Pre-departure

I cycled today, something I did not expect I would be doing, especially given that a few days ago I was completely stressed about packing my belongings and going abroad tomorrow. But somehow, all that mess in my room has been tidied away, put into suitcases and boxes (or thrown away!), and by this morning I was more or less ready to leave the Netherlands. I called a number of companies to tell them to cancel my contract, and also did some administrative errands to make sure I will be deregistered as a student.

Yesterday night I was still lying in bed early in the morning at 2am thinking about what needed to be done. But surprisingly, it went very smoothly, and the people I contacted or spoke to were really (surprisingly) helpful (by Dutch standards). So by noon, I even had time to go see my old colleagues and hug them goodbye.

My mum had been waiting patiently for me to finish all I had to do this whole week. I had promised her that I would take her cycling, and seeing it was the last day I am here with her, I really did go cycling!

It was so pleasant, and I could think of no better way to say goodbye (at least for now) to this country than by bike. We rode through the forests, stopped to watch deer and the Queen's palace, and rode onto to the bourgeois district of Wassenaar, which my mum has always enjoyed cycling through. All those beautiful mansions tucked away in the forest. Purely serene... I remembered then that when I was little I promised my mum that when I grow up I would buy one of those BIG houses in the woods so that she can retire and enjoy her life there... Sadly, I still need to earn a big salary, and to do that, I still need to finish my studies and get a decent job.... one day. A thought came over me, a grim thought, especially seeing mum's cheeks which have sunken a bit after all that therapy.... would it be too late?

But why dwell on the what if's and hows and whens, when I could be enjoying those precious few moments cycling next to my mum and seeing her so happy and so full of life? There were so many beautiful moments, when I looked at my mum from the corner of my eye, and wished I could capture that moment of her when she is smiling so naturally because she is so free and so enjoying herself in all this nature surrounding us.

Later in the evening, we went out to dinner with my brother and his girlfriend. It was a really fancy restaurant, but they insisted that it be one, to 'celebrate' my coming months of success. I just felt embarrased that we had gone out to eat because of me, but nonetheless it was a really cosy get together.

Before I leave in a few hours...

Final days

Lately I've been extremely moody and stressed. I feel it, and I don't like it, and the more I don't want to be moody, the more I feel stressed.

I think the state of my room at the moment has a lot to do with it. Everywhere, there are papers and my belongings strewn all over. I'm sifting through 24 years of my life in less than 7 days, and I need to decide what I should keep and what I can throw away. Being the nostalgic and sentimental person, I feel like I'm throwing a part of me everytime I put something in the bin... a ticket stub, my school notes, my old clothes (some which I don't even fit any more...), a stuffed toy... it's hard to let go, but then again, somethings I know I will never use or look at again, probably forever! And these are just material possessions. Not that they cost much, and much of it is probably just junk to any other person, but they hold dear sentimental value.

Problem is, I really want to get everything out of this house before I leave the country. My brother says I'm welcome to leave things behind, but I just want to have a clean break from this place. I just want to leave, and never come back here, because this is no longer my home. And why should I leave my things in a place I don't feel comfortable in? I'd rather pay a storage space to pile all the things I'm not taking with me to Canada than leave it behind here. But there's so much of it, and thinking about it just annoys me...

I guess I'm feeling moody partly (or perhaps greatly) because I'm only now starting to realise how little time I have left. I guess people panic when they realise time is really ticking, and they start to wonder why they didn't do things earlier. And so it is now with me... realising that my time here in the Netherlands is short and counting down, though I would like to take things slowly and appreciate every last moment of it. Seems like I still have so much unfinished business to take care of... contracts that I need to cancel, my studies which I need to deregister from, and all those people I need to meet and bid farewell to... I wish I could have the luxury of taking it slowly, and doing everything bit by bit without having to rush it... And most of all, have the time to see all those people I would like to see before I leave this country, maybe for good.

Going for a walk after dinner today, I went to the rose garden nearby where I've been going since I was a little boy. Seeing those flowers and trees reminded me of the time when I used to run around barefoot on the grass and admire the birds building their little nests in the ponds. But today, even though it might be the last time to go there for a long time to come, I was in no mood to admire all this beauty around me. My mind was tense and my mood depressed... I felt really bad afterwards, since I really was not pleasant company for my mum, who just wanted to enjoy the nature and the sunset... I felt really guilty and apologised for ruining her evening... and also my evening with her, since in two days I will be saying goodbye to her too.

Saying goodbye, to things, to places, to people I care and love most... it's hard, and I wish I could have the time to do it all at my own pace, to treasure every moment of it and remember every bit of detail.... but time is short. And has just gotten shorter.

Freak storm

It first rained, and most of the guests sitting on the patio were undisturbed. Then it poured, and we decided to move into the restaurant. A wise decision, as only moments later, it began to hail. Huge balls of eyes, some as big as a child's hand, striking down on the earth and breaking into endless shards as it hit the ground. Pedestrians fled for cover, and the normally tranquil square now seemed a disaster area, littered with pieces of broken ice. I sat in the comfort of the restaurant and looked outside. The waiters scrambled to keep the guests assured, and tried to drain the pools of water that had collected on the parasols and that threatened to drench the guests sitting below.

Then, in one swift move, the wind shrieked and howled and cried, as rain ripped outside like a mad creature unleashing all its might and fury. It has been a long time since I saw anything like it... and the scene was reminiscent of typhoon-like conditions. The fierce and rapid fallings drops of rain, coupled with piercing winds. Chairs slid, tables shook, and the guests, drenched and shocked, now fled inside, not even bothering with their food and drinks.

I sat in the relative calm, and admired the chaos unfold before me.

Second day of being back in the Netherlands, and brother had kindly offered to take us on a long Sunday-drive. Mainly to go to this outlet shopping mall some two hundred kilometres away for cheap deals and good buys, but incidentally we were lured by the sunshine and hills of Limburg-- a rarity in a flat and plain land as this one-- and drove further to the city of Maastricht. Besides the freak weather show, it was a pleasant drive. We enjoyed each others company, joked and chatted. And bringing us all together was mum, which looked energetic and happy-- a far cry from when she was undergoing chemo treatment not so long ago.

We talked about trips together, about what mum can do now that she has decided to take a long leave from work. Sometimes you reach a stage in life when you realise the most important thing is not just work or making money, but sharing with family moments of joy and togetherness. Whatever will be, will be, and nothing else really matters anymore. There is really no point to fret or dwell on when or what if, but just enjoy the time we have together.

Enjoy the beauty and shared moment when the sun slowly set, and cast a golden hue on the clouds and all the land below.

Home again

Close to midnight, and the engines roared as we gently lifted off. The sprawl of lights and cities below dimmed as the plane banked and headed out into the darkness of the Taiwan Straits. A 16 hour flight ahead, but for the first time in over a decade, I was not flying alone on a journey that I like to call "leaving home to go home". And there is a marked difference, as I was not overcome with sadness, but felt comforted that mum sat next to me (...even though she slept most of the time!)

First to Bangkok, we flew, and after a short stop, diagonally across continental Asia onto the Europe continent. Over Irrawaddy Delta, the plane shook and jarred violently over a long stretch of turbulent air. Into the darkness of the night I peeked, and imagined the unimginable destruction and death in the land below. But eventually we flew safely over all that, and left it all behind.


Mum is very much excited about coming to Europe with me, and I am glad that I could somehow make this trip possible. After all those intensive treatments and restless days not being able to eat much and not feeling herself, she deserves a good rest. I slept somewhat on the plane, exhausted from the last few days in Taiwan which have gone by quickly and eventfully. First a long trip south to visit friends and family, then returning to Taipei, I made a trip to go see my dad, and bid him farewell. Even hours before my flight, I was still running around buying things to fill my suitcase.

As morning dawned, and as I enjoyed my sumptuous breakfast over Europe, the clouds thinly revealed the forests and towns below. As we slowly approached Amsterdam, I could see familiar sights of polders, low-lands, wind-powered windmills and reclaimed islands. A sense of 'home-liness' came over me, and I felt emotional that after a month or so I am again returning to my second home.

My brother was kind enough to take a few hours off of work to pick us up and drive us home. The land has not much changed, though the trees and fields are now much greener compared to when I left in early May.

After a short rest, we went out to the city centre, and did some small food shopping. Amid the crowd, I felt somewhat lost for some reason... I could understand what people were saying around me, I could see the buildings and places that I have been before, but then I felt it seemed to be so long ago when I last was here. Where did this sense of alienation come from? Why did I feel like such a tourist in my own town? Maybe this is the jetlag talking.

Home again...

Home with relatives

I looked at the last picture taken of dad. He wore that red chequered shirt, the one that looked good on him... the same one that I once wore, and that he took to wear after I left it behind once.
Sitting around him at a restaurant table, my aunts and uncles, cousins and other relatives. That was over a season ago.

Down in Chiayi (嘉義) live most of my relatives, as it is where my dad was born and grew up. I like to sit down with dad's older sister (my 'big' aunt), and listen to stories about their past; stories that dad never really shared with anyone. Looking at the pictures of dad, my aunt said how he was so intelligent, and so good at writing. He even started to keep a diary as a teenager, and those words and memories are still somewhere to be found if we were to search through the old family home. I longed to be able to read what dad once wrote, so that I can understand and appreciate him a little more... even after he has gone.

I stroked dad's big smile in the picture, and imagined him sitting in the armchair opposite mine, the one he always sat in when he was at my aunt's. But this time, and forever now, it was empty.
Dad was the pride of the family, my aunt said, who studied hard, and left for the big city (Taipei) to start a new life from scratch. And how hard he worked, two, three jobs in the beginning, as a bank clerk, as an economics lecturer at a number of evenings schools, often eating very quickly between going from job to the other. I was only little then, but I remember days when I would stay up till perhaps after 10pm (late, for a little boy) and wait for dad to come home so I could tell him "Dad, how hard you have worked!" (爸爸辛苦了!) as dad entered the door. It was my evening-ly ritual... perhaps as a little boy I knew how hard dad worked to provide us with a comfortable home, and even then I was eternally grateful.

And years of hardwork and stress eventually took its toil on dad's health. More and more his health ailed, but he did not want to acknowledge it or get checked. Dad never complained, never said how tired or frustrated he was, and continued to work hard to provide us with a good education and carefree life. Who knew what he had to do, what dad had to sacrifice in the process? All he wanted was that I study well and excel to stand on my own two feet one day so that I will be able to contribute to society.

I put down the photo-album, and dad's smile disappeared with the closed page. I recounted that frightful phone call that Sunday evening, and again heard mum's jittery and weathered voice on the phone telling me to come home. How long that plane journey took, how I rushed in the pouring rain to arrive in the hospital to see dad lie there with closed eyes.... how, within a number of hours, I would be holding his hands as life and warmth slipped away from my fingers...

Dad has been gone over four months, and as I told a friend the other day, I have been thinking of dad less and less, and I am very afraid that I will one day forget him. Forgetting him is like he never lived, and that all he has done for me, all he has given me, never were...

Perhaps the fact that I had to clench my jaw to keep the tears in told me otherwise.

Unwell

It is hard to see a loved one ill and weak. I cannot describe that feeling.
Worse is when that person feels like the walls are closing in. And that feeling is infectious.

Lost thoughts in Taipei

Yesterday, mum and I went to the National Palace Museum. I insisted, because I thought it would make her forget the miseries of constantly having deadly chemicals being pumped into her through a tube in her shoulder.

Though I was a bit worried whether it would be too tiring for her, it was not actually too bad, and we had a good time. She hid her infusion equipment in her pursue and we walked around the museum admiring all sorts of artifacts, and even enjoyed a good lunch at the restaurant next door. Just like that, the day flew by, and it was already late afternoon when we arrived home again.

Then, as if from one instance to the next, the drugs took effect. I had a meal of vegetables, mushrooms and dumplings prepared. She took a few bites, and felt nausea rise. Within moments she rushed to the bathroom, from where I heard gagging sounds.

It was painful to hear, and mood dampening to watch. Worst thing, mum kept on apologising that she cannot eat what I had cooked for her... and even at one point apologising for the fact that she was ill and that she was letting us (my brother and me) worry about her wellbeing.

The rest of last night and this morning she was lethargic and pale. Sitting did not seem right, and walking around did not seem right. Even lying down felt uncomfortable. Nothing she did seemed right, and it is always like this every time she has chemo. Thankfully this morning the infusion medicine had finished, and we could go to the hospital to take out the tubing. But then the nausea returned, together with the tiredness and sad looking posture.

I sat next to her, laid next to her... I put my hand on her back as she slept, imagining that my hand could miraculously such out the cancerous tumours inside her intestines. But, of course, no way can I ever take the pain or suffering away... no way can I imagine the misery and pain of being so struck down by the medicine that you feel no enthousiasm for any food or anything that you previously so enjoyed doing.

And how many people in the world must live with this... and how many family and relatives must also live with this!

National Palace Musuem

Something my professor in Chinese Politics at SOAS once said has always stuck with me:
"If you only go to Taiwan to visit the National Palace Museum, then this alone will be worth the trip".

Of course, there is much more to see, eat and do in Taiwan than just the museum, but my professor was right. The National Palace Museum ranks up there with the world-class museums in London (the British Museum), Paris (the Louvre) and New York (the Metropolitan), and is famed for its huge collection of Chinese art and culture.

It is easy to see why. Situated between green mountains in the suburbs of Taipei, the museum has over half a million artifacts that date back to five thousands years before the common era (BCE). Only a tiny fraction of the collection can be on display, while the rest are hidden inside a huge cave in the mountain behind it. Given the 3 month display cycle, they say it will take twelve years to see everything.

Admittedly the collection was largely 'taken' from China at the end of the Chinese Civil War. Then, with the help of the Americans, the failed Kuomingtang regime gradually fled to Taiwan, taken much the of gold and precious treasures of ancient China with them. But, as my professor said, it was perhaps a good thing that all these treasures are now still preserved in Taiwan, because much of it would have been lost in the frenzy of the Cultural Revolution. Thus the Forbidden Palace in Beijing, where most of the artifacts were originally located, today stands largely bare. While in Taipei visitors are able to enjoy magnificent works of calligraphy, pottery, masonry and the symbolisms and longevity of Chinese culture throughout the millennia.

While much of the rest of the world lived in caves (some 6000BCE), bronze ceremonial vessels were already being shaped and made in the large expanse of what is known as China today. Wars, disasters man-made and natural, upheavals, and the rise and fall and rise of states together mark the long history of China. It is a country (if ever it can be called one) of great resilience and vigour, with a rich heritage, yet is philosophically humble and respectful to all others. (At least in times of peace). In times when China has historically been powerful and more territorial agressive, one should perhaps heed Napoleon's advice to "Let the dragon sleep". This applies no less today.

Even the Ancient Greeks would probably have been awed at those statues of elaborately carved and gilded Buddhas and dieties, and the scriptures that describe Taoist-Way and the wisdom of Confucius and Mencius. This is after all where the wheel, paper and fireworks were all invented. And in the process great works of art and culture have thrived. Further, there are beautiful calligraphy writings that capture the essence of human creativity and the flow of nature, right next to ornate paintings depicting life in the luxury of emperor's palace. Fine jade works and ivory carvings, ceramics and vases stand admirably under intense lighting that bring out their every curve and the careful craftsmanship.

Culture, religion, philosophy and daily life in a peasant village and in the imperial court can all be gleamed from the eye to detail and finesse in every single item on display. A civillisation's greatness is often captured by the remnants of its dynasties, and certainly ancient China had many, many that outlived those in Europe or elsewhere. (see part of the amazing collection here.)

The bus wound on the road, turning with the road, which in turn turned with the mountain face. On one side, a sharp fall, down to the blue open ocean, on the other, mountains, lush and countless that stretch for as far as the eye can see.

With each turn, there was another breathtaking view... of the ocean, and the mountains that jut into it that seem to stretch into the distance like the long, winding body of a resting dragon. Another turn, and the scenery changes into large valleys and majestic mountains surrounded by clouds near their roofs.

Taking another little break with my mum-- and away from my thesis writing-- we joined a two-day excursion to Hualien (花蓮) with her exercise group. Everyone on the bus was over fifty, but still very healthy and happy and enjoying their retirement, and seemed to be a bit surprised that a "handsome young boy" like me (their words, not mine!) would want to travel with an "old people's group". But any chance to see more of my little island is welcome... even if it meant sitting through the (sometimes) unbearably loud karaoke singing by these aged grandmas and grandpas.

The way Taiwanese people travel is in style. The bus had leather reclining seats, there was tea and coffee service, and of course, the unmissable karaoke set and surround sound speakers (with bass), with LCD screens at various points throughout the bus. Taiwanese people love to sing, all sorts of songs in Japanese, Taiwanese and Mandarin. As soon as they get on the bus, they start to 'order' songs they want, and pass the microphone around when their song shows up. Even those who can't, do, and there is no shame in giving your throat a little workout, and the others in the bus clap and cheer and sing along in encouragement.



Earlier we just passed through Asia's second longest road tunnel, the 12.9km Hsuehshan Tunnel (雪山隧道), and diagonally crossed from the northern part of Taiwan to the eastern seaboard. The tunnel took as long to complete as its number of kilometres in length, and amazed engineers worldwide due to the sheer complexity and difficulty of the project. Deemed an Asian "Man Made Marvel" by Discovery, the tunnel cuts through 6 earthquake fault lines, "ninety-eight fracture zones, and thirty six high-pressure groundwater" aquitards. During the construction a tunnel boring machine (similar to the ones used to build the Channel Tunnel) was completely buried underground after a rock collapse. Millions of litres of underground water poured for days without end when the boring broke an ancient water acuqiver. Twenty-five workers lost their lives in the project, but in doing so managed to complete a long-planned highway network that would link the northern and eastern parts of Taiwan to bring more prosperity to the often neglected Pacific side of the island.

Within half an hour, we had escaped the dense city sprawl of Taipei and arrived in the country's most natural side.

The next day, we ventured in the misty morning to Taroko National Park ((太魯閣國家公園). Torrential rain was forecast, but even so nothing would stop our visit to perhaps the most stunning showcase of Taiwan's remarkable variety of natural beauty. 'Taroko' is the word for "magnificent and beautiful" in the native tongue of the Truku Aboriginals who reside in the region. True to its name, the national park centres around a deep gorge, and covers a dozens snow-capped peaks that tower over 3000m, including Yushan (Jade Mountain), which is the highest mountain in Northeast Asia. In the gorge runs a river that winds between the remarkable marble cliffs, finding its source deep inside the mountainss, and ending up in the pristine blue Pacific Ocean downstream. Here, the layered formation of the rocks in the region is clearly visible, a testament to the compressed limestone rock that has fossilised and become precious marble and jade gems of all colours that can only be found in the area. The topography of Taiwan is unique because the entire island started to rise from the ocean floor billions of years ago due to the Eurasian and Filipino tectonic plates' constant friction. This explains why the mountains on the island, which cover more than two-thirds of the land mass, has a layered formation, and each mountain range seems to be higher than the one before, and why they continue to grow in height under the immense forces of the Earth's moving plates.

Our minibus puffed upwards on the paved road that wound around the mountain sides. Construction on these roads were begun in the previous century by the Japanese when they conquered the island, and continued by the Chinese Nationalist government to serve as a vital connection between the eastern and western parts of the island. The Cross-Island Highway, as it later became known, was completely in 1960, and was carved entirely by manpower. Army veterans and Aboriginal Formosans were involved in the construction road, and more surprising, with only pick-axes and dynamite, they managed to build the 190km highway, which spans dozens of tunnels and bridges through some of the toughest geographical terrain. More than two hundred perished in the construction, and here and there are shrines dedicated to the hardship of these men (and, I believe also, women).

I climbed down to the riverbed, and watched with awe the mountains around me, the tops of which were shyly shrouded in white fog and light dew. The pools were in places shallow and green, in others deep, rushed and deep, deep blue, an indication of the unseen depth that lurks beneath, and the deadly rapid that can catch an unsuspecting tourist offguard. The water was cold, and refreshing, and the sounds of it rushing through over the smoothened pebbles and into little seams and streams downstream soothingly calmed. Suddenly, I felt little sensations on my feet. Looking down, little camouflaged fish had clustered around my feet and begun to nibble on me. It tickled, and filled me with joy to see such curious cute little creatures swarm around me. Later I learned that these fish are a protected species, and are apparently very picky about what they eat. My bare naked feet seemed to attract their interest. Swallows swiftly swooped around the valley, returning occasionally to their nests on the cliff-face, as insects echoed in a hushed symphony with the flowing water.

I have been to Taroko already four times, and this will not be my last. Each time is like a first time, as the faces of the mountains changes every single moment with the passing of clouds and the passage of flowing spring water. Each time, I feel such a powerful connection with the land and the water. Perhaps it is the romantic and mystic thought that my forefathers (and foremothers) lived and hunted in these very mountains. But I think it is my deep love for the Earth's natural beauty, which easily outlasts and dwarfs any creation man can ever conjure. Mountains, piercing intrepidly above the clouds and peering across the land below, seem to capture that strength and awe that one could only hope to imitate. And the rivers, creaks and streams that swim can equally be as inspiring in the way it can change its course and flow, but be steady and never ceasing. Time and words lose their meanings in nature.




To my surprise, the couple playing further upstream turned out to be Netherlanders from Limburg, and we soon conversed and exchanged our awe for the surrounding landscape.

"Zoiets zie je in Nederland niet, he?"
["You don't see something like this in the Netherlands, right?"]
We agreed, and the lady praised how beautiful Taiwan is, which made me somewhat proud.

Heat

She was an old lady, with wrinkles on her face, deep like scars, on her cheeks and beneath her eyes. She pushed an equally old-looking man, most likely her husband, up the ramp and into the hospital ward. In the sweltering heat, it was a difficult task, and for this old lady with age, it seemed even more so.

Again I was at the hospital. A busy place, with nurses and doctors, with patients old and young, crippled and able bodied, yet invisibly ill inside. It never is a pleasant place to visit, not with the scent of medicine, with the sorrowful faces of patients, and tears of relatives. It was the same hospital where three months ago I lost my dad.

On the way to the hospital, as we walked through an underpass, mum revealed more of dad's last few weeks.

"...I saw him here, but he did not see me. His face was glum, and he was lost in thought. It was the end of January, and I suspect it was the day when he heard that he needed to undergo chemo-therapy. It was the same day when the doctor told me I needed chemo too..."

I imagined how heavy dad's heart must have felt then, how he did not have anyone to share that burden with... or at least, did not want to share that burden with anyone else. I imagined his sad face, his racing thoughts and worries, and how perhaps very afraid he must have been. Perhaps he knew himself then already that this may even mean the end...

For some reason, being home these days, I am often thinking of dad, and missing him. Perhaps it is because I see his portrait everyday, and am reminded by his absence almost constantly by the many things that he used that still lie around the house. And hearing that story today from my mum adds to this sentiment of missing dad.

But at the moment, mum's situation is not much better. Three days of chemo-treatment, and she is now left exhausted and energyless. She has not felt this bad ever before, she says, and cannot eat much, even when I cook things she would normally like to eat.

It is really painful to see... see that a loved one is so weakened and changed by an illness, and to be helpless to alleviate that pain and misery.

Little girl

She was probably no more than five. Perhaps even younger. A pink sweater, pink jacket, pink shoes and pink little socks. Pink from head to toe, the colour of a girl in the prime of her childhood. But she wore a hat, a cough mask, and a deadly illness.

I have yet to see a younger patient in the oncology ward. Then again, perhaps I have been privileged not to. At first I thought the little girl was there to be with her mum, like I was. But the thinning few hairlets beneath her gray hat said otherwise. The nurse came, and from under the girl's bright pink sweater produced a long tube into which a large dose of medicine was injected through a big syringe. Almost too big compared to the girl's small size. I cringed at the sight... and imagined the fluids enter the girl's blood vessels and saw the molecules of toxins flood her body in search of the cancerous cells eating her from the inside out.

While the nurse gave the mother a number of tubes and a number of instructions, the girl hopped happily away to another table to begin breakfast. My mum rested in the chair next to mine, tired eyes closed as her own medicine was injected. I looked down to read my paper...

"Over 70.000 feared dead in Sichuan"...
"2million affected in Myanmar"...
"Protests mount as food and oil prices rise"...

As usual, the faces and words of the world's human(itarian) tragedies paint the frontpage. In the very room, the sound of choking and gagging made me look up again. Out of the girl's mouth soft coughing sounds echoed in the quiet room. She put down her chopsticks, and dropped the eggroll on the table, unable to take another bite. She gagged even more, as if wanting to throw up, but nothing came out. Was that a tear in the corner of her eyes? A painful scene to watch.

"Ay, you've only taken three bites! How will you grow strong and big if you eat so little?" the mother said softly, patting her daughter on the back.
"I can't eat any more...", the girls answered, sat back and watched her dangling feet and peered around the room. A drab-looking room filled with the smell of chemicals and disinfectants, as well as sick patients, of which she has become one as well.

Indeed... how will the little girl ever grow big and strong?

Travel Pictures!

Below are links to a pictures from my travels recently:

• Kaohsiung, Hualien

• London
  

• The new Airbus A380
• 
  

• European Parliament

The Israel travel series include:

• Israel: Rosh Ha Nikra
  
• Israel: Tel Aviv and Jaffa
  
• Israel: Jerusalem and Jericho
  
• Israel: Dead Sea and Desert
  

Around Formosa

Long, long ago, when European sailors cruised the Eastern Pacific in search of new lands to explore, they saw an island rise vaguely in the tranquil blue ocean. Dolphins, and perhaps even big whale, may have greeted them as these sailors sailed closer. Lush mountains, towering majestically ever higher over one another, caught their imaginations. What beauties lie there, what treasures are hidden, they may have wondered. "Ilha Formosa!", the sailors exclaimed in their native Portuguese. "Beautiful Island" the land they had just stumbled across indeed really is.

Fast forward a few hundred years, and a traveler has just made a similarly long and arduous journey to Formosa, back to his roots... back to discover what beauties lie there still waiting to be explored.

After the rather emotional ceremony commemorating 100 days after my dad's death, mum and I decided to take a trip down south. We boarded the Taiwan High Speed Rail, and within 90 minutes found ourselves some a couple of hundreds of kilometres in the south of the island, where the climate is tropical and at times dramatically different from the damp and temperate north. An uncle of mine lives in the port city of Kaohsiung (高雄), traditionally the industry capital of Taiwan. A decade ago people would have thought of the city as a run-down, heavily polluted and industrised, and covered in smog and with a smelly river running through it. But today it is much different. A new metro system just opened, and the city is booming with tall skyscrapers and glitzy shopping malls and department stores. The pace of life is much slower than in Taipei, the streets better organised and less crowded, and the locals are much more friendlier. Where defunct warehouses and paddy fields used to be, today there are new residential areas and big green parks.

We were taken aback by how much has changed. Next to sampling the local delicacies, we toured the sights in and around Kaohsiung with my uncle's family. Like always, my two little cousin were really a joy to be around with. Though I only see them once every year or so, they have really grown, not only in size but also matured much as well. They somehow remind me every time of my brother and I when we were little, and they even look and behave like us! I played with them, went cycling with them at night, and they seemed all too happy to go wherever I went or do whatever I wanted to do, as if I was some kind of idol for them, which takes some getting used to.

Together, we toured an old sugar plantation in Chiaotou (橋頭) , and like all tourist attractions in Taiwan on a weekend, it was full of people, munching or drinking away. Escaping the crowds we walked towards an almost empty part of the plantation, where old Japanese-styled houses have stood for since the beginning of the last century. Most of the houses are rows of dormitories, with broken windows and missing doors and walls as evidence of the neglect and abandon. A shame, I thought to myself, but again a typical phenomenon of a newly industrialised country and society like Taiwan, which seeks to build bigger, newer and taller buildings, but fail to recognise the beauty or cultural significance of the heritage or history of our ancestors. Nowhere else in the world can you find red-brick walls, slanted black-tiled roofs, sliding doors and tatami floors all in the same structure. All these simple elements reflect the many influences Oriental and Occidental that the islanders have undergone throughout the centuries, which combine to make interesting architectural and anthropological study.

A little railway line ran next to these dormitories, and in its glory days used to transport tonnes of sugar cane up and down the country for export. Today sugar no longer enjoys the prices or demand it used to, and in its stead, computer chips and wafers have become Taiwan's main export. Nowadays, only a limited stretch of the line is still in use, and sugar cane has become the few tourists who are willing to bear the smell and racket of a slow chugging diesel engine. The line runs through rice paddies, and unfortunately also rampant graveyards... or "nightclubs", as locals call them, because graveyards are reputed to be more 'alive' at night.

On the isle of Chijin (旗津), just outside of Kaohsiung Port, we enjoyed the afternoon sunset, and watched big cargo ships go by. There we stood, at the mouth of one of the world's busiest ports, and climbed the hills to where once a formidable fortress stood to ward off pirates. Across the water was the red-brick building which housed the former British Consulate to Formosa, which was in use in the days when the big powers still had interest in this island. Even up to the early seventies, American naval ships and marines were stationed at Kaohsiung to defend against the threat across the Taiwan Strait. Today, only cargo ships and fishing vessels come and go, and those days seem long gone. Dipping my feet in the water, that seemed to grow stronger and stronger by the minute, I looked out into the distance, and saw a low haze of mist shroud the horizon. Thinking about it, my feet have touched so many different waters in the last few weeks, and it still seemed surreal that I was actually there, with my mum and relatives once again.

The village of Meinung (美濃) has preserved much of the culture and traditions of the Hakka people, which are one of the four peoples of Taiwan (the others being Taiwanese, Chinese and 12 different Aboriginal peoples). The Hakka are wellknown for their attitude of hardwork and togetherness, and since their immigration to the island have grouped together to form successful agricultural communes that dot the island which produce abundant and high-quality crops and rice. Most famous for their paper-umbrellas and signature blue dresses for women, in the village we could also see lots of toys made of bamboo and broken tin cans and jugs that bring back nostalgic memories of a Taiwan before concrete and glass buildings, before the age of 7-Eleven and Starbucks.

In the surrounding villages were beautiful mountains that stretch for hundreds of kilometers eastwards and northward to form the Central Mountain Range. In the light rain, we traveled into the mountains a bit, snaking through narrow roads that followed a dried riverbed deeper and deeper inland, where the fog grew dense and the cicada calls and birdsongs grew more intense. Down in a creek we played, cooling our tired feet in the water, while competing who could throw stones and make them bounce and bounce across the surface. In the distance, the tops of mountains seemed to appear and vanish behind a thin veil of mist and drizzle like shy children unwilling to show their faces too long.

But it did not take long before I could see what lay behind that wall of mountains that stretched into the distance. Who would have thought that my uncle kindly invited us to stay at a resort located in Hualien in Eastern Taiwan, and even bought us the train tickets to get there. He said my mum really needed a break, from city life, from her therapy and from everything else that has been happening. And so we boarded the train and for the first time ever, I traveled on the
South Link line (南迴鐵路), which links Kaohsiung with the less accessible parts of the island. The line effectively makes a U-turn before heading northwards again along the eastern sea coast.

After passing through a number of very long tunnels, as my eyes were just getting used to the bright sunlight, there, before me, lay the blue, blue Pacific. Beautiful turquoise closer to the black sandy shoreline, turning darker blue in the distance, with white waves washing silently onto the shore. In the distance, little fishing boats rocked gently on the waves, while vague silhouettes of offshore islands loomed in the outer seas. On the other side, a row of mountains, lush and green, each with different faces, all competing with one another to stand tall and broad in the radiant sunlight. The train slid through the valleys, snaking through tunnel after tunnel, and climbed along cliff edges until eventually we reached our destination.

The weather was not all too pleasant to begin with when we arrived, and it rained the whole afternoon and night. We walked through the resort, and chitchatted the time away on a rocking chair near the pond, where swarms of fish begged with open mouths for us to feed them.
Though it was raining, the birds sang and flew around us freely, and in the distance mountains changed their faces with the coming and waning of drifting clouds of mist. The next morning, we woke up early, to a lightly overcast sky, and decided to go cycling in the area. On our bikes, we rode to the riverside, across the broad estuary and ventured into the lands of the Amis Aboriginals (阿美族).

For thousands of years, this island originally belonged to the dozen or so Aboriginal tribes. More than anyone else who live on Taiwan, the aboriginals are the true Formosa islanders, who have for generations lived in harmony with the land and the sea, worshiped the rocks and mother nature, and prayed to their ancestors and the skies for a good harvest. Some anthropologists say that given the strong linguistic and cultural ties with the Austronesian people, it may be that those Aboriginals in the Polynesians and Australia are descendants of Formosan aboriginals who sailed the oceans tens of thousands of years ago. With the influx of Han (Hokkien/Hakka) immigrants starting around four hundred years ago, the Aboriginals were forced to give up their lands and to take refuge in the mountains. For a long time, the government wrongly labeled Aboriginals as "Mountain People" (山地人), for it was through military actions and forced expulsions that many of the Aboriginals moved towards the mountain areas.


Though many of the Ami (and other Aboriginals) have today been assimilated into Taiwanese society, their culture and history remains intricately woven with the nature and land, and today ecotourism as well as agriculture seems to be their main sources of income. The government has made reserves to protect these rare peoples, whose language and population are dwindling fast due to the lure of urban life elsewhere. Unemployment as well as alcoholism is rampant in these forgotten rural areas of the country. Few walk around aboriginal villages in their traditional clothes, but they are very recognisable by their darker skin tones and much bigger and sturdier body build and facial features. Especially the Amis women are praised for their beauty, and social life is reputed to be based on a matriarchy. Also well-known is their singing and chanting, of which the Amis "Jubilant Drinking Song" was illegallly stolen by Enigma to produce their world-wide hit "Return to Innocence".

We cycled past paddies of rice, fields of watermelon, as well as plantations overgrown with passion fruit, bananas, pineapples and sugar-apples (locally known as Sakya (釋迦), named after the Buddha Sakyamuni, because the fruit resembles the shape of his head). Wild Formosan White Lilies decorate the sides of the road, while mountains stretched like curved back of a resting majestic dragon into the horizon. Birds sang gaily, and butterflies fluttered around in the green grass, as wild dogs slept in the middle of the road. No wonder the locals are so at peace with their surroundings and with nature. In the valley below, there were the ugly and polluting quarry and nosiy, massive trucks. These monsters ferried free sand dug from the riverbed and rocks cut from the mountains to be sold in the cities that demanded more and more cement and concrete for the erection of unearthly tall buildings in the drive for urbanisation and economic growth.

We left the sleepy village at the foothills of the mountains, and headed home. Back to the urban jungle, where the singsong of birds are drowned out by the din of cars and construction, back to the overgrown mass of buildings, where trees and greens seem a rarity. Another face of Taiwan, hundreds of kilometres away, has somehow managed to maintain its beauty and serenity.

100 Days

It was difficult to hold back the tears. After all this time, after all the exciting and eventful days since February, I was kneeling before dad again. The scent of incense filled the air, together with the hummed chanting of a Buddhist prayer. It was so very still in the temple, while outside the winds howled and seas waved to welcome the oncoming storm brewing in the Pacific.

Earlier this morning I had another intense dream that left me emotionally drained. In the dream I saw a Formosan Mountain Dog, which lay on the ground, struggling for life, its chest heaving as it tried to catch a few last breaths. Immediately I was overwhelmed, and I could feel my eyes bulge and nose start to water from the strong sympathy I felt for the dying creature. Its fur was so soft, such a warming kind of brown, and its eyes so powerful, yet a soothing type of black. Coincidentally, the other day I saw a similar kind of dog, which came up to me and we bonded almost instantly.

Back at the temple, we commemorated 100 Days since dad's death. My mum and I had prepared 12 dishes of food, rice and soup, and offered it before dad. As tradition dictates, the 100th day is an important event, and should be celebrated grandiosely with an elaborate feast and offerings. We bought stacks of paper money, and 'treasure chests' filled with (imitation) gold, clothes, shoes, cash and jewelries that we burned so that dad could use it in the Underworld. On the boxes of offerings we had to write correct address and name, so that it is delivered correctly to dad. A fascinating ritual that has been passed down throughout the millennia, and that is still so much more alive in Taiwanese society than anywhere else in the world. It was a lot of paper, and a lot of smoke and pollution. I dryly commented that perhaps it might have been much easier to just offer a credit card to dad, perhaps a Visa, since it is accepted almost everywhere.

I told dad about the things that have been happening, and that are still to happen... the success of my work, the congratulations, praise and standing ovation I received from some 200 people... the excitement and fun I had on my travels to Israel and elsewhere... the scholarship I received for the summer course in Spain starting end of June... the fellowship from Boeing I received that will realise my dream of studying in Canada... Will he be proud of me, I wondered... Will he also bask in my joy and glory, as I move on and forward with my life, and seem to be enjoying one spell of good luck after another? Thinking of that, I felt greatly saddened. But somewhere deep within, I also felt so grateful to my dad, because somehow he seems to be helping me and guiding me, even though he is no longer there with me.

It was this thought, one that I have in those moments of sadness and times of pride, that continue to accompany as I go on.

Mission Accomplished!

This "Mission Accomplished" is no empty a-la-Bush gesture. I rushed up the five flights of stairs as my mum opened the door home. She was so happy to see me, the joy expressed in her broad smile. I set down my suitcase and gave her a big hug. I am home.

This whole covert mission codenamed Operation "Go Home" took almost two months of meticulous planning, and every bit of it was executed splendidly. An international mission involving a strong Coalition of the Willing (to let Me Stay for Free) based in London and Singapore, three cross-border flights totaling 17 flight hours, including one on the latest Airbus A380. And it was done on a low-budget and with one suitcase, as well as the cooperation and silence of those few people who knew of my mission.

The objective, to surprise my mum and spend some time with her, and also commemorate 100 days since my dad's death. The target (my mum) really had no idea, not even the slightest hint or inkling, which really contributed to the mission's success even more!

Funny thing is, throughout these number of weeks I had dropped hints here and there to my mum. I had for example asked her a number of times to confirm when the big ceremony for my dad would take place. And last week, I had told her I would be going to London, and going away "for a number of days". On Sunday, Mother's Day, I called my mum and told her that I would be "going home on Tuesday". And last night as soon as I landed in Taipei, I called her and told her that I was at the airport, and that I would "be home within the hour".

At first, she just thought I was back in The Netherlands, despite the fact there was a loud person in the background speaking in Taiwanese. A hilarious moment, and I thought that would give everything away.

"Do you know at which airport I am?" She had no clue.
"Taoyuan International Airport!" There was a little silence, and then the shock. "WHAT?! You came home? WHY?!" she asked, still in disbelief. Later I learnt that as soon as she heard I was home, tears almost flowed from joy. I was laughing out loud, feeling like a mischievous boy up to no good, but knowing that this entire plan was something I am glad I had been able to accomplish, and that it will hopefully give her the boost of energy and joy to go on despite the odds and pains of her illness.

I rode home, feeling like the bus was not going as fast as it could. Outside, the familiar sights, lights and buildings of Taipei arose horizon, and soon enough I was in the midst of the busi-ness of the city again.

Three flights and a flight of stairs, and I was home again.

Leaving Singapore

Sitting in the departure lounge of Changi Airport. Free wireless internet for all, dazzling marble concourses, good variet of shops and restaurants, massage chairs and foot therapy for those jetlagged travellers. No wonder for a number of years this aiport has won the
Best Airport of the World Award.

I have actually been here a number of times, and seen most of what this little country no bigger than the Randstad has to offer (and for someone like me who does not like shopping and malls, there seems not to be a lot). But each time I have a good time, thanks to my friend (of course...) and the mix of cultures Singapore is famous for.

There may not be chewing gum or Playboy (let alone Playgirl) for sell in Singapore, but something must be said for this miraculous city-state that is so orderly and squeaky clean. People hear may speak with an odd broken form of English, but it is a living testament to a country and culture that is composed of the bests of Chinese, Malay, Tamil and Western peoples that are able to function successful in a truly multicultural and multiethnic society. For someone like me, who speaks Mandarin and Hokkien and English (among others), it feels comforting that these languages are used so interchangeably, sometimes in the very same sentence, and people can still understand what you mean. A blend that somehow fuses wonderfully together and brings out the best of differnt worlds. Little enclaves of different peoples with different origins and religions lie next to one another, just as a mosque, Buddhist temple and Christian chapel can be easily found as close neighbours. Next to colonial style government buildings are staggeringly tall office towers and glitzy shopping malls, overlooking a waterfront that see some of the world's heaviest shipping traffic, with in the backdrop Sentosa Island that is awash with theme parks and artificial beaches and palm trees. And despite the one-party rule, and stories of deported critical journalists or bankrupted opposition party members (I will stop here before I test the limits and am denied boarding...), the Lee family has managed to transform what used to be a backwater, mosquito infested swampy island into a high-tech and sophisticated economic centre and export hub in the Asia-Pacific. This is what makes this country Uniquely Singapore (the official slogan of the Singapore tourism board).

As wonderful as Singapore is, it is time to leave again, and within moments from now I will be boarding a low-budget plane. JetStar Asia (owned by Qantas) that will take me home to Taiwan. The airline is so low-budget that my boarding pass is nothing more than a piece of receipt you could easily mix up with something you get after buying a cup of coffee.

But at least it is cheap, and cheap travel means I can far and wide, and go home.

Airbus A380

As the newly selected Boeing Fellow, I have a duty to be critical of the rival's latest product. And so I will begin.

Immediately upon boarding, I could feel the sweltering heat. Though I had just boarded the Singapore Airlines flight from London to Singapore, it felt like I was already in the tropics though the plane was still grounded and delayed by almost quarter of an hour due to congested traffic. This is probably more due to the overcrowding at Heathrow, which was still fighting with a run-down and leaky Third-World-Class Terminal 1... or perhaps the fact that Heathrow was still getting adjusted to the baggage handling problems of the brand-new Terminal 5 building, which had cost a fortune, and managed to lose 25,000 lugguages and cancel 5000 flights in its first days of operations. You would think the world's largest and newest airliner should enjoy priority in taking off, certainly as compared to the other planes on the tarmac, my plane was dwarfing in size and awing to look at. But we were queing at position number seven, before we could hurtle down that runway.

So you could almost see the heat move in the cabin, and moments later I learned from the captain that the air conditioning system had "malfunctioned". The ground staff could not repair the problem, so the 500plus passengers were left sweating in their seats, fanning themselves with whatever pieces of paper they could get their hands on. It was not until we had reached a good cruising altitude that the temperatures in the minus fifties managed to cool the cabin down.

I picked up the In-Flight entertainment system, and was at first glance impressed that there was even the opportunity for those busy travellers to do word-processing, manage their pictures and even some PDF-file reading in the comfort of their own seats. But a few hours into the flight, while trying to jump between the number of movies that were on offer, the TV malfunctioned. I quickly turned off the TV, but it would switch on again automatically and display the "blue screen of death". It was as if the screen was toying with me, and after a number of times turning the thing on and off, I was left feeling very embarrased that I had clumsily just broken something on Singapore Airlines' flagship aircraft. I swear I am normally not such a technology retard.

Luckily for me, all the TV needed was a few hours to cool down, and it seemed to miraculously repair itself. In the meantime, I entertained myself by walking around the double-decked airplane and the later pride of Airbus, and catching glimpses of the wing flap that my very own brother had been involved in designing.

And to be honest, this is where the criticisms end. I was in love with the airplane even before it made its first debut flight back in October 2007, and I had especially flown to London to take advantage of what currently is only one of two routes operated by Singapore Airlines with the new Airbus A380. Admitted, there were delays after delays as cash-strapped EADS (parent company of Airbus) tried to assure investor that the plane would be delivered ontime, but the wait was worth it. A maginificent flying giant with a wingspan of almost 80meters and standing at almost eight storeys high, it was impressive just to look at. I was filled with pride and felt like people were oogling me as I boldly entered the specially-designed departure gate.

I had chosen my seat online, and decided to sit on the main-deck, right next to the window overlooking the wing. My brother had specially asked me to take pictures of the flaps that would retract and extend during take-off and landing, and it did feel somwhat comforting that that very vital piece of the plane was designed by him.

It was difficult to imagine how this 500 tonne machine could ever take-off, but take off it did, with such grace and so little noise. Normally, other planes at take-off would make hideous gargling noises as the engines power up and swallow all the energy that they could muster for this critical moment of flight. But for the A380, and four Trent900 engines, it was like a breeze. After racing for a few moments, the plane gently lifted off of the ground, as you could see jets of air make their way over the wings. I could have slept through the whole procedure, if it were not for the fact that I was sitting directly above the landing gears that made a loud thumping noise as it retracted shortly after lifting off. Plane-spotters on the ground looked on with awe as we took off and banked almost a complete circle to follow the correct direction towards Asia.

In the cabin that was longer than the rival Boeing747 by more than a meter, the seats were comfortably placed in a 3-4-3 configuration, which meant even in Economy Class, there was plenty of leg room, and plenty of space to resist the incursions of over-weight passengers next to you. The cabin was warmly lit and had a modern feel to it that was accentuated with modern-art paintings that hung on the bare walls. The lighting system can even dim or intensify gradually for the passengers to stir from their sleep before breakfast could be served. The seats could be leaned back quite a lot, and this did not come at great discomfort to whoever was unfortunate to sit behind you. The table in front of you had even a little mirror you could use to do your make up; essential for the vain international law student who needs to look his very best at all times.

Unfortunately, for those sitting on the lower deck we could no go upstairs. But from pictures, I could see how grand and luxurious the new Suites were, which allowed those who could afford it the comfort and privacy of a personal compartment. Cheap students, even those with a scholarship in Air and Space Law, had to make do with coach class, but it was no less a pleasant experience.

Twelve hours the flight took, and I do not think I managed to sleep much. Most likely due to the excitement of being the first person I know to have the privilege of flying such a modern and beautiful plane, but partly also because it was 'morning' for me. And in those rare moments when I could get a little wink, the stewardesses had come around to sell the sought-after models of the A380, which by the time I had woken up, were unfortunately all sold out.

But my pictures and own experience were mine alone, and mine alone to take with me at all times.

Reflections before a journey

I left the office for the last time. It has been over one and a half years since I started being involved in that job, at first a lowly assistant, and more recently a coordinator. I know, leaving that door, that I had nothing to be concerned about, because I did the best I could to the very best of my abilities, and I have nothing to regret, nothing to ponder on. I could just leave the office, and that job, and leave.

And I am moving on. In the past weeks I have been really travelling a lot and to far away places. Now, it seems I will be going even further, not just because I am flying back home to Taiwan to surprise my mum, but also because I have been selected to attend this prestigious summer course in Spain in July and August, and straight after that I will be flying off to Canada to begin a new life. Travel, travel, it seems I am really moving and going places.

Sometimes things are happening so fast and all at once, I wish time would stop a bit for me to reflect. On what has been happening, on how it is changing my life (for better or for worse), and what direction I should go. But really, I am someone who seems to just go, oftentimes without thinking too much where I am going. And somehow life has taken me places exciting and unexpected.

I guess I am very fortunate... or just patient, and as people say, good things come to those who wait. Some four months ago I submitted the application for what people say is the best university in Canada, and a reputable one in North America, and even ranked 12th in the whole world. Anyways, besides all this fame and glory, I submitted the application, not thinking too much about it, and not even sure whether I would be taken. Alongside the application, I also applied for a great scholarship, which will basically cover almost all costs of study and living. I wrote these pompously worded applications and motivation letters, praising the institution I am going to, and saying what great experiences and grades I have had.

Four months passed by without a word. And suddenly, the mail comes through the post, saying I have been chosen to be admitted to the course, and also that I will receive a fellowship position provided by the Boeing Company! Two excitements in as many number of days!

Compared to half a year ago, things are really looking up, and I am really moving on. For this all, I am extremely grateful... to all those people who have supported and encouraged me to go on and go through with what then seemed like a crazy and life-changing plan, but what today is within finger's reach. And somehow, the other day as I was reading the acceptance letter, my mind thought of my dad... how proud he must be! How he has been there, to support and encourage me as well, in his special silent ways.

Reflections before a journey

I left the office for the last time. It has been over one and a half years since I started being involved in that job, at first a lowly assistant, and more recently a coordinator. I know, leaving that door, that I had nothing to be concerned about, because I did the best I could to the very best of my abilities, and I have nothing to regret, nothing to ponder on. I could just leave the office, and that job, and leave.

And I am moving on. In the past weeks I have been really travelling a lot and to far away places. Now, it seems I will be going even further, not just because I am flying back home to Taiwan to surprise my mum, but also because I have been selected to attend this prestigious summer course in Spain in July and August, and straight after that I will be flying off to Canada to begin a new life. Travel, travel, it seems I am really moving and going places.

Sometimes things are happening so fast and all at once, I wish time would stop a bit for me to reflect. On what has been happening, on how it is changing my life (for better or for worse), and what direction I should go. But really, I am someone who seems to just go, oftentimes without thinking too much where I am going. And somehow life has taken me places exciting and unexpected.

I guess I am very fortunate... or just patient, and as people say, good things come to those who wait. Some four months ago I submitted the application for what people say is the best university in Canada, and a reputable one in North America, and even ranked 12th in the whole world. Anyways, besides all this fame and glory, I submitted the application, not thinking too much about it, and not even sure whether I would be taken. Alongside the application, I also applied for a great scholarship, which will basically cover almost all costs of study and living. I wrote these pompously worded applications and motivation letters, praising the institution I am going to, and saying what great experiences and grades I have had.

Four months passed by without a word. And suddenly, the mail comes through the post, saying I have been chosen to be admitted to the course, and also that I will receive a fellowship position provided by the Boeing Company! Two excitements in as many number of days!

Compared to half a year ago, things are really looking up, and I am really moving on. For this all, I am extremely grateful... to all those people who have supported and encouraged me to go on and go through with what then seemed like a crazy and life-changing plan, but what today is within finger's reach. And somehow, the other day as I was reading the acceptance letter, my mind thought of my dad... how proud he must be! How he has been there, to support and encourage me as well, in his special silent ways.

Reflections before a journey

I left the office for the last time. It has been over one and a half years since I started being involved in that job, at first a lowly assistant, and more recently a coordinator. I know, leaving that door, that I had nothing to be concerned about, because I did the best I could to the very best of my abilities, and I have nothing to regret, nothing to ponder on. I could just leave the office, and that job, and leave.

And I am moving on. In the past weeks I have been really travelling a lot and to far away places. Now, it seems I will be going even further, not just because I am flying back home to Taiwan to surprise my mum, but also because I have been selected to attend this prestigious summer course in Spain in July and August, and straight after that I will be flying off to Canada to begin a new life. Travel, travel, it seems I am really moving and going places.

Sometimes things are happening so fast and all at once, I wish time would stop a bit for me to reflect. On what has been happening, on how it is changing my life (for better or for worse), and what direction I should go. But really, I am someone who seems to just go, oftentimes without thinking too much where I am going. And somehow life has taken me places exciting and unexpected.

I guess I am very fortunate... or just patient, and as people say, good things come to those who wait. Some four months ago I submitted the application for what people say is the best university in Canada, and a reputable one in North America, and even ranked 12th in the whole world. Anyways, besides all this fame and glory, I submitted the application, not thinking too much about it, and not even sure whether I would be taken. Alongside the application, I also applied for a great scholarship, which will basically cover almost all costs of study and living. I wrote these pompously worded applications and motivation letters, praising the institution I am going to, and saying what great experiences and grades I have had.

Four months passed by without a word. And suddenly, the mail comes through the post, saying I have been chosen to be admitted to the course, and also that I will receive a fellowship position provided by the Boeing Company! Two excitements in as many number of days!

Compared to half a year ago, things are really looking up, and I am really moving on. For this all, I am extremely grateful... to all those people who have supported and encouraged me to go on and go through with what then seemed like a crazy and life-changing plan, but what today is within finger's reach. And somehow, the other day as I was reading the acceptance letter, my mind thought of my dad... how proud he must be! How he has been there, to support and encourage me as well, in his special silent ways.

Au revoir, Strasbourg

I left in the morning, on an empty train, in the lazy sun. The world was just beginning to stir, and I was still drowsy from lack of sleep. Yet I knew this would be the last time I would be leaving the station at Strasbourg for a long time to come.

Yesterday, I saw online that my long awaited application for studies coming September has been approved. This means, there is a very high probablity of me packing my bags and moving to Canada very soon. As soon as I read that news, I was delighted, as it signals a new start and break from the mundane life here in Europe. But at the same time, it also means that I will be gone an indefinite time, if not never to return to here again.

I kissed my godson goodbye, unsure when I would see him again. And yesterday, as I walked through the narrow streets of Strasbourg, I was feeling a little melancholy. I realised I have been somewhat connected to the city in a special way, mostly by my friend and her child. In the past two years, I have been there and back no less than six times, for a birth, for Christimases, for birthdays. When Aslan was still a growing foetus, I was there. When Aslan was born, I went there. And now, almost two years old, happy and becoming more and more an individual, I was there. But I wonder whether I will be able to be a bigger part of his life, as he grows older.

Au revoir, Strasbourg. If I remember correctly there was a novel or movie with the exact same title. It was about the end of French control over this beautiful city, after the successful conquest of the Germans in the Franco-Prussian War in 1870. "Au revoir" ("till meeting again"), because on a fateful day, history in the city would change forever, and German would become the overruling language and culture of a city that has for centuries been French (or at least, Alsatian). It was not known to the people when again they would see their old and inherent culture and country back again.

Au revoir, Strasbourg. My parting from Strasbourg was not as dramatic or sentimental. But a part of me will miss the city... miss the walks on the banks of the Ill with my godson's hand in mine, miss the night walks under the yellow lighting on cobblestone streets, miss the majestic buildings that adorn the old parts of the city, miss the large expanses of greenery in the parks and forests nearby. Mostly, I will miss my friend, and my godson, whom I have grown attached to after these two years of visiting them, and taking care of them, whenever I could.

When will we meet again?

"David!"

It is unimaginable how difficult it is to take care of a baby. Just being with one alone for a couple of hours is exhausting. My godson's sleeping next to me now, tired from an entire morning of 'sword fighting' with a badminton racket and vacuum machine tube, overly excited from watching disc after disc from his huge Disney DVD collection.

How quiet he is, silently snoring, his little stomach falling and rising with the rythmic breathing and with the beating of his little heart. What a precious little being, and almost two.

I have been here three days, and we seem to be getting closer. No longer does he start to scream when I try to hold him. When he hurt his little finger playing earlier, he walked up to me, and stretched his arms out, wanting me to hug him, to hold him, to comfort him. I held him on my shoulder, and whispered in his ears. "It's alright... It's alright... Aslan is a big boy." He seemed to understood, and stopped crying. A tear, streaking half way down his soft cheek, stopped in its track. And he smiled. He looked deeply into my eyes, as I stroked the sore part of his finger, and he smiled ever so sweetly.

There are those moments, such as those, which are so precious that it moves you. Looking into a baby's eyes, it seems as if you are looking into your own... deep down inside, an innocent and curious creature is playing around and exploring the world still. And when he graps onto your fingers, and clings close to your body, you would you wish the moment would last.

But a baby is a curious little being, and every moment something new attracts its attention, and off he goes to touch, feel, play, and be up to something that will make you have to clean up long after he has moved on to fumble with another thing that he really should not be touching. Especially my godson could be such a handful. Even his nanny has commented that he is "one naughty after another naughty"... one moment he could be playing with his mother's makeup kit, drawing his own legs and knees with black eyeliner, and the next minute he could have his fingers on the bucket, and just before you try to stop him, the mop will have fallen, and dirty water will have spilled all over the place. As you try to mop the floor clean, he is playing with the kitchen cupboard, and taking out all sorts of noodle bits and trying to build something on the floor. You tell him "No!" and he goes into his room, and starts to bang the door loudly, again, and again and again, till your ears are sore and mind starting to irritate. You raise your voice, but he looks back at you, appealing for sympathy, for after all, he is but a baby. But a clever and mischievous one at that.

In those moments when he has done something incredibly dangerous, like licking on a knife for left over bits of chocolate paste, or playing with the electric socket, I wonder how my mum used to be. Was I ever so naughty? Did I also make her feel like there is only so much more she could take? And yet, all these years, she has remained with me, given me love, warmth and care like no other in the world would. She did that, while having a long and tiring job, while having to take care of my brother and my dad. And there was me to take care, me, being the youngest and smallest of them all. How could I ever repay that, in any way?

I sit next to Aslan, sleeping still, and still sleeping. His breathing light and gentle. How peaceful he looks, how angelic and loving. Let no one take that peace and love from him.