Flying home

 

 

Flying home

LH470 FRA-YYZ

Heading back to Canada after around 10 days in Holland with brother and his family. There were, like many trips “home” in Den Haag, many moments that made me miss those days and life in Holland. I don’t know if these moments were triggered by flashbacks of those (more) care-free days of my teenage (and later adolescent) years, or a genuine longing for the quiet life in the city I lived so many years of my life year. Perhaps those nostalgic feelings springs from that sense of romanticism associated with “life is better on the other side”, which in turn comes from the fact that I have reached a point in my life in Canada (after a decade) that I’m settled and beginning to itch.

Certainly, things did appear different, in many a positive weis. Groceries for one is so much cheaper, and fresher… then there’s that ease of getting from place to place, many distances manageable by bike. Again, perhaps part of the “life is better on the other side”, I feel there may be more prospects of finding a partner starting life elsewhere, especially as after all these years, I remain pretty much alone and single. And the biggest lure of it all is of course my family. The joy and amazement of seeing and experiencing the growing up of my nephew and niece, being there at their important milestones of their little lives somehow seems so important, important enough that I can imagine myself moving back and getting a job in Europe again so I can play a greater role in their lives than the occasional visiting uncle from far awei who spends at most a week or two with them every year.

Part of this wish to have a greater role in their lives is perhaps knowing (or imagining) what fragile peace surrounds my nephew and niece due to the volatile relationship between my brother and my sister-in-law. Of course, what goes on in the relationship between two people, what goes on in another household, is none of my concern. And I vowed not to intervene or have too much input in what goes on. But what concerns me a lot is the children.

These past ten days, I saw and felt many moments that triggered flashbacks. In fact, every time I visit, there is a tension in the air, this worry that another outbreak of bickering or toxic tone will break lose. It’s been so long I did not feel that. But growing up, this kind of feeling, and a sense of guilt and hopelessness and helplessness filled me whenever dad and mum would argue. Often it is over such trivial issues. Often, it is simply because dad somehow has anger and mood control issues, and does not seem able to manage how he speaks. It’s not so much what is said (though often what is said is biting and just angry or negative…); it is more how things are said. A hint of condescension… a hint of accusation… a hint of guilt-tripping… a hint of everything-is-wrong-with-the-world. Before, it was dad. Now, it’s my brother, and he is a dad, and a husband. And those angry, ugly patterns of behaviour and mannerism are repeating and manifesting themselves in his family and in his relationship with his wife and his kids.

It saddens me greatly to see and hear this. it still triggers memories of tensions and bickering, angry exchanges of words over such trivial things like money, how much was spent on what. Can you believe that the fact that the inside of the car window being dusty was the source of two incidents of grumbling and anger? Can you imagine that on Christmas day, a  toxic mix of explosion of anger, shouting, accusations and attempts to force and find the truth broke out over how many bottles of shower gel were bought while we were shopping in Germany two days prior? And this was after a lovely dinner and evening of us (the three of us adults) bonding over wine and dessert while the kids played (or watched TV ) in the living room, during which I poured my heart out about what I wanted to say and let my brother know how sad and dangerously he is repeating all those mistakes our dad made that my brother had vowed before never to repeat.

I recounted stories of how dad did not even know where the chopsticks were, and would blame mum for switching them from place to place (…why would anyone do that? It’s not a store trying to get people to buy more stuff…); I recounted the hardship and at times insult that mum endured going out to work for very little money, and how she would come home so late at night (and I would wait for her, and hug her tightly by the legs whenever she came home from work, in the dark, from the cold…). With wine loosening my inhibitions, I bluntly blurted out that brother hated dad—the relationship was beyond repair and so extremely poor—would he want to have a repeat of that with his own son?

I said all this not out of spite, but out of genuine concern…I don’t want the kids to grow up being estranged from their dad, and I don’t wish things to evolve in such a way that my sister-in-law has to endure the kind of lack of appreciation, lack of warmth and compassion that mum put with for decades… kids deserve to grow up in a family, in a household filled with love and kind words; they deserve to grow up learning that the way to speak to and treat one another is kindly and with respect, and not with anger, disdain or lack of any regard for one’s feelings or the greater circumstances of why someone may do or say something in a certain way that may not necessarily be to one’s liking. And a marriage should be based on trust, on dialogue, on respect for one another, on sharing and carrying the burdens of child-rearing and household maintenance together as a couple.

I did what I could do, I said what I wanted to say. Leaving this morning, I left cards for everyone under the little Christmas tree that I bought. Personal messages to everyone… to my niece, reminding her to stay the sweet and good girl she is, and to eat more; to my nephew, wishing him lots of luck in school (as he is struggling a bit with Dutch language since they do not speak it at home), and telling him to be good with his sister, with his parents; to my sister-in-law, thanking her for her patience, and acknowledging and appreciating the frustrations and sense of helplessness she must feel at times (or often…?), and reminding her that if there is anything at all she needs, she must reach out to me… (again, in an echo of the past, the message to my sister-in-law is so similar in tone and in the message itself to the messages I wrote to mum many, many times before. Some of these are contained in letters written on yellowed paper, many of which have been placed in safekeeping in boxes throughout the years; some of which may be in the suitcases that I am carrying back with me). To my brother, I reminded him of what a lovely family he has, reminded him to appreciate all that he has, and how much our parents have given us so we can have a comfortable and less worrisome life; I reminded him that we are family, and we are the only family we have left…

Who knows what effect my words, gestures, and very presence may have had over these past week or so. Who knows whether the words on the greeting cards (peace doves, symbolically, drawn by Dick Bruna) I penned would have any effect or resonate at all…

But all I could do is try. And hope. And wish. And pray that people will change, people will see that love and being there for one another, being peaceful and equal partners in life, whether as husband or father, whether as wife or mother, matters a lot.

Verge of 34

Just took a long bath and started reading a book. Threw in a bath bar called "Karma". How symbolic for this to wash away the last moments and accumulated karma and grime of 33 years in preparation for 34. The book starts with the descriptive longings of a 17yr old boy, a coming-of-age period of exploration, anxiety and fear, a period in adolescence when you feel like you know so much, yet are excluded and dismissed as a child, and simultaneously feel like you know so little, as the world of university, work, life and all in between lies just beyond your reach. 

Was it a coincidence that earlier today, after a dinner alone at a sushi restaurant, as I walked home, somehow I got the urge to listen to some songs that I began listening to when I was 17? American Pie (Don McLean's and Madonna's modern versions), songs from Evita (particularly Another Suitcase in Another Hall), among others. Songs I would listen and sing to at a time when I was living alone in that home in The Hague, when I lived a quiet and solitary life, when school preoccupied me, as did thoughts of and coming to terms with my sexuality and history, when my family of four had been split in three corners of the world. A time when nightmares haunted me, when the "'void" consumed me, when just around the corner the unknowns of university life and the world before me lured and intimidated me at the same time. What a time it was to be alive. Such carefree, innocent days, they appear to be now. Biking to the beach and sitting on the sand at sunset... Bike rides lost in the dark of the night and in the melody of tunes and lyrics emitting from the MP3 (yes, it's a thing of the past...). 

A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

Fast forward 17 years, here I am in Toronto. Across the Atlantic in Canada, across time and space, across graduation, funerals, celebrations, highlights, trips and nights spent alone and shivering in tears from the loss of dear, dear loved ones gone too soon. Twice that age from that coming-of-age boy at high school, millions of miles behind me, countless stories that took place in hospital wards, lecture halls, and journeys in far awei lands. "I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck", and now? A "young" professional, a millennial, a teacher on the other side of the podium, a cat-owner (and cat-slave). Single still, but that is just the way it is.

And what of 17 years from now? 34 years from now? It dawned on me as I walked home, past the bright lights of the city, past crowds of faceless, anonymous passerbys, I am perhaps well into half of an "average" human life. Who knows how long I have left, how much longer I can think, feel, write, cry, love and feel pain? And what is it that I want from this life? What is it that this life wants from me?

Looking back at this blog, I realised it's been close to a year since my last blog entry (though there are actually dozens of posts I began writing, mostly on my travels and/or at 37,000ft as I am sitting in a cabin and anonymously journeying somewhere in the world, that I have yet to organise and publish...)  It's not that life has come to a halt. Far from it. I've been fortunate to have been offered opportunities and paths that I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams when I sat alone in that living room back in 2001 when I was 17. But, it's true what they say... as you grow older, you seem to lose that "spark", you begin to feel weighed down by ... perhaps work, perhaps inter-personal relationships, by the noise and state of the world... by life itself (doesn't help that I was diagonosed 3 yrs ago with a heart mumur that doctors say make me feel more lethargic and fatigued than normal people as my heart is beating faster than usual...).

Another ditch in the road
You keep moving
Another stop sign
You keep moving on
And the years go by so fast
Wonder how I ever made it through

And the days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, quickly a year goes by again, and again, and again, leaving you exasperated and wondering where the time went. I often look in the mirrow and wonder who that person is looking back me... I see traces of my mother, my father... I see the wrinkles of time slowly appear on my forehead. I see the light scars from the period when I had acne on my face (...still get some on occasion). I see someone some call "Professor", though often I feel just as clueless as a freshfaced student new to the field... I see someone some say is kind, compassionate and giving, though I often feel so conflicted and cruel in dismissing the plight and burdens of others. I see someone who often just feels the need to shy away, to hide, to be away from people and crowds, while at the same time longing for intimacy, affecting, and a warm, warm embrace that makes me feel safe and  fall asleep so peacefully.


34 years and counting. How far have I come? And how much further have I got to go?

Visitation

There she lay, in a beautiful,  elegant black dress. Thick makeup,  wig, eyes closed. I stood there before her,  as so many stood before her open casket quietly. Our dearly beloved, a caring,  warm, kind and so loving person, now a cold corpse. It's surreal. It's cruel and hard to get your head around.

I've yet to really shed a tear. Ive gone through , been that stoic,  strong person,  at least on the outside. But I fear it's just a matter of time.

Several came up to me and asked if I'm family , hugged and comforted me as if I were part of the family. I feel like an intruder,  but the real family as really taken me in  as if I were part of their own, even though I've only known them and my late friend for just over two and a half years.  But how I've received such kindness,  such love and care from her... Like an older sister or loving auntie I've never had.

I was asked to help carry the carry tomorrow/in 5 or so hours... A great honour，a solemn walk with the loved ones and our dearly departed till her final resting  place... Perhaps this explains why I cannot sleep, even though it's been such S long and tiring month of hospitals and work, and seeing her gradual decline...

The departed...

My friend passed at 01.58, around two hours ago. I was still awake when I received the text from her husband, just setting the alarm to wake up early in the morning to see her. There's no need anymore.

I feel deep down a sense of guilt... had I stayed longer, spent more time with her! Had I followed that gut feeling I had when I left the hospital this evening and stayed around! But what would have happened would have happened, whether I was there or not. She chose to spend her final moments with her beloved husband, took off the breathing mask that was keeping her alive  after the last of the friends and family had left the hospital.

The last thing I said to her was "Relax... It'll be ok" (放鬆，沒關係...) The past couple of days I kept on saying to her, in between those rare moments of consciousness, "Relax...", in Mandarin, because earlier her husband told me that was what she had said to her father as his time drew near. Somehow, in my mind, speaking to her in Mandarin, perhaps the only person able to do that in these final few weeks and days, was supposed to reassure and calm her. I could only pray that my words, those words, gave her the comfort and soothing effect I intended them to have...

Could I have said more? Done more? Spent more time with her? Now that she has departed, the questions are coming... While others were able to joke and make her laugh, all I could do was hold her hand and be there, fan her and do what she needed to keep her cool. Perhaps I should have asked what she wanted, but I was afraid to broach the subject of death and dying. For she had such hope, such longing to keep on fighting, to battle the cancer till the end. I was afraid to upset her, and her husband, by talking about the possibilities and opening up about acceptance and making peace with the inevitable.

There were signs, I saw them. Was it just instinct, or from experience? Or from the honour of attending that "Conversation" the doctors had with her husband, which I was pulled into for moral support and "just in case" he could not digest what was being said. I somehow had a feeling, but kept quiet. All I could do was visit whenever I could, spend time there to relief the husband so he could go home and rest or run errands. Perhaps I could have done... But all those questions are moot.

Over the past couple of days, friends and her husband's relatives poured in from near and far. We were all united by her ability to touch our lives, by her inate ability to make us laugh. She was a strong, and at time stubborn person, who stood for justice, who would not take nonsense, who cared so deeply, deeply for cats and all the persons she encountered. Whether colleagues, homeless people, loved ones, feral cats... we are all united by the fact that she touched our lives and made our lives all the more richer and warmed with the care and love she showed us.

That love is now gone...
She is no more.

But her suffering, the pain and great discomfort she has had to endure are also no more.

I remember telling her one day to "forebear", a word I used with my own mother.
In many ways, there are similarities between that experience almost 5 years ago and the past two weeks. 
The breathlessness, the loss of appetite, the slipping in and out of consciousness, the need to rest and constant fatgiue and restlessness... There were all these signs. 

I went in and just stood there or sat by her side. That was all I could offer.

On my birthday, I dressed up in a nice shirt and went to see her in the morning. She was perkier that day as the breathing tubes were removed the day earlier and she was much more comfortable. And that day she was scheduled to have her feedbing tube removed. I told her how much I wanted to be with her on my birthday, and how she should not worry about taking my time (or the fact I cancelled a work trip to stay with her). She wanted to listen to stories of my time in Israel, and she was very alert that day as I narrated my experiences... how I encountered questioning upon departure at the airport, how I went into the Palestinian Territories and lit a candle for her at the Nativity Church, how I got her all these goodies (honey and dates and pine nuts) from Israel so she can enjoy them when she goes home...

Later, when she had her feeding tube removed, I  jumped on the occasion to make her something special. She said she wanted congee, so I made congee out of 5 different kinds of grains, steamed an egg and red beets, brought seaweed and olives, sliced up some ginger... and made a pineapple, blackberry and raspberry smoothie. A great big feast.
But it was all devastated by a chat with the oncologist who said despite her perkiness the prognosis has not improved.

And it all went quickly downhill... I did not visit the day after my birthday (21 Feb), but did visit today (23 Feb), when she was obviously struggling for breath and panting profusely. There were so many waiting to see her and spend time with her, so many we were taking turns, and in between sitting in the waiting room reminiscing what a wonderful lady she is and how she, made us laugh with her unique character and personality. Strangers bonded by this lively, jovial and spirited person who touched our lives and touched the lives of so many she did not know, including the dozens of kitty cats she rescued and nursed back to health...

To me, she was like an older sister, perhaps even a mother. When we first met, I remember she said a special (?) person would come into her life, as her tarot card readings had predicted that. Friends joked and asked whether they have adopted me as the son they never had. She often called or texted to ask me how I'm doing, how work is progressing. .She and her husband have been inviting me to all the big holidays, because they know I'm all alone and feeling crappy during these family events. She made me feel less like an orphan, she cared, genuinely cared and loved me... What brief time we knew one another, she made me  heal and feel cared for again more than anyone has been able to since mum left... I may not realise the pain and loss I truly feel until later. I've been able to be strong, but for how much longer...?

Now she joins the countless cancer warriors, like the friend who passed two weeks earlier, joins her beloved parents and uncle whom she cared for till the very end... joins the cats she has cared for till their final moments.

I was not there, but I imagine she had a peaceful passing, and is welcomed in wherever beautiful, loving, caring souls go after leaving the world of pain and suffering and drudgery in the hospital intensive care ward.

Cancer steals from us again, but cannot and can never rob us of our memories and love for the dearly departed...

A day in February 2017

Hospitals... such a hub of activity, sometimes joyful,  but more often than not a place you visit when someone is ill, or when your are yourself ill. The incessant background noise, the code blues, the whirring and wheezing of machinery, beeping of monitors,  the heaving of sick patients, the tears and sobs of loved ones. It's not a place for the faint of heart. It's a place I dreaded stepping into for so long after mums final visit , a place of sickness and death, of pain and suffering... But also a place of love,  and hope. if there were no love,  no hope,  what else is there to life? 

It's coming  up to two weeks since my friend has been admitted to hospital. Much of last week she was heavily sedated and there were talks she would not last long. It's been heavy, for the husband especially,  and for the friends and colleagues who love and care about. She's still in, intubated and unable to speak, reddish fluid, probably toxic and putrid with cancerous cells and growth, keep draining her lungs. There's talk of removing the tubes now that she's more conscious,  and seemingly stronger,  but there's the fear she won't be able to breathe on  her own now that one lung has completely collapsed,  and the other is punctured. All the while,  tumour growth keep multiplying and producing fluids that build up and must be drained,  otherwise it's like the person is drowning on  the inside. 

What cruel, unimaginable twist in the story did some mighty being add to torture such a beautiful soul? Why all this pain,  this suffering, and the constant struggle for life at an age that in today's day and age is still so youthful and the prime of someone's life? 

It's hard to watch her in such a state,  for she's always been a vocal, lively lady,  so full of life,  full of love and always caring about others-- about me, for since we met, she's always had a soft spot for me and seen me as an "orphan". There's really little I, or anyone else,  can do but be there. Wait, watch,  keep her company,  remind her in her waking moments we are waiting and there with her every step of the way. Hold her hand, stroke her arms and legs and let her know again and again we are there. Though we cannot take away the pain,  the anxiety or agony,  we are there with her. 

 

I was supposed to go somewhere far for work, but I cancelled (though after days of struggle, trying to convince myself that work is far less important than life and friendship, even though I knew deep down inside what I wanted all along). My boss told me how he admires me for my humanity, for my strength... but would not everyone do the same for a friend or loved one in need? My only regret js not being able to see roos and koalas again. But they're around and not threatened. My friend may not be for ever. 

It's a beautiful day out today, and I find myself sitting on a park bench writing this, sitting under a column of vines, in a setting that, before sitting down,  gave me a flashback to the park and vines next to the hospital mum (and dad)  was at . Different times,  different people in my life... but all the same,  facing death, confronted by illness, fighting f-ucking cancer and all the nausea,  pain,  suffering and hopelessness and all the rest of it. Am I stronger? Better prepared and collected?  Is that my "gift" to be able to sit there and calmly hold her hand and not (or at least barely...) flinch with every dire diagnosis?

all the while,  the world keeps spinning and turning and life moves on. 

Mumories

Even if I don't or didn't remember, she was there. She was always there. And she is always and always will be there.

In the background, being mum, being my mum.

While reminiscing with a friend about an event a couple of years ago (seven to be exact now...), I was just reminded that mum was there. In the house where I lived, the same houSe that I recently helped to clean and clear out in preparation for my family's relocation.

She was there when my friend visited me. She met him there for the first time. But somehow I don't remember any of this. Somehow there was this lapse of memory, this disconnect and for a moment I couldn't picture mum in the picture and in those moments.

My friend said she went to get berries and prepared breakfast for us. She slept in the bedroom I used to sleep in (had the house been renovated yet? I don't think so...), I slept in the living room alone.

I remember what I did with my friends during that visit. But I don't recall mum or the things we did with mum. We must have walked in the forest behind our house. We must have gone to the rose garden close by. We must have walked on the beach together and watched the sun go down... But these memories have faded, as I dreaded, with time. A fleeting memory that will grow fainted with time and age.

"You wanna make a memory?
You wanna steal a piece of time?
You can sing the melody to me
And I can write a couple lines"

Read more: Bon Jovi - (You Want To) Make A Memory Lyrics | MetroLyrics 

En route to AMS

AC824 en route to AMS

What a turbulent two weeks it has been. A break up, suddenly, out of nowhere, without warning, which left me down in the dumps and struggling to find joy or energy to do anything... At least yesterday, he told me it's finally over, he needs time and space to be by himself. He said he said it as much as it hurts him to say so, but it was cruel to keep me hanging on and have no news or no contact whatsoever. At least that is over. I wrote him a last letter, a "get well" card, thanking him for everything, and saying "adieu", to God, should God (or the universe) wills it. Inshallah. I still care about him deeply. More than I realise, I'd fallen for him and grown so used to his presence (even though much of it from a distance and just through text messages) and the beautiful times and moments we shared together.

Did it mean anything at all?
Did it? It meant so much to me.
But maybe I was again just foolish, a fool in love, and blinded by love.

Time to move on... To pick myself up and move on. Or at least try.

Try to dispel those thoughts, try to exorcise those longings and feelings,  those doubts and questions that remain unanswered... Try to mourn the death of yet another in my life and adjust to a "new normal".

How did it all change so quickly

Hard when all this was happening in the run up to the anniversary of mum's departure. Which happens to be today four years ago , according to the lunar calendar. And it was (almost) exactly five years ago that we canoes on Lake Louise together. What beautiful, beautiful memories, mumories as I like call them.

How apt that on this day, I should be flying to Europe to do the crazy thing of helping my brother and his family move. Who would in their right mind spend time and money to fly across continents and help them? I guess I must be insane.

But here I am on board the plane and heading east to Europe. One night of sleep in Holland and then I'll be off with my brother and his friend in a van on the 10hr journey to his new home in Aarhus. I don't know why it didn't dawn on me earlier... Where am I going to sit? Is there even space at all for me to sit for that long drive? I will be so exhausted...

But all for family. All I can think of is how mum and dad would be so proud and happy to see me making an effort to help, to keep this family together after they have left this world. That must mean something. At least to me, it is an invaluable sign of togetherness and giving. With the added bonus that I get to see my nephew and niece again, and now the added reason that I can physically be away from Canada and leave all these images and places behind that are laced with memories of what could have been but is not...

Reflections at 4.40am

We all have our own sufferings and pains, worries and things that keep us aweike at night.

I have mine, someone else has his own.
Some are more able to deflect them and not let things distract and derail their lives and routine. Others, like me, are bogged down in thoughts, musings, anxieties and longings, weighed down by memories, by the past, by loss and loneliness.

Who is happier?
Who is responsible for one's happiness but you?
Pictures on Facebook don't tell the whole story of one's pain and suffering.

Let go... Let go... Everything, everyone is  just a meeting of dates, images, moments and memories in the continuum of time that seem to mean so much , but are in fact nothing.

Falling so deeply

I've been at home for the whole day, feeling useless and depressed, feeling utterly wracked with sorrow and hopelessness. How did I get to this point? How did I let myself fall so low?

Loss of love, loss of companionship and meaning... I fell , gradually, into the believe there was something stable and real, and now I need to climb out of that cesspool of attachment, desire and rid myself of all that was surreal and tell myself I am worth it,remind myself i am  able to live life on my own again.

My cousin called me as she noticed my songs were so sad and lonesome... And that messages were read but not replied to... She sensed something was wrong, and indeed, I've been so destroyed and a complete wreck for the better part of the past week or so. The fact that the anniversary of mum's passing is coming up isn't helping at all... It all just reminds me how lonely I am. How alone I am...

I need to shake myself out of this nonsense... This laziness and this turmoil of thoughts of despair and sorrow.
I need to rid myself of negativity and try to pick my life up again...

Another chapter closed

I got a message today from my sister-in-law telling me the house in Taipei has been sold. Around two weeks ago, my brother messaged me and said there was someone interested, but the price was a bit on the low side. I reminded him he got the house on a windfall, and that he's had it for almost five years now and received rent from it. What more does he expect...? I'm glad he took my advice and sold it.

At the same time, that is closing of the last chapter of anything that remains from our mum (...and indirectly, our parents). I went to see the place two months back when I was in Taipei, even if it were just to walk by it. A little walk filled with nostalgia and memories.

Soon, in two weeks, the next chapter of my family's life will be closed when my brother leaves the home I live 10yrs of my life in (in the Hague). It's long since not been mine, not since my brother bought it from my parents, but still, it's the place I've lived at the most (a third of my life to date, quite an achievement, given how much I move around...)

It would have been sadder, I imagine, if I had no place to call my own. But at mum's urging, and three years after she passed, I finally had the courage and the willpower to go out and search and get something that I can call home. That was exactly a year ago.

I have a place of my own, where I feel so comfortable, feel really at home (though it's still a mess, and still so many boxes are unopened and remain locked behind the door of the spare bedroom...).  But for once, I have a place of my own, where I feel safe and secure, finally, after so many years of drifting around and searching for a home.

People wonder why I am so protective of my place and don't like to have any random person over... because it's my own place, my castle, the home of my kids (the kitties) and where all my earthly possession are. I guard it safely and really have no wish to let just about anyone in. It's mum's wish, I remember her telling me that in those final weeks of her life, for she was not so pleased that before, when I was renting, I would have friends (in need) over and stay with me just because they needed a place to stay (and always not even charging a cent...). It's different now. More so as one by one, family home after family home, the places where parts of my (his)story have been written and created are closing and will forever be out of reach.

Coming up to five years since mum left, things are finding a "new normal". I'm more collected, and able to go about my daily life and routine (though there still are those moments... those moments I just want to sleep and shut out all these emotions of loss and longing...). I've come a really long way, and stumbled into unique opportunities at work that will over the next three years or so take me far and wide (and I have a feeling cement my career and name for the rest of my life...).

Speaking of life, who knows how much of it I have...For the past three months, I've been to see the cardiologist three times, and the latest appointment on Friday (with a second opinion specialist) confirmed what I have. Arrhythmia of the heart, whereby it beats much, much faster than a normal person. Which explains why I get tired so easily, so tired I sometimes just want to close my eyes and lie down, even for just ten minutes to compose myself... It's not immediately fatal, but with time and age, it may be. The doctor recommends treatment-- either pills for the rest of my life, with the consequence that I may be perpetually sluggish and fatigued... or a small surgery (but with a risk of permanent damage, or worse, cardiac arrest and death if they puncture the heart...) to "burn away" the part of my heart, like a little battery, that is beating away when it should not be.

The alternative is to do nothing. And let things be. I've so far not been affected or even noticed anything wrong with my heart (except the occasional black out, and times I've tipped over and found myself on the floor because I temporarily could not see... but that may be more related to quick changes of posture than my heart... and is this at all related to occasional heart aches I experience? who knows?). I did not know I had a serious problem until I had a regular check up. Serious, because a margin of 2-3% faster heart beat than normal is acceptable. Mine is 14% faster. Which may mean the heart will exhaust and wear itself out quicker over my life span than a normal person.

And things could be normal for a long time... but when things go sour, they may go sour very quickly, perhaps without notice.

It's all conjecture... who knows what wil happen? I may be hit by a car, crash in a plane, fall and slip in the bathroom and be knocked unconsciousness till the cats eat me for food because nobody has fed them for days... Or, if fate or god(s) or the universe wills it, my heart may pump so fast my body cannot take it anymore...

Who knows what will happen. I do know I do not wish to take meds, and I do not want to undergo surgery (even if the cardiologist said the procedure is minor...but the associated risks, even though low percentage wise, are major). For now, I'll just gamble and let the heart and fate be.


But it's scary and again puts things into perspective... I'm more or less alone in the world now, and I have to face these matters of life and death alone. I'm not scared, not anxious or anything... just resigned to the fact and realise again, life is only so much.

And so it ends

Just like that...

No, not just like that, but I had felt the distance growing.
Since our conversation a few weeks back in Toronto, at the end of his visit. He's really into anal, I'm not. I said I can do it, but I have to be ready and prepared... as I'm nervous. But since then he's been having doubts. Messages would go whole day without a reply, articles I shared before about relationship and love (which would trigger immediate responses), would be read and not replied to.

He's so sweet, and caring... but I guess the growing distance revealed his real self (or his insecurity and doubts (to give him the benefit of the doubt) after the end of a long 7yr relationship...?). Is sex really that important? He said he was not fulfilled emotionally in the old relationship, they had become roomates living a routine life and lacked excitement... With me, at least I thought, there was something special, magical, passionate and romantic. So I thought.

IT comes. It goes. It begins. And before you know it , it ends.

Who knew, it would end the night before a big lecture when I am so ill prepared still?

Hospital scene

I saw mum, dressed in that pink hospital gown, sitting in bed smiling. She was surrounded by teddy bears, by pictures, paintings. It was a colourful and cheery decor.

"Not, it cannot be", I heard myself saying to myself... it cannot be.

The next moment, all these family members appeared and surrounded her bed.

"It cannot be..." I heard myself in my head.. "You died already..."

She approached, her arm thin and dry and with various tubes connected to it. I held her hands with mine. The touch of her hands were "This cannot be... you already left..."

But it felt so real, as if she died again and again and came back again and again before me.

Mother's Day

A day to remember mums all over the world. I woke up to various posts by friends expressing their love and gratitude to their mums on Facebook.

In my Memories, there were pictures from four years ago. Flowers for mum, picture of mum in her really beaten up state after a stint at the hospital. How frail she looked, how fragile. That would our last mother's Day together (even though I headed back to Canada for exams that same week, so we were not together. I made a conscious decision not to share those pictures.

As always, her birthday fell two days before Mother's Day (on 6 May). Before, this period , this week , would be such a painful and  difficult time.  This year, I went out on a long long walk, took the ferry to The islands and watched the sun go down on the city... It was beautiful, it was uplifting and a far cry from allowing myself to descend into the depths of depression and sadness.

For much of the past two weeks, a good friend was admitted to hospital (ER no less). I went to see her twice, despite her protests and urging me not to (hospitals are not nice places.. I fell ill and became so exhausted immediately after the first visit...) She's been experiencing  extremely low red blood cell counts, which the doctor treated with tranfusion after transfusion... The last time she was admitted, the doctor found something else and told her she needs immediate surgery. Scheduled for next week.

I went to pick her up and drop her home last Friday (mum's birthday, coincidentally). She told me the twelfth floor. When I got there, I realised it was the oncology ward. Then it struck me. A few moments later she revealed the surgery would be a hysterectomy.

She looked so frail and pale as I wheeled her out of her semi private room. Down was her burst of energy and her usually loud energetic  voice. How grateful she was to leave the hospital, even if she would have to return in around a weeks time for surgery. Poor her... Besides bringing her food and fruits, I wished I could do much more for her.

Dream: mum at home

There were so many things that were so familiar, every item a part of my pastx every thing a part of my memory.
I knew this place, it was so familiar... But I couldn't quite place where it was... Where was this clock frm? I knew it so well but I can't quite remember where or how or what the story behind it was....

Then I saw mum come out, and I approached her. She seemed tired and small, but she was well. Then I remembered, it was just after dad passed... I burst out crying...

How she has suffered such loss but I never really realised or appreciated the immensity of her loss... Not until this dream. Imagine my loss of mum, and how I mourned, how long it took me to get over things... But there she was surrounded by items that reminded her of her husband, of family, yet the kids were all away...
How much pain and loss she experienced! I never quite knew...

Until this dream. This terrible , realistic dream

Here with me

Mum came alive again. At least she did in my dreams. The way she sounded, the way she dressed (at home, in her pajama-like t-shirt and shorts), the way she moved and carried her. I saw her exercising... I saw her watching tv, getting ready to go out... It was like she never left.

I saw myself watching her,  me just waking up as she was getting ready. I ran upstairs (this was in our old home... The one with a garden on the top floor), rushing to call her and tell her we could go do this and do that together. Actually I was about to tell her we could meet up with an auntie (her cousin) the one I didn't manage to meet this time I was home in Taiwan , and she was so disappointed by that fact... I ran upstairs to tell mum we could meet with her. In my mind, I had all the time in the world, and didn't have a return date, so there was time we could spend together...

But as soon as I got upstairs, as soon as I saw her exercising in front of the tv, as soon as I approached her, I woke up.

It was all just a dream...
Just a dream.
A dream.

But it was so real. I could see her. I could feel her and smell her.
It was too real.
S

Leaving Taipei

The HSR just departed Taipei. I felt a sudden sadness overcome me. I know it shouldn't matter, but I cannot but feel like I'm leaving a part of me behind... The city carries the memories of my youth, my childhood... I was remembering the other day how for so many summers I would stay with dad at his apartment in Jinshan North Road, the one above the bank, on the fourth floor, room 413. We would fall asleep listening to the radio, he would go to work and I'd explore the city by myself.
Gone, gone those days are long gone but they remain in my memories.

Yesterday afternoon, I had some goose at a traditional Taiwanese eatery near where mum lived. I walked around there by myself a bit, around the department store Takashimaya where she used to go almost daily. I went back to the hotel, rested a bit before going to Dalong Dong to visit the temple famed for answering prayers for love and a stable relationship. Later I met a friend who studied with me, and after that had a walk around the night market with my cousin. Woke up early to go to the Bao An Temple to pray for good health and well-being. I stood there and remembered how I used to go there and pray for mums well-being.... I feel much lighter now. No more illness, no more cancer, no more , no more.

Even so, I feel still somewhat pensive and reflective as the train is pulling out of the tunnel and into daily southward toward Chiayi...

When you come back to the hotel, you realise you are so alone in the city you grew up in.

Do you know how that feels?

Visiting parents

"Itll be some time before you realise things..." The really kind taxi driver said. He lost both his parents within a week of one another. Twenty something years ago when he was in his twenties. It took him well into his forties for him to realise everything happens/happened for a reason. "Its still early days ...."

Four years since mum died, eight since dad passed. The days and years grow, but the feelings remain the same. Sadness, sorrow, longing, heartache... It all feels so real. So recent, but there are memories that feel blurred and are blurring...

Did we go there ? Did mum say such a thing? Did dad act in this way. I miss them still, there's no denying that.

Today when I went to see dad's resting place, there was a necklace of a boddhisatva wrapped around it. I was surprised to see, for who could it have been? I called around and nobody, not my sister in law, not my relatives knew who put that there...

Arrived in Taipei

Arrived in Taipei

I checked into my hotel room, pretty nice little room next to Shinlin metro, steps from the market where mum and I would occasionally go visit together (one of my aunties favourites...). So many memories here, so many.... As I stepped off the train, as I walked toward the mrt and found myself in the midst of all this people, I realised how very lonely I am, how very alone I am in this city. The city I grew up in, the city I lived in and came back to so many times over the years...

Zhong San north road... It connected the main road where mum last lived... To the south is the headquaters of the bank dad used to work... To the north and turn left at Tianmu Square and go a little further and you come to the hospital where mum and dad both left this world. This is Taipei, my hometown, the town I've grown to love and cherish, where I've shed tears and felt such fondness and love for the people in my life...

It is all different now. I feel like a stranger coming to a foreign city that has much changed.

Moments like this , I realise again how much I miss my parents. Tomorrow I will go see them.

Homeward bound.

Been almost twenty hours since I left home. Two plane journeys and many time zones later, I am in Japan. Late evening , tired, just want to get to the overnight hotel , maybe have some food and then rest.

Half way around the world, next stop Taiwan for around 10 days. The world feels so small when you hop in the plane and end up somewhere else. Another culture. Another country. How fortunate I am to be able to get into a plane and just fly.

It was an agitated flight... Couldn't sleep very well, and didn't do as much work as I would have liked to, despite being in the relative comfort of business class.

Coming to narita brings back memories as well... How many times have I transited through here and felt so heavy, felt so exhausted in the face of troubles surrounding mum's ailing health. Now four years after she passed, the only thought I had in the plane was : they are together now. They are together now.

25-03-2016
NRT-TPE

A long night of rest, lay in bed even after waking up at 430am and drifted in and out of sleep as the dawn arrived. The train tracks outside of my window became gradually more busy, and air traffic resumed again after the night curfew ended. As much as I enjoy watching planes take off and land at an airport, I would not waver to be living next to one. The noise, every five minutes or so, is deafening.

On the plane to Taiwan... As I lay in bed, I wondered how best to make use of my limited ten days or so in Taiwan. Where do I go first? Arriving late in the evening at the monastery makes me feel embarrassed... But I have so much stuff to haul around I really can't go anywwhre without difficulty. Will I be welcome there?  Of course I will be, but it's just I've (deliberately) not been in touch to accentuate the  impact of the surprise when I show up at the monastery. And what after that? Do I stay for most days and reserve the last few days for chiayi? When do I got see mum and dad?

I guess I'll just plan as the days go by and just decide at the moment I'm leaving...

1608-250316
On the way go the THSR

Rainy, wet, typical day in early spring in northern Taiwan. I was nervous when I was clearing immigration, as always. Always the fear of being told I must go fulfil my duty as a male citizen and serve military service... But the lady was alright, didn't say much. Withing thirty minutes of landing and collecting luggage, I'm out and on my way to the high speed railway station.

How long has it been? Nine or ten months at most? How come it feels so foreign here... How come I feel like a foreigner?
What do I do here? Do I even belong?

Brussels

I woke up feeling so groggy and heavy. And like most mornings rolled over to pick up my phone and scroll down the facebook front page. Bombings. Dead. Brussels.

It had happened six hours earlier, around 8am CET. terrorists ruthlessly bombed Brussels' airport and a metro station near the European Commission. Days earlier, one of the masterminds of the Paris attacks (where over a hundred perished, one mainly at a theatre where a concert was being held) was captured in Brussels.

The terrorists have struck again. After Mail, Ankara, Paris, the symbolic heart of Europe is the latest victim. Is there no end to this madness? Is there no end at all?

Pictures of maimed people quickly spread on social media. Cartoons with Tintin in tears were drawn... A torn country, Belgium today stands United again fear and terror, as other nations, mainly western democracies which have suffered attacks themselves. Stand in solidarity with the victims of senseless violence.

What will drive someone to hate random strangers so much they would maim them? What would drive someone to commit such acts of violence and not care whether children or old people, whether Muslims or Christians, whether Asians or Africans fall victims?
Such horrendous acts.... Instilling fear and death and gore into the lives of many who just go about their daily lives...

The extremists and right wing are having a field day. Blame is being laid on the Muslims and a whole people are painted in such bad light again...

When will such senseless violence end? When will the cruelty of humankind inflicted on itself ever end?

May the world be at peace! May there be sanity and peace...

Reality

I woke up groaning and feeling so alone in the world...


Images lingered in my head, images and thoughts of mum, memories of a trip we once took together, perhaps one of the last ones...

Where was it? I cannot recall exactly... I somehow remember a restaurant, on a roadtrip, one of our last together, a wonderful meal, a glorious sunset, beautiful smiles, seeing mum happy, which was for a long time such a treat for her pain had gotten gradually worse and worse...

But was any of it real? Was it imagined?  Did any of it happen? Was I even there? Was she even there? Were we ever there together? Did anything happen at all?

All just muddled images in my mind. All perhaps conjurings of my mind and vague recollections of my memories...

Mum, did you ever exist? Were you ever there?  Did you ever leave such an impact on my life...?

Dad's hand

I held onto Dads hands... They felt so warm, so warm and comforting...
I started to sob uncontrollably.

Nightmares

I saw these images of mum on the hospital bed... Tubes everywhere, machine sounds.... She looked so desparate, and I cringed and felt so sick...

Lunar New year's day

Out on the taking a walk, close to midnight. Beautiful crisp air, surrounded by skyscrappers and the Waters of Vancouver Harbour. I was reminded that 7 years ago , February 2009, I came here for the first time on my wei back to Montreal after spending the first new years with mum and brother after dad passed. What a trip that was... How long ago that was and feels like!

Now alone here again. Wanted to meet my relatives but they don't have time (or don't want?) I didnt want to bother my friend too long (first day is a guest, second a nuisance, third a pest! Today is the third...) So I booked a hotel for tonight. I spoke to my cousin, the one working abroad in Singapore. Seems like she's alone and finding it tough to be away from family as well. After a while, we come to realise how important family is, how important home is. And we treasure those, value those, and keep them in our memories even long after they have gone.

Quiet way to spend the first day of the new year. Reminiscing the past, and looking forward to the future...

Eight years already

This time, eight years ago, dad left the world. In my arms, he breathed his last breath and left.

I can remember it well.. where it took place, who was all there, the sound of machines beeping more slowly. Mum weeping. It was a sad sad occasion.

I miss you dad...