Quiet evening at home

I was shivering and close to tears as I slowly cycled home. I never realised or expected that it would come to this... that I'd be dreading to go home and see my own family.

The four hours or so at uni seemed much too short. Again, woke up this morning to heated exchanges and arguments. To be honest, my dad is terribly ill, not only physically but also mentally. And when he feels like it, he just shouts abuse and threatens to do this and that. This morning it was about my brother's girlfriend, and the fact that she's living at our place without contributing anything. And because she comes from China, my dad has this strong stereotype and deep suspicion that she is like all Chinese people he knows and hears about in the media: theiving, coniving and good-for-nothings.

The funny thing is, a few days ago my dad and the girlfriend were getting alone fine, and he even gave her some money for new year's (a tradition with us). And suddenly she's the "enemy", she's a "Commie", and she's supposed to be trying to "take over" the house. Screaming, shouting, ranting about all these far-fetched conclusions and conspiracy theories, just like a naive child who knows so little about the world, but doesn't want to know any more than what he sees and believes as true. A twisted, conceited and bitter old man, who is so ill physically and mentally he doesn't seem to realise it, but goes from day to day driven by anger and frustrations and sorry addictions.

I was in the middle of it all, trying to talk some sense into my dad. I said time and again, you can't equate Chinese people with the Chinese government; it's racism, pure and simple. Besides, you don't have the right to come between two people in love. I told my dad, he doesn't need to approve of anything, but he doesn't have to treat people like dirt and scum even though they have done nothing wrong to him. And really, my brother's girlfriend has done nothing to my dad, but my dad just goes on ranting and raving about conspiracy theories and Commies. I try and try, trying to make him open his eyes, open his mind, but he serious is too blind and narrowminded beyond hope. In the end, I contacted the girlfriend and told her it's best not to be here for the next week or so while my dad is around. By midday, she moved her things out.

Dad thinks he won, but in fact he lost much more. He dares not to go up to my brother and the girlfriend to confront them about all this, and thinks just by treating people like dirt they'll cave in and move away. Of course, my brother got furious and left with his girlfriend. Later in the afternoon, my brother called me while I was studying. One of the first things he said was to warn me of a "confrontation". In the half an hour or so we spoke, he told me several times he has reached the end of his "tolerance level", and will "soon enough" confront dad if dad "goes too far".

I stood outside the library, and shook and felt my heart sink and sigh, as I heard my brother rant and rave about my dad, and warning of the "havoc to come"... I could have burst into tears again there and then. I pleaded to my brother, trying to calm his temper and tried to explain why dad is so angry and upset. All the years of no contact and no communication resulted in a lot of misunderstanding and distrust, and suddenly put two equally subborn, and equally short-tempered people who are so much alike in so many ways together, it's a war waiting to break out. Again, I was in the middle of it all, pleading, putting in a good word for the other person, while trying to appeal to reason and understanding. I tried to appeal to compassion, hoping that my brother could see two sides of the story instead of just the side tainted with hatred and anger. I reminded him that though dad is a terrible dad and has hurt us so many times, he did provide us with a good education and a good life. And, though I hate to say or think it, I told my brother that the way my dad goes on living like this, living in utter denial, shrouded in deep suffering and greed, he wouldn't have much longer... I pleaded for mercy, begged my brother to think of other people, to think of mum's fragile health that cannot stand to bear more screaming and fighting... I told him I could wish for nothing else but that everyone live in peace and happiness. In the end, my brother just said he couldn't promise anything. If confrontation comes, it will come.

I dragged myself home, dreading to face my family, and wishing I could go somewhere else, and be with people who don't shout and harbour so much hatred and anger...

The house was empty and darkening when I arrived around six. I set out to make dinner, thinking they'd all come home to eat. Half an hour later, mum rang the doorbell, and she was the only one who came home. Brother definitely won't come home after what happened this morning, and dad made the lame excuse that he doesn't want to be around this "mess", so disappeared off to his beloved casino again.

Mum and I sat down together to have dinner... no fighting, no anger, no hatred. Just my mum and me (and the sleeping cat), sharing, telling stories, and trying to re-capture all the happy and sad things that have happened in each other's lives in the last year or so while apart.

I listened to her attentively, pouring the occassional tea into her cup whenever it was empty. She talked about living with dad, about how they live such estranged and separate lives, about how they don't talk much, about dad's selfishness and greed, about dad's ailing health, and about how dad would suddenly throw tantrum over the smallest and most trivial things... More and more I was reminded of my life here with my brother, and more and more I was reminded of the saying "like father, like son".

I sat listening to my mum, allowing her to pour out the emotions and bottled up frustrations and hoping by 'emptying' on me, she would feel better, lighter and happier. She deserves to be happy, to be free from a raving mad man, and deserves the peace and quiet to recover from her illness... She told me in detail about the operations she had undergone, about those painful chemo-treatments, about the loneliness she feels at times because I'm so far, far away... I watched her closely, noticing the wrinkles that have formed on her face, around her eyes and on her hands, noticing how the hairlets around her ears have turned gray....

Emotional moments of bonding and sharing, just between my mum and me. Smiles, little tears, laughs and sighs we shared, and like so many times before we connected so deeply I could feel the mutual caring and love all around us. A far, far world away from the shouting and confrontations, and vain attempts to appeal to peace and understanding.

But deep down, I fear that that world far, far away may only be too near...

Fight...

Fight, fight, fight...
Constant war, constant anger, constant ill feelings towards one another.

I am silently and lonelily crying inside....

Longing...

I sit and stare out the window. I should be doing work, should be trying to finish off my deadlines, but I can’t. I can’t concentrate and can’t read anything without the angry voices and disgusted faces echoing in my mind.
Once again, I feel so lost, such disappointment and disbelief at the surrealness of it all, the best way to describe it is feeling ‘numb’. They say if you get hurt time and time again, you become numb. Maybe this is what I’m feeling now.

The family you grew up with, the family you had hoped and prayed and wished at every single birthday would one day be peaceful and happy, fighting and breaking again and again before your eyes… Love, understanding, compassion and respect… so little there is to speak of. Instead, anger, suspicion, soiled memories and ill-wishes seem to dominate and triumph. I sit here, defeated and beaten, exhausted and dreading to fight another battle against the uneasiness and fakeness of it all.

I sit here and stare out the window, wondering whether and when I can love, and be loved back…

A gamble

Almost 1am, and like usual trying to recollect my thoughts and experiences of the day just before going to sleep. Dad came through the door, back from his nightly visit to the casino.

It’s one of his terrible habits, a thing I absolutely loathe about him. In all the years he was working here since I was around 8 or so, he probably spent more time at Black Jack tables than at home. I remember one scene very vividly many many years back… My dad had come home for dinner, and after dinner rushed me upstairs to do my homework. But I heard the car door slam shut moments later. I ran toward the window, and saw the car pull away… Another time, I was perhaps just ten or so, he came home at two or three in the morning with the taxi. He had no money to pay for it, and rang the doorbell. I was the only one to go open it, because mum was of course upset… I was the one who dug into the piggy bank to pay for the taxi fare…

I got extremely upset a few years ago when he came to visit me while I was still in high school, and sarcastically I asked him: "Are you here to see me, or see the people at the casino?" He didn’t say anything. But after that he never visited for several years.

That was a few years ago. And though people change, circumstances change, old habits die hard. Before he arrived, I had the feeling that he would soon get back into his old habit again, but I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But like always, dad only disappointments. After arriving a few days ago, the very next day he just disappeared again. At least it was better than the last time he visited, when he ‘disappeared’ within hours of arriving.

Of course everyone knows where he goes. But like always he’d come home late with stupid excuses like he didn’t bring his glasses and so caught the wrong bus. I’d always ask him how his day has been and where he’d been when he comes home, and every time it’s vague answers like "just here and there" or "just out and about". Two days ago he made the most lamest lie that he went to Amsterdam to see his old office. But the public transport ticket he put on the table clearly revealed where he did go, and it was no where near Amsterdam, but more like Casinoland. Even on my birthday, after a quick lunch which seemed more like a formality than a real desire to be there, he stretched his arms and said he’d like to ‘go walk around a bit’ to walk off the full stomach. The rest of us wanted to go into the countryside, but dad said we could just drop him off in front of the casino. That night, he didn’t even come home for dinner, and wasn’t even there when I blew out the candles on my cake… Disappointment and hurting, time and again.

I think the lies and attempts to ‘cover up’ his trail hurts most. If he wants to go, just say so, but why hide and lie and pretend as if nobody knows and as if nobody should know, when in fact everyone knows!? It’s an addiction, and he doesn’t realise it. Worse still, I am concerned for his health and wellbeing when he spends all this time there. In his very fragile state of health, he really can’t get too tired and have too little sleep… but he doesn’t seem to care, doesn’t seem to give a damn about himself or what other people think.

He is a good dad, in the sense he provided and continues to provide me (us) with everything I (we) could ever need, and more. He never hit me, or overly scolded me or got angry at me, at least not compared to the clashes he and my brother have been having since as long as I can remember. But dad is a lousy father-figure, and even worse of a husband, for he is never around and knows only to share his presence and concern for the rest of the family with money and more money. Dad doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to care about the details of our lives, much less about how we feel and how we’ve been hurt so often by his lies and absence. And in the last few years he has become more and more distant, like a stranger who just happens to live at home, but gets into arguments with almost everyone about the most trivial and petty things. I am the only one he can talk to, and I am the only one who listens, and who he listens to… but more and more I feel this unbearable strain on my mind when I have to try placate his temperaments and distrust toward the rest of us, and try to step in every single time when an argument is about to explode.

I’m not sure how much longer I can take this, before I explode.

Family matters

Like a strange, foreign dream... one you could be shocked and disappointed to wake from at anytime.

I woke up this morning, to that disappointment and shock. One day after my birthday. Just one day... Like I feared, the peace and reconciliation made in the last few days were a sham, fragile and easily broken into thousands of pieces that can cut people deeply and hurt so bad.

Only last night, we were sitting around and talking in a calm manner about the future of this family. Dad promised that he would pass the deeds of the house we’re living in to me and my brother. We had all sat down together with financial advisers and notaries to draft up the plans in a way that would save a lot of taxes, and place the burden of the mortgage on my brother, so that my parents could focus on their pension plans.

Suddenly this morning, dad woke up in a terrible mood and began lashing out at everyone. Such hatred, such anger! Such intolerance and suspicion of everyone and every thing! Now he wants to have nothing to do with what we had talked about, saying that he trusts no one, and believes we’re all involved in a conspiracy against him. Most of all, he despises the fact that my brother’s girlfriend is living with us, and has this deep-seated and twisted idea that she is out to benefit from our assets. A ‘thieving rat’ he called her. Money, money, money… that’s what it’s all about. Money and how to get more of it, and how to protect it as much as possible so you can accumulate more and more. Nothing else seems to matter, especially not how other people feel, or the promises made or false hopes worked up. The fact that my brother and girlfriend have been together for almost two years and have plans to settle down together doesn’t matter. She’s conniving and plotting, eating and living for free, so she must be terrible. What a simple and tainted mind my dad has!

It’s all about money, all about property, all about distrust and conspiracies and misunderstandings. That’s all dad sees. He doesn’t see things as they are, just how it will benefit him or hurt him, and in his mind he thinks we’re all trying to cheat him. And he blames everyone, accuses everyone of the most ridiculous things.

He called me ‘soft’, and has this fear I would just give away my share of the house to my brother’s girlfriend for no reason. Earlier I told him about my plans to move out of the house as soon as I’m financially independent, and dad interpreted it to be me thoughtlessly abandoning my rights at home. I tried to explain to him that I can’t possibly live at home all my life, but he called me stupid and accused me of being blind of certain people trying to take advantage of me. Even the fact that I help my single-mum friend now and then came up in his tirade, because helping a single mother and baby “has no benefit”. Suddenly, being kind and being honest and treating everyone with courtesy and respect is a sin. I really can’t understand what kind of twisted world and sick ideas go around in his head…

I told him many, many times when he was diagnosed with liver cancer that sometimes in life it’s best to live happily and live well, and that everything else doesn’t really matter much when you leave this world. But he doesn’t listen, and still clings onto his ideas and misconceptions, anger and deep distrust of people like they matter more than anything else in the world. It’s been a year since I last saw him, and I was surprised how he has aged. His hair has drastically whitened on his head, his face become so haggered and wrinkled. Walking just a little bit makes him exhausted, and every few hours he needs medication to control his blood sugar levels. When you come to this stage in life, when you don’t know when you will ‘go’, why not live everyday with hope and with a light heart of compassion and kindness? Why go on being angry, having all this distrust and hatred bottled up deep inside, and cling onto money, money, money? How ill my dad is, how cold and heartless he is, that giving others the benefit of the doubt is such is not even possible any more… everything tainted with thoughts of money, money, money, benefit, profit and for me, me, me!

Whatever I try to say to him, however I try to smooth things out between people, however I try to appeal to common sense and emotions, it’s like he is resistant to my words. To me, it’s not really the money or the rights to the house that I care about. Of course dad has the right to decided where and to who his money goes… but why tear down the trust and good-will that has built over the past few days over nothing? Such a petty mind, a mind full of bad thoughts and bad karma…

I told him all I wanted is for people to get along peacefully and live happily without anger, without hatred. I told him how he has hurt and disappointed me, time and time again. He just walked away and closed the door behind him. As if closing the door can shut away all the trouble and grief he’s caused me by his sudden change of mind. As if closing the door can shut away the pain he has caused by his angry words and terrible temper…

I sat at the breakfast table, wondering what happened overnight that changed everything. I felt so bitter…so frustrated… I’m not angry at him, but just very, very disappointed. How can someone who is supposed to be so close be so distant? How can a loved one, your own dad, hurt and disappoint you time and time again?

What happened to my birthday wishes for everyone to get along peacefully and happily as I blew out the candles on the cake last night? What happened to those illusory hopes and promises of a better future together as a family and all those moments of sharing and bonding in the past few days?

Dead dreams. Broken hopes.

I buried my face in my hands, rubbed my sore eyes and aching head. Why…why this nightmare…?

Birthday

I received a lot of calls, and messages, and emails and ecards from friends and colleagues. It was touching to receive so many expressions and wishes. To be honest, at times I felt a little flustered and wondered what I ever did to deserve the wishes and gestures from so many people.

Actually, nobody in the family remembered it was my birthday, until my mum saw the date this morning and realised what day it was. It’s not that I love to be noticed and to be the centre of attention, but it’s nice to feel just a little special, and as if you could do anything you want because it's your birthday, if only for one day in a year. After realising it was my birthday, they secretly bought a cake while I was out, and hid it until late in the evening.

I laughed the moment I saw the big ‘24’ candles on the cake, and joked that they were really planning ahead. To me it didn’t really matter that they didn’t remember or got the year wrong, but, as they say, it’s really the thought that counts.

To everyone who wrote to me offering support when I was upset, and offering me the best of wishes for my birthday, thank you.

I’m sorry that I can’t write back personally to thank you at the moment… trying to spend as much time as possible with my parents while they’re still here, tonnes of school work to be done and with the part time job(s), I really don’t have much time to answer emails.

But I want you to know, I really appreciate every single word and the time everyone one of you took to remember me, and make me feel special.

Thank you! :)

21 February 1984

I was born.

After fighting, there is peace.

Or at least a period of peace.

It's been four days since that big outburst of emotions last Friday, and overall it's been relatively calm. New year's eve (Saturday) we managed to sit down at the table as a family and share a proper meal together. There was good food, wine and conversation. No finger pointing, no swearing, no shouting. Mum said how happy she was that we could finally sit down together and have a proper meal together. Dad, in a rare expression of his feelings, told us how proud he was of us (the children) and our achievements. Brother talked together, mostly about the car that he wanted, spurred by my dad, who promised to cover half of the costs. Between the clinking of our glasses, we wished each other success and wellbeing. I silently wished everyone peace and happiness.

We even managed to talk about some more 'sensitive' issues... like the uncertain future, and how to deal with the certain property and assets, especially due to the ill-health of both my parents. Before, dad would always stubbornly refuse to touch on the subject, but this time he softened, and we all managed to sit down with a family lawyer just yesterday and discuss things in a civilised manner. All this talk of money and property seems so cold and so 'de-personalising', but it's something that needs to be done sooner or later.

And for the first time in a long time, we took a trip together into the countryside the other day, smiling, laughing and sharing. Precious times, priceless times. Of course it wasn't all easy, and at times I needed to jump in and 'direct' the conversation to avoid confrontations and outbursts. Overall, everyone seems happy, and this seems like the beginning of something new, something beautiful, something I had longed for for so long.

Yet, beneath the smiles, the nice exchange of words and well-meaningness of it all, I feel like it's all so surreal. Still numb from the explosive exchange of words a few days ago, it's as if a part of me is half expecting something to go wrong, or perhaps even hoping that something would go wrong just to prove right that this family is indeed hopeless. And all the time I feel so tired, so exhausted from just being around them and having to 'intervene' and reconcile potential words that might just break everything down again.

Like a strange, foreign dream... one you could be shocked and disappointed to wake from at anytime.

Family reunion

I hugged my mum tightly, and started sobbing. Tears ran down my face, and everything was a blur. I broke down, and as if the intimate touch of another person I had so longed for broke the barrier that I had built up inside, the tears became unstoppable. All the frustration, the longing, the anger and aching pain flowed with the tears, as I hugged mum and rested my head on her shoulder.

Less than one day since my parents arrived, and my worst nightmares have already played out before my eyes. The things I dreaded, but dare not put down in words erupted, with all the shock and awe and fright still lingering on in the slight way my fingers now tremble.

A family reunion turned into a family split. We went to pick up my parents at the airport, and perhaps twenty minutes after were together dad threw a tantrum over the smallest thing and began scolding my mum left and right in the arrivals terminal. It was over a piece of luggage that mum took from him to lighten his load, but because she hadn’t told him, he got all upset and angry and went on all about responsibility. I stood there, and as usual tried to calm the eruption by saying it was OK, nothing was lost. For my brother, who had already more or less given my dad a cold reception when they saw each other, it was of course more fuel to his deep-seated anger and animosity towards dad.

All seemed well and dandy until dinner. We sat around to eat, brother sitting opposite dad, but throughout the entire meal brother neither looked or spoke to my dad. My dad got upset and muttered about how indignant and rude my brother had gotten since they last met almost three years ago. I sat there, and said nothing, but again felt tension and resentment resurfacing. Deep inside, I shook and wondered how long it would be till things escalate.

Not long. Suddenly out of the blue, and before retiring to his bedroom, dad told mum in a menacing tone that he would rather burn this house down than leave it to my brother. Mum was of course heart-broken, for the hopes that she had had of bringing the two together were again torn to bits. Brother overheard, and started to (over)react, listing all the wrongs that dad had done in the past few years, like never being a ‘real’ dad, like neglecting the family, like treating mum badly etc. etc. etc. My mum and I listened to his tirade. My mum tried pointlessly to try to calm brother down, to bridge the peace and gap, and try to smooth the tensions. At one point I responded (perhaps wrongly) by telling my brother that he is actually exactly like dad, in every single way, including the way he gets angry at the smallest little thing, the way he talks down to people and the way he treats his girlfriend, exactly like how my dad treats mum.

Then followed another tirade, this time against me, again accusing me of neglecting my house work, of forgetting to turn of the light, of not feeding the cat, of hanging the curtains wrong, of never being home (and then of being home all the time). His eyes bulged in rage, his fingers pointed and his voice boomed in the air. A more angry and terrifying person I’ve hardly encountered.

I stood there and listened, shaking my head in the disbelief at all the accusations I was again hearing… all the accusations over nothing that somehow turned into something so huge and sinful. I was so wrong, wrong and wrong again and again and again.

Perhaps the sound of brother shouting woke dad, and made him come downstairs. Without knowing what was going on, and still angry at the way brother had treated him, my dad burst out swearing, shouting, finger pointing. Like father, like son. Brother shouted back, in the same menacing tone and words and finger pointing, and accusing him of being a worthless dad. “Dirty PIG! Scum of the earth! SWINE!”, my dad replied. Mum stood there, and I could hear her heart break in her sighs and see her pain in the way she shook her head in sadness and disappointment. I stood by and told her not to interfere, not to get in the way, and to just let them fight and argue and say whatever they needed to say to each other. But when there seemed to be no end to the horrible abusive shouting and finger pointing, I told both of them: “You two are exactly alike, in the way you shout and gesture, in the way you treat your [girlfriend/wife]. You are exactly the same. If he is a pig, you are a pig. If he is scum of the earth, you too are scum of the earth”.

That stopped the shouting, and dad stormed upstairs. I wandered towards the kitchen, trembling from the horrors I had just witnessed, my head spinning from the upsetting family drama that had just unfolded, and had just confirmed my fears that this façade of a family reunion would erupt into a cold, cold war. My mind was full of pain, my heart aching. Mum silently followed me. As soon as I saw her near, I could not help myself…

I closed both arms around her and started sob like a little helpless and hurting boy. Sob like I’ve not done for a long, long time, because I finally had a shoulder to cry on. Behind my closed eye lids the images of the shouting and arguments replayed themselves, criss-crossing with the images of the scars and wounds on mum’s body, which she had shown me earlier, from the operations she had undergone in the past year to remove her malignant tumours. I sobbed, feeling her grip tighten on me, as we seemed to be sharing each other’s pain and sorrow, as if we both understood all too well what the other is going through. I sobbed, feeling remorse and numbness, feeling sorry mostly for her, because she has to put up with this, because she has tried almost all her life to care and support this family together, but everything seemed to be breaking down and worsening even more and more. I sobbed, for her, because as a cancer survivor this is exactly the very last she needed. I sobbed, for my dad and brother, for they constantly dwell in their miseries and anger and resentment toward each other, but do not see just how alike both are. I sobbed, for my family, the last tatters of which is being torn and shredded like a cruel, mean joke. In the back of my mind, ‘Why?’, “Why?”, “Why?” repeated themselves over and over again.

I cry as I write this… as I think about all these terrible things mum has to endure, about all the anger and resentment running so deep and so clear in my family, about the dreams and hopes and prayers I had as a little kid of a happy, united family… The pain… the disappointment… the injustice… the suffering… they all seem to draw more and more tears from my eyes as I type, and type.

It feel soothing to cry, so calming to let all the bottled up emotions and longings flow with the tears. For a while I was still broken, words wallowing on my lips like the tears wallowing around my eyes as I tried to express my wishes and hopes for this seemingly hopeless family. “All I want is that people get along. All I want is for you and dad to live a peaceful and happy life together. All I want is for brother and dad to reconcile. I want this to end. This horrible conflict. I want it to end”. The more I spoke those words, the more emotional I felt.

Boys don’t cry.

But I was never a boy, so let me be one for once.

Calmer...

2am. A few hours ago I was so frustrated and angry that I felt dizzy and unwell, but now it's as if that episode of anger and frustration never happened. Again, it's from experiences like this that you learn to try and not to get angry, because frankly you're only hurting yourself, and others, by spreading bad karma.

The rooms are more or less tidy (or at least tidier) now. The flowers have been arranged, bed linen changed, extra blankets set aside in case they get cold, and brand new towels and woollen socks (to keep their feet warm at night), have been laid out for them. The fridge and cupboards are full of food for us to feast on. And I've managed to get some of the work finished too.

A few hours more, and I'll be at the airport to wait for my parents to walk through that arrivals gate. It's exciting, joyful to be together as a family again, but at the same time , at the back of my mind, I fear the not-so-exciting, not-so-joyful things that may just erupt when we are around one another too long.

Whatever will be, will be.

Family stress

In about twelve hours, and my parents will be here. At the moment I'm feeling so anxious and irritated at the same time. Still so much school work to finish, but the house work is still undone. I cleaned up two days ago, and two days later it's back to the same old mess. Papers lying around, cups and plates thrown here and there, clothes everywhere. Disgusting. Just disgusting.

The more I clean, the more irritated I get... I think I'm just on the edge of shouting, or even crying because it's just all too much. Why the hell should I have to do all this, when I have so much work to do myself? I work two days a week, study the rest of the week, and still have to try find time to clean up, cook and do grocery shopping. And what do these other people do? And why should I have to clean up after someone's breakfast, lunch and dinner? Or why should I have to remove cigarette ash and butts from the sink because some smoker is too lazy to do it himself? When you use something, put it back to where it belongs. When you open a box or a can, throw the empty container away in the bin. When you're finished eating, put the plates in the dishwasher. How retarded can you be to just dump everything everywhere and hope things will clean up after themselves?! A few steps to get to the bin is not too much effort to ask, right? Rubbish! Complete rubbish!

I want my parents to come and see that we're doing well and living in a safe, clean environment, so that they don't have to worry about us. I want them to enjoy their stay here, because they've been working so long and hard, they deserve a break from life and stress. So on the one hand I want to clean up the mess, but on the other I just feel so angry why I'm the only one doing it. It's our parents, not just mine.

I thought family getting together is supposed to be a joyous and fun event. But really I'm starting to dread it. And the three weeks have not even begun.

Valentine's Day

Woke up to the sound of rain drops on my window. Only had the luxury of four hours sleep, as I was up almost all night studying and filling in this application for an internship. I really didn't have to get up this early, but since my parents are arriving in less than 48hrs, the fridge cannot be empty.

So... sleepy and drowsy, I dragged myself out of bed, and headed to the market at 8am. It was drizzling all the way, and cold, and nothing seemed to be going well. Because of this new light-railway system that's being tested in the city, lots of trams were rediverted or simply didn't go where they usually went... which meant lots of waiting and delays.

I bought really a lot of food and fruits this time, since it's lunar new year, which for us is sort of the equivalent of Christmas. In the end, I was carrying a huge bag and backpack full of groceries, whereas my monthly loan had pretty much emptied. To save time (and energy, since I was pretty much sleepy still) I left the groceries in a storage locker at the station, and rushed off to work. Pretty funny thinking back on it... storing all these fruits and vegetables in a locker at the busy station... security people were probably scrutinising my every move, wondering what I was up to.

As usual, it was 'gezellig'... it's this wonderful Dutch feeling and word of which there doesn't seem to be an English equivalent... it's sort of a mixture of something or someone being fun, cosy, warm all at the same time. And we, bacherloretes and bachelors, sat around chatting, gossiping, sipping hot tea over apple pies and chocolates, while it rained and rained outside. Oh yeah, we worked too.

The pompous gala event is this Saturday, so we were talking about what to wear. I burst out laughing when I heard in detail what was expected. It's a basically a day of celebrations and lectures at the Peace Palace, to be rounded off with a 'white bow' dinner party. Ladies are expected to wear a formal evening dress, whereas for men it's more complicated. Everything is down to the detail, because what you wear is who you are. So the formal attire consists of a:

• Black tailcoat with silk (ribbed or satin) facings, sharply cut-away at the front
• Black trousers with a single stripe of satin or braid in the US or two stripes in Europe
• White stiff-fronted shirt, with cotton pique dickie, boiled or heavily starched)
• White stiff wing collar (attached to the shirt with collar buttons)
• White bow tie (usually cotton pique)
• White low-cut waistcoat (usually cotton pique, matching the bow tie and dickie)
• Black silk stockings
• Black patent leather pumps or shoes

Of course, to look especially posh and elegant, a top-hat (rabbit included), cane (to point and poke people with, and to support yourself in case you've had one too many bourbons), white gloves (touch not where other people touched) will do the "magic trick". Silk, of course, not cheap cotton or rags. And dare not forget those shining, dazzling cufflinks, that according to someone can be bought for only 300 euros at a certain store in Zurich. Wrist watches are a definite no-no, for it will equate you with the common man, and you really wouldn't want that. Instead one of these flip-open gilded clocks hanging from you side pocket is the proper convention. If you wear glasses, better get a 'one-eye lense' to play the part of the sophisticated member of the gentry, but looking more like a pirate captain. If you have to be bourgeois, do it with (literally) "class".

As I listened to the description, I was reminded of those satirical cartoons of capitalist fat cat with dollar signs in their eyes. An image of ridiculousness and disgust. Thankfully, I'm not going to the gala dinner. I cancelled, because really I'd rather spend my time with my family. Something about a bunch of men and women walking around in these gowns and dresses just abhores me so. Maybe because I believe there are more important things in life than members of an exclusive club gathering together to give one another pats on the back... maybe it's to do with the fact that it's all seems like one big facade of a fashion show to show off who is more powerful and rich. Call me left, call me a closet communist, but really, who are you trying to impress?

At the end of the day, take off the layers and accessories that cost hundreds or even thousands of euros, you are naked. Bare, exposed and vulnerable as any other man or woman on the street. Strip people of their pompousness and arrogance, and you'll find them as scared of life and death as any human being.

This was my Valentine's Day. Like any day, really.

Birthday trip!

Just sort out details for a trip I'll be taking next week to a far, far away and exotic land known as Belgium.

Sometime ago my professor sent us invites to attend this three day seminar on international humanitarian law, organise by the International Committee of the Red Cross and the prestigeous College of Europe.

I've always wanted to know more about international humanitarian law, or, ironically it's called the 'laws of war'. It basically deals with the rules and regulations that govern the coduct of warfare, like what weapons are allowed, the protection of civilians etc, and is a fascinating, if not very current topic. Most likely I'll base my thesis on this field of international law, so the more I know the better.

It'll be in Brugge (Bruges), an amazingly beautiful town in eastern Flanders, and initially a bunch of my classmates were supposed to come too. We were supposed to go and enjoy the wonderful Belgium beers, chocolates, and 'vlaamse frites' (Belgium fries!)... but then they all cancelled at the last minute because frankly next week is a horrible week to take a trip. Which also means I'll most likely spend birthday alone, again : /

But I can't blame them. Hundreds of pages of reading, and two paper deadlines. It's a LOT of work. And since we have this ridiculous rule (more suited for primary school children than master students I think!!!) that if you miss more than one class, you are no longer qualified for the course, I basically have to leave right after class Monday afternoon, attend the three day seminar, and rush back Thursday night in order to get to class Friday morning. And to manage all the deadlines and reading, I've basically been working day and late to get everything finished.

It wasn't easy to make the accomodation arrangements. I searched online for a cheap hostel to stay in, and I entered the credit card details and pressed "confirm". All I wanted was a simple single room, and there was a bargain for around €75 for three nights at this place with great reviews... but no, somehow I ended up with four rooms costing over €250, and not even at a hostel near where I intended to stay! Crazy how online transactions work...

Hectic, tiring, and I know I'll be taking my fun-filled books with me on the train, but I hope it's worth the effort.

Sleepless nights

Again I can’t sleep. I’ve been having sleepless nights, nights in which I lie in bed, close my eyes and try to make myself sleep, but cannot. I curl up, hug myself, hoping that would do the trick, but nothing seems to help. Though physically tired, my head seems to be racing, seems to be filled with thoughts, worries, fantasies and fears.

Since I can’t sleep, might as wake up and write. Maybe by the time I finish this, and maybe when I get my mind down in words, I’ll be more…relieved.

Ten more days, and I’ll be older. I guess that’s one of the many things ‘bothering’ me recently. It seems like ever since the beginning of this year I’ve been feeling really agitated and empty, more empty than before. At first I thought the feeling, like all the things in life that are impermanent, would go away, but falling ill, and the bouts of not so pleasant weather recently hasn’t helped to lift my mood. It’s like inside there’s a voice crying out, at what or at whom I don’t know. But there seems to be some being deep inside trying to tell me something. It’s a mixture of feelings… of loneliness, of fear, of fear of rejection, of fear of failure, of longing and, perhaps, most of all, of hopelessness. I’m not sure if there’s one thing that I can point to as the source of all these negative emotions that have been pulling me down and making me depressive.

Next week, both my parents will be coming over to visit. It’s for the celebration of the lunar new year, during which traditionally families come together. Despite having horrendous amounts of work and deadlines in the next few weeks, and despite the fact I might have to go away to attend a three-day seminar in Belgium, I do look forward to seeing mum and dad again.

I’ve not seen them for almost a year, and this visit will be the first time in over five that both my mum and dad will be here. The fact that it’ll soon be my 23^rd birthday just made me realise that it’s been almost ten years since I last permanently lived with my parents. All these years by myself, thousands of kilometers of oceans and lands apart, I’ve grown up without them. It was a choice they made, a sacrifice even, to live me here in Europe so that I could have a better education. No doubt they were wonderful in providing me with all I ever need and so, so much more. No doubt they have my interests and my future in mind. But it all came at the cost of time together. The teenage years passed like a distant and vague memory.

I still remember that day when they left, that moment at the airport, me a little kid in tears waving goodbye to his parents. I somehow knew deep inside that moment would be the beginning of the end of my family. And I was right. Throughout the years the bonds between us became more and more diluted. My brother simply gave up keeping in touch with my parents, while I still harboured hopes that “blood runs thicker than water” and that in the end distance and time would not make our love and care for one another even less. Naïve perhaps.

However much you try to keep in touch, the barriers are still there. There are things you won’t tell to each other because the other wouldn’t understand, or because you don’t want the other to worry. And with time, the gap and distance grows, until one day you can’t even picture their faces without looking at their photographs. It didn’t help that a couple of years ago my dad just disappeared out of our lives without an explanation, and now he wants to suddenly rejoin us and pretend like nothing ever happened. The hurt has been done, and the feelings have become numb over time.

Partly inside, I deeply look forward to seeing both my parents again. It’ll be the firs time to see them both after discovering that they are both permanently ill with cancer. It’ll be so wonderful to have this precious time together, to be next to each other, to eat together, to walk together, to talk to one another and see and touch one another right in front of you. Life is short, and the times together even shorter.

There’s so much to say, so much to talk about… the future, with them, with me (and with my brother). There are things to be decided, even things that now seem so surreal to be dealing with, but which nonetheless must be faced up to before…before it’s too late.

Yet, at the same time I dread to face the façade that we’re a ‘wonderful, loving family’ reunited again. I know it’s pointless to dwell on unpleasant thoughts and unpleasant memories… the past has gone by, and you should never pre-judge the future based the past… but when I imagine and remember those terrible confrontations, arguments, bickering, the cold wars I cannot but feel an urge to just get away. Get as far away as possible and pretend I don’t have anything to do with my family any more.

Partly I want to get close to them, to bring everyone together again and make us all connect like we need to, but partly I don’t want to be involved. For too long I’ve had to be the bridge holding everyone together, the peacemaker who passes little messages because one person is not talking to another. The person who has to smile and dance around like a jester because the mood is so sombre. And I’m tired already, tired of this family I simply cannot quit because I care too much. I want to care for them, to love them all and not have to choose between sides. I want to show and let them know that I don’t favour anyone more than another… yet time and again they seem to be testing me. My longing for a relationship, one based on trust, understand, respect, and most of all, love comes from the desire to prove to myself that such things are possible in the world, despite what I’ve heard and seen and experienced.

Torn… like so often in life, I’m torn. All these incoherent, random thoughts and rants seems so pointless when I read back what I just wrote down… but this is how my mind is at the moment.

Incoherent, random, and ranting. And sleepless.

'Specialist'

It started to heavily snow at the beginning of the week, and overnight the snow thawed and disappeared. It was winter, but now I’m not sure what season it is anymore.

Been spending the past few days getting used to the busy life of school again. And since there will be ‘visitors’ next week, and since I may be going abroad for a few days (I’ll write more later!!), I’m trying to get as much work and reading done as possible. To be honest, the two weeks of vacation I just had I was simply lazy, and now I’m sort of feeling the pressure building. But I can do it. I know I can, because I always have.

Just now there was yet another round of shouting. As usual, my brother started it, because he came upstairs and found the girlfriend sleeping, instead of studying (like she should be doing). Well, in my opinion, it was already past eleven, so if she wants to sleep, let her sleep! My goodness... where's the descency?!

I had felt something was wrong earlier today when she came home from school, but didn’t think too much of it. A few minutes later she came out and threw up over the toilet bow. As she threw up and choked, I went to talk to her and ask if she needs anything. She said it’ll be alright, and that she’s not been feeling too well for sometime, and that today’s gotten a lot worse. I suggested to call the family doctor, but she insisted it’ll be alright, and that she’s “been to see the specialist”.

She didn’t elaborate and just went back to her room and closed the door behind her. “Specialist”… that word echoed in my mind, and I immediately thought of that episode some months ago.

Could it be…? My brother was somewhere in his room.

It's snowing!

It started a little bit as I was getting ready for class. I thought it would stop, because no snow had been forecast today. Wearing white pants was something I'd later regret.

A fascinating class it was today, about the origins of international law, and how it expanded and became so-called 'universal' in the age of colonialisation. You see, law was a product of the 'civilised nations', and only applicable to 'civilised' people. And in the last scramble for colonies at the end of the nineteenth century, law was used to promote and project European influence to the (literally) 'darker' reaches of the world. Land was taken, because the 'savages' were not civilised enough to own land. Uttterly unequal and biased treaties were drafted and signed, which basically signed away the rights and sovereignties of rulers in Africa and Asia. 'Savages' needed 'enlightened' ideas and practices to be 'liberated', and this was done through force, as well as institutions of law. The 'white man's burden' it was called, to spread civilisation (and to some extent, religion) throughout the darkened continents. A history and policy of hypocrisy, blatant racism, self-proclaimed superiority under the guise of 'humanity' and the supposed benign. Some would say the history has continued to this day.

So far, I've had the feeling the degree I'm doing and the university where I study is pretty... 'tame', in the sense that it sort of goes along with (conservative) mainstream theories. As I was preparing the readings for today last night, I was smiling. The very things I had studied and became indoctrinated with at SOAS were alive and kicking. The world is not as black and white as it seems. Democracy and law aren't neutral ideas that can be imported and exported like everything else this neo-liberal capitalist world society seems to produce and market. The critiques of post-modernism on the current world order, the Foucauldian discourse on us vs them, the vices of seeing the world through Eurocentric and ethnocentric perspectives all came flooding back. The left didn't die after all.

And all of a sudden, in the middle of class, a girl gasped as she looked out the window. It began to pour with snow, softly and silently it was almost surreal. The girl had apperently never seen snow before, so was excited, and she excited the rest of us too.

Soon class was over, and we all rushed outside. I stood there, stuck my tongue out and tasted the falling flakes. I cycled home, as quickly as I could, but the roads were horrible and jammed with cars. Quickly I got my camera, and in the snowfall that was getting bigger and bigger, I headed for the forest.

Winter had finally come.

Watch out for these bands!!!!

For those people who fear the way “homosexuality invades family life through popular music”, fundamentalist gay-bashing bigot evangelical priest Donnie Davies has the solution. The proud founder of the CHOPS programme (CHANGING HOMOSEXUALS into ORDINARY PEOPLE) has kindly released a list of bands that are to be considered ‘dangerous’.

So, friends, for your own sake and for the sake of God, next time you hear Queen, Elton John, The Rolling Stones and Frankie goes to Hollywood, or Frank Sinatra, do remember to cover your ears and say your prayers. Or else you might just begin to have struggles “with undesired same-sex attractions”.

Instead, be humble and do tune into to songs that spread the wonderful message of God’s grace, love and tolerance, like “The Bible Says”:

“God hates a fag.
God hates a fag.
God hates a fag.
If you’re a fag he hates you too.

Read the Bible and you’ll be sure
to enter Heaven, there’s no back door.
Righteous man, get on your knees.
There lies no virtue in sodomy.”

Sitting on a bench

Sometimes songs can send shivers throughout your whole body, because the melody and words speak to you, speak to your lonely heart.

I sat cross-legged on a bench overlooking the calm, gray sea. It was a beautiful afternoon, and I stared far, far into the distance, wondering where the sea ended and where the sky began. It was cold, so I had my hands in my jacket pocket, earplugs in my ears. I sat, forgetting all about time, and just stared at the sea, as it silently waved and crashed in the distance.

At times I'd close my eyes, and feel the weak sun try to touch me. Down at the beach, people strolled by... some couples walked hand in hand, while others talked gently with their friends and family.

Now and then people would walk past the bench I sat on, and they'd at me. The expressions on their faces seemed to be one of pity... as if they could see the word 'loneliness' written all over me. Even the doggies that sniffed and skipped and peed around me seemed so very happy.

I tried to ignore them, and to pretend to look into the distance, look at the waving sea and the never-ending coastline so that I wouldn't have to face them... But uncontrollably my eyes would wander and dwell on the shadows of the people who had just passed me by. Perhaps, I envied how they had someone to talk to, someone to be with. The dirt path before me was deserted and seemed to lead to nowhere. And the songs playing in my ears seemed to mock my feelings.


I tried to shut out the nagging, irritating thoughts and words of those I live with... I tried to not think about the mess I wake up to face every single morning. But it's hard. I tried not to think about the things I still have to do for school... about the future that lies ahead of me after I graduate in a few months.

The seagulls flew and soared in the skies, and were free. It was a real shame that surrounded by all this beauty of nature and this day, my mind was muddled and miserable.

When I decided to head home... head back to that place and those people I'd rather not have to see, the skies had clouded, and the sun was starting to disappear.

Family day out

They held hands together and were laughing as they made their way to the park. A mother and her children, the children playing and running around excitedly. I watched them pass, and could not but feel envy at how happy they were, together, as a family on a family day out.

I was working at the time, and one of the bonus of working as a postman is you get to meet and see all sorts of people. And that scene with the mother and children made my mind go a little numb... I tried to remember a time when my family did that together, but I could remember nothing. What came to mind were the fights, arguments, the 'cold wars' and awkward silences in which I as a kid tried to play the 'bridge' between everyone because it seemed like the natural thing to do to ease the tension. No smiles, no holding hands, no play time and fooling around with the sibling.

I know it doesn't help to dwell on these thoughts and unpleasant memories. But then when I think about the situation with my family today, I cannot be feel upset and wonder why there is so little love and communication between us. A deep emptiness filled my insides as I thought about how in this big, wide world there seems to be no one close to me and who I'm close to.

It's been more than ten years since I last lived with my parents. Ten years since my family was last a 'family' under one roof. With my parents living elsewhere, my brother and I living together but living separate lives, we only get to see each other on and off, and for a month or two at most each time. We've become scattered, and our bond with one another diluted.

Umbrella anyone?

There are mornings you wake up thinking: "Oh... another day at work!" But it wasn't just another day.

I skipped last week because I was ill, so there really was no excuse not to go in. I got showered and dressed, put on my jeans and a sweater, and off I cycled to work.

I was actually the first one there, since my colleagues were all... fashionably late. And I mean 'fashionably', because they were either in a suit or a formal dress, while I sat there in my jeans and sweater.

I had completely forgotten today was the official opening of the new building, and that there was a whole programme lined up the whole afternoon. It didn't matter that we had been working at the new building for over two months, because some VIP has to 'officially' open the building with speeches and carpets, champaigns and little hors d'oeuvres, or else the building is not 'officially open'.

So during lunch break I cycled home and got changed. With suit, shirt and tie, veryday David soon became young city professional David. And I was ready to face the crowd, let alone fit in.

It just had to be. The 'new' building I work in is situated on what has been called the "most beautiful avenue in Europe", right next door to the Swiss and Spanish embassies, a few steps from the parliament buildings, and a only a few houses down from the chique hotel where many prominent foreign dignatories have stayed on state visits to the Netherlands. And as the mayor of The Hague joked in the opening speech, the neighbourhood will get even more exclusive as soon as the Dutch version of Guantanamo Bay a stone's throw away (the American embassy) moves away.

The ‘official’ ceremony started in the old building, and then eventually the crowd made their way toward the new building. As all 'official' events, the heavy-weight VIPs gave speeches, praising what wonderful and gracious achievements have been made, and what bright wonderful future we all welcome with the opening of the new building. The Hague, despite being the 'City of Peace, Justice & Security' of the world, does not actually have an official university. Leiden University where I study and indirectly also work at, is the only institution with a presence right in the city centre, and in the past years has been offering high quality education to professionals and civil servants and the international community. And this has grown so much we need a second building to accommodate all the different academic institutes and courses that are now available. The people who were invited were people who's names you often read in the newspapers… former ministers, university rectors, professors, experts in this and that field… Of course, as lowly employees my colleagues and I could only stand at the sideline and gawk and awe at their influence and prestige, but it felt somehow proud to be standing in the same room as these prominents.

OK, enough bragging. As we expected, my colleagues and I weren’t there to just sip free champagne and nimble delicate biscuits. In the middle of a speech we were silently dragged away and put to work. Each of us were given an umbrella, and I thought we were to use them to escort the guests because it was raining. Even though the weather was gray, there was no rain. Then as we were given our ‘assignments’, I burst out laughing.

A bit too loud, perhaps. From the old to the new building is a walk of around 500 metres. To avoid our very important people wandering off and getting lost, groups of us need to stand at ‘key positions’ and point the way. How would they identify us? With the umbrellas.

Soon enough, my colleagues and I were spread out along the way, hoisting our proud blue umbrellas bearing the university logo, and pointing the way… cursing under our breaths. Well, I didn’t curse, I just found it all hilarious and ridiculous. I stood in front of fences and barriers of ‘Guantanamo Bay’, with an open umbrella even though it wasn’t raining, and wondered how long it would take before the security guards came to arrest me. Probably they have all noted our faces and names, since we’ve been conducting some ‘suspicious activities’ around the American embassy for the past few weeks. We looked like a row of lunatics, in smart suits and shoes, holding up umbrellas and showing people the way.

The kind of things that goes on behind official events…

Saddam and Osama

Has to be one of the greatest satires I’ve seen in a long time.

Grades!

Grades are not everything, I know. But they help!

Just took a look at my grades online, and I passed everything! The papers I wrote I got (amazingly) high marks for, the exam grades I personally thought were so-so, but still higher than the class average. Thankfully for all the courses they take the grades for the papers and the exam, and divide evenly to get the final grade.

I was really worried. In fact, crossing my fingers as I clicked the 'view grade' button and stopped breathing in that split second the webpage took to load. And pheeeew... I did pretty ok, especially since I haven't been in the best of moods emotionally in the past month or so.

Just what I need to get me feeling a little better about myself, and to get me motivated to get some more work I've been saying to myself I should do.

Not so Sunny

I just chatted to my mum-friend, who's been having some rough times lately. She told me how my god-son Sunny has been acting really unruly and needy lately, and how she's been having a tough time coping. Like last night for example, he cried and cried for two hours non-stop for some reason, and they rushed to the hospital only to be told by the doctor that nothing is wrong. My friend felt somewhat upset, felt like nobody is taking her seriously and that people think she's over-reacting.

I listened to her, and gave her what little advice I know about babies. Sunny's been not himself lately, and has been really difficult, wanting to be held constantly, throughout the day, and night as well. My friend studies during the day, and the nanny takes care of the baby. When my friend comes home at the end of the day, she takes Sunny home and takes care of him till the next morning, day in, day out. Problem is in the past few weeks Sunny's been not wanting to sleep at night, which means my friend is unable to get much sleep as well. It's hard enough to do a master level study, so just imagine how it is having to master taking care of a new-born all on your own.

I sympathise with her completely, but somehow I feel however much I feel for her and her predicaments, however much I care and say that I care, it's still too little to help. All I can be is a listening ear, and a soothing voice telling her that it's all going to be alright, and little more. And deep inside I feel guilty that I can't be there and do any more to take away the stresses and strains on her.

I really wish I could do more... more than just silently wish them peace and harmony.

Wild geese chase

You are nice to them, but they peck you. You give them what they want, but they want more, and they peck you, again and again.

It could be people I'm talking about, but today it's geese. Had a little walk in the forest today, and thought it would be nice to take some of the old bread to feed the cold and hungry birds near the lake.

I approached slowly, and saw a duck couple swimming together. As soon as I neared, they neared me too. As soon as I threw some bread pieces into the water, they dashed toward the bread and were no longer a couple. It was every duck for itself.

Then came the crows, hovering above, croaking. A gathering swarm, almost darkening the sunset sky with their shiny black wings. And their croaks alerted the cranes, four of which silently tocuhed down in around me and stood tall on their thin legs and hoisted their long beaks. They dared not near me, and were ever so cautious. Even when I threw bread in their direction, they stood silent and still. Crows were braver and dove for the free food on the grass, getting there before the gray doves did.

Then someone alerted the gang of geese. And the suddenly air filled with loud, ever-louder cackles and quacks. A dozen, or three, a whole mob of them, started to run, hurtle and wobble toward me. The noise was unbearable, and I felt embarassed that I had disturbed the peace and calm that hung in the lazy dusking afternoon. As the gang of geese got closer, they spread their wings and lenghthened their necks, opened their beaks and hissed. The geese actually hissed, and perhaps even spitting.

I was too slow spreading the bread around. Soon enough the gang of geese surrounded me, and I was trapped, in the midst of loud hissing and ear-annoying cackling. And I was getting afraid. I trembled as I tore the bread slices into small pieces so that it would be easier for them to swallow, but the geese were not pleased. And peck they did. And it hurt, even through the thick of lining of my jeans, the attack of the geese hurt.

My saviour came, and the geese dispersed. Gracefully, the king of the birds, two snow-white swans floated by, stretched their long necks to see what the mob and fuss was all about. When they approached, all other birds shunned aside, leaving the way and water free for the swans to majestically pass.


I tossed the remaining bread on the ground, and fled.

'Mijn Vrijheid'

Over the last week or so I've been reading a book I bought something ago but never had much time to continue. It's been lying on my bedside table and collecting dust.

Finally now that I have some free time, and have been in bed sick, I picked it up again and it's hard to put it down again. It's the autobiography of Ayaan Hirsi Ali, perhaps one of my personal modern-day heroines and inspirators. I've written about her somewhat on my other blog, especially how she was 'chased' out of her position as a parliamentarian and out of the country in a witch hunt.

The book itself called 'Mijn Vrijheid' in Dutch ('My Freedom', but published as The Infidel: The Story of My Enlightenment in English), narrates her life until recently, on how she grew up in war-torn Somalia, and fled with her family to various countries, until she sought asylum around fifteen years ago in the Netherlands in order to get out of an arranged (Muslim) marriage. She vividly describes her struggles, conflicts and the pains and laughs she's had to endure as a child. From it all you come to understand that behind every (influential) person (listed as one TIME's 100 most influential persons of the century) are those moments and memories that compell them to strive toward and for what they believe in. In her case, it's the injustices and inequalities, that especially women have to endure, spread and maintained in the name of Islam.

Which got me thinking... wishful thinking, of course. All the horrible things I've endured until now, and still have to put up with, especially coming from my brother, will perhaps one day make me more sensitive to the world and its hypocrisies and injustices.

Of course, I'm not comparing the pains and suffferings of my life to Ayaan's, or any other person. I know my pains and miseries are perhaps trivial compared to what so many more around the world have to endure every single waking moment. And of course I don't dare to claim or dream that I'll one day be some great inspiration to the world,

but maybe,

just maybe I will one day be able to look back at my life now, my life then and think that these are the very reasons why I do what I do, and why I believe in what I believe in.

Market

Finally managed to get some (school) work I had been planning to do done today. Already one week of the vacation down, and most of it I've spent in bed, still trying to recover from this cough and cold that doesn't want to go away. And not that the temperature has dropped to below zero, it seems like they're here to stay.

Also managed to go to the market to pick up 'some' (ok, a LOT) of groceries. Seems like I'm the only one at home who cares about having a balanced diet of veggies and fruits, so whenever I go I buy a lot. And I enjoy it at the market, not because it's a lot cheaper, but also it's much more 'human', in terms of the direct personal experience when you shop. Haven't been a few weeks, and a few of the vendors friendily asked where and how I've been. You don't get that at the supermarket.

The Haagse Markt happens to be (or claims to be) the biggest open air market in Europe, and is in a very diverse neighbourhood, where a lot of people with different cultural and ethnic backgrounds. It's one of these places I go and can see and feel how the much aclaimed multicultural society is in full progress right before me. People of all religions and cultures come together, to shop and talk, to mingle and exchange and sample different foods and goods from all parts of the world. And everyone is the same, regardless of our visible and invisible differences, regardless of where we came from, or what we grow up believing. Nothing like the negative stigma and smir campaigns against so-called 'allochthons' you read in the news.

For this country is our home, and we speak the same language. We respect and understand each other, we let others dress and believe in what they want. It is the world in one small place, one little moment, united as one.

Nightmare

Had one of the worst nightmares in a long, long time this morning.

I remember being woken up by the noise they make in the morning, and the next moment I was in the dream. I don't remember much, but I do remember there were arguments
and lots of shouting in the dream. Perhaps not surprising, since that's what happened two days ago. I didn't realise real life had ingrained itself so deeply on my self-conciousness.


And then there was a very unpleasant part of the dream, which was very sexual, and I remember not enjoying any of it, because it was more like abuse and harassment than (consensual) sex. I woke up a number of times, really trembling, frightened and feeling very upset, only to fall into sleep again, and continue dreaming, continue being harassed and abused. I remember vividly curling up into a small ball and holding onto myself in bed, as if to protect myself. And there was this longing, this intense longing for someone to come rescue me from the dream, from the abusers. Horrible...

I woke exhausted. And all too late.

Snow shower

(view from my balcony this morning)

Despite what happened, it's not all doom and gloom. There's still plenty of beauty to be admired all around.

• First snow shower IV
• First snow shower 2007 III
• First snow shower 2007 II
• First snow shower 2007

Freezing

I was supposed to be at work today. And I did actually wake up early enough to go to work. But I had a(nother) rough night, and still felt pretty miserable, and couldn’t stop coughing, so I called in sick.

There was snow on the balcony, a thin layer of white on the branches and a puddle of water which overnight had turned into a thin sheet of ice. The temperature had plummeted to below freezing in the last two days, and so has relations at home.

Had the most stupidest argument over the most trivial thing two nights ago. This time it was about curtains. The curtains in his room had been washed, and I hung them up again after they were dry.

Later that night I was condemned because the curtains were not hang up properly and were not ironed. Apparently, some of the hooks came loose, even though I made very sure that every single hook was in place earlier in the afternoon. It was half past twelve, past midnight, and I said I’ll iron the curtain and hang them up again tomorrow. I thought that was the end.

But no. No, no. Like always when someone else does something wrong, however trivial and however small, it’s a great sin. A tirade went on for the next ten minutes about how lazy and sloppy I am, about the terrible things I’ve done and about how again I’m neglecting my duties at home.

I repeatedly said I’ll do it again, and that this really is nothing to be so worked up about. He just didn’t stop, and went on and on. I walked out the room, and apologised. I admitted how wrong I was, how wrong I always am and always will be, and how right and perfect he is and always will be. I went to bed, and tried to sleep, but could still hear the murmur of complaints behind closed doors.

I lay in bed, wondering what I ever did to deserve this… this horrible person of a brother. It’s not enough that he made my childhood a living horror, not enough that I had to go to therapy because of the things he did. And until this day continues to torment me with his explosive temperament and bossy attitude, his hypocrisy and tyranny.

It’s not really hatred I feel toward him, more disappointment and sadness…And I pity him… pity how he doesn’t know how to talk without raising his voice… pity how he doesn’t see the good side of others and instead believes he can do no wrong… pity him because he doesn’t understand all these terrible things he says and does to people will one day come back to him. How miserable he must be.

I lay in bed, wondering how he could sleep at night.

But I couldn’t sleep myself.