucial days, if he makes it, he will be fine. Not like kidney disease or failure, for it is certainly fatal in the long term (within a month), but with pancreatic illness, the issue can be treated, and if the cat responds to the treatment, he will survive and can lead a happy, purry life under a good diet. But these coming days will be touch and go...

I went home, without Meanou, and as soon as I entered the house, the other cat walked into the corridor. I've gotten used to, without really realising it, two cats welcoming me home. It felt strange with just one. In the air was the stench of his urine, he was peeing much more than before, which I thought was just because he was drinking much more than before due to the Summer heat. Little did I know, drinking a lot and peeing a lot (at times, even outside of the litter box) were classic symptoms of diabetes. Indeed, the pee would be so sticky and large clumps of litter would form, making it hard to clean. Once I caught him in the act and peeing outside the box and I got so upset I slapped him... Now I know it is not his fault... His body was giving signs that there was something wrong. As I looked into his eyes, I felt these pangs of guilt.  I was negligent... I didn't pay more attention to his peeing habits and just assumed with clean litter , food and fresh water, he would be fine. And look at what happened...

I went back to see Meanou in the evening, the pet hospital being around half an hour away on foot. The vet called me just as I was walking there, and told me he started to lie on his chest, which is a good sign, for before he could barely even lift his own head. When I saw him, he looked more alert, yet he also looked so sad and tired... He had a bowl of food but he did not seem to touch it at all.
The doctor explained carefully what they had done and what treatment Meanou was getting. I listened and felt so grateful that at least there were signs of improvement, and that the vet was so professional and doing their best. I looked at the IV drip and bags of saline solution and tubes leading to Meanou's body... A flashback back to the hospital with my mum.

The feelings of worry, fear, anxiety and stress over the unknown flowed through me. In the hospital, waiting and praying a loved one would be ok, listening to the doctor explain my loved one's condition... how many times have I experienced this? How many times have I gone through this?

I spent some time alone with Meanou... stroked his head and body. He was not very responsive, still not purring. The vet said diabetic shock induces a form of dizziness that makes the cat (or human being) disoriented and lose sense of what is really happening. He probably did not recognise, and just looked down at the bowl of his food, sniffed it and did not eat it. Maybe he did not have the energy to even eat...

But eat he must. Eat he must to get better, eat he must without throwing up to gain strength again and beat this lure of falling even more into critical and toward death...

I sit in my living room, while I imagine Meanou in the cage at the hospital. There is a technician there all the time, which is a good thing, as he is at least being monitored. But I do worry... the worst is not over yet. Tomorrow is another day.

I just hope and pray, hope and pray he will be ok...

I should have really cared more for him. Will I have another chance to care for him again?

At the vet

Sick cat

I really feel my heart heavy and like crying. Meanou, the second cat I got, has been lying on the floor for the most part of the past 24hrs. He doesn't move, he just lies there... Not like his normal self, he though lies there because he is a lot bigger (on the obese side...) but who would at least paw around and play with me when I poke him and lean in close. Most of all, he would purr and purr, like a machine. He would purr and purr for that is his iconic symbol.

But now he purrs no more. He just lies there, his eyes glassy and his face tired. When I stroke him, he doesn't respond, whereas before he would stir and start purring like the sweet being he is.

The vet warned me he has a risk of renal/kidney disease, and that this should be followed up when I visited the vet with him back in May. But I just assumed that drinking a lot, and peeing a lot, were signs that he is hot because it is now high summer , and not typical signs of kidney failure / disease.

Poor cat, who just got up and wobbled as he walked into the bath tub to drink, and drink some more. He must be so thirsty! He must be suffering and wondering what is wrong with him...

I feel this mixture of anxiety, worry, fear, much like that mix of feelings I felt when I knew Kittys life was coming to an end. and I feel dread and guilt... Yes, guilt.

He's been under my care for six, seven months, and now? So sick, perhaps even dying...?
I look at him deep in his green eyes, and he looks back. Does he blame me? Does he fault me?
Does he lament me, perhaps even question whether I should have done more and cared about him more...?


The vet told me to pay attention to his drinking and peeing. And I just focused on his weight, afraid because as the vet said, obesity can cause a myriad of conditions that will shorten his life. I managed to get his weight down, but neglected his kidneys, unaware perhaps all that drinking, peeing, and more and more peeing outside the litter box were typical signs of kidney problems developing....

I pray he is not suffering too much... I feel such a heavy burden. A life perhaps disappearing because of me. Could I have done more? Could I have prevented things if I had been more careful, more attentive and looked for the signs?

Meanou... hang on there.

I am sorry you are suffering...