Wanderlust

Did good work last night, and before I knew it, it was already 2.30 in the morning. It's been a long while since I felt that my thesis is actually going some, actually has a purpose, and if only I could gather that momentum, I could finish it. Soon.

Since I got back to Montreal early December, I've been telling myself that I have two months to make the most of my time here, and that I really need to settle down and do some work. But, shame, the heart and mind wanders, and I could not be still. Every day there seems to be some kind of distraction... or better termed, some kind of excuse for me to 'postpone' things till tomorrow. And after that there is another tomorrow. I promised myself so many times that I would not procrastinate, would not waste life away, especially in the light of the deaths and illness that I've seen and experienced in people around me. Yet lethargy and laziness come in addictive dosages, and sleep more often than not takes over when my mind is weak or down.

So I am happy for moments such as last night, which give me a boost of confidence, and show me just how much I could achieve if I really sit down and set my heart to it.

A few more days, and I am off again. Must try to get as much work down as possible.

A little disappointment

Can you be disappointed by someone you've never met?
It seems the answer is yes.

Wake up call

I woke up early to call mum. The phone rang a couple of times, but was always engaged. It was almost half an hour before I could get through. She was on the phone with the carpenters about a leakage in the living room. Mum said she was very excited about the new house, and that it is now all coming together, despite the troubles and noise a while back.

Then she told me. She is doing the treatment. Just like that. She did not let me know until today, which is the last day of her first session. She said she feels fine. The doctor changed her drug. She feels no side-effects, and is feeling well. She said she went to eat what she wanted to, which was teppanyaki at Takashimaya. And she could eat everything. No nausea. Maybe it's the new house distracting her and keeping her busy that she does not feel much of the nausea, she said herself.

I said little. I only asked why she decided to suddenly do the treatment whereas before she was telling me she would not. Because other people encouraged her. The doctor, relatives, and even Mr Chen, the mystic and fortune-teller. I said little, and was glad that she did not feel ill. But in the back of my mind, I heard the echo: "Not yet.... not yet....."

She asked me how I was doing. What could I say? I was silent. I said I was just pushing on with my thesis, trying to get work done. Could I tell her that I am down, that I am depressed, and sleeping away the days, lost in a daze of lethargy and depression? Could I tell her that I am lost, that I feel alone, and torn between whether I should give up my life her and go back to be with her, or just bite on and enjoy my life here in Canada?

Be happy she said, and take good care. It is very important to be happy, and to not worry, she said.

We ended the conversation. My cat sat by my legs. I curled up next to her, and watched her, as I slowly fell asleep again... as I slowly drowned myself in a world of no thoughts, of no consciousness, and of dreams.

Even bad dreams seem a refuge from the reality of facing uncertainty and the unknown...

"Trial of the Century"

Source of photo AP: http://www.nrc.nl/binnenland/article2463490.ece/Rechtszaak_Wilders_verder_op_3_februari

The “trial of the century” has just begun in the Netherlands against Party for Freedom (Partij voor de Vrijheid, PVV) leader Geert Wilders. Or at least that is what Wilders would like his trial to become. The loud-mouthed politician with peroxide hair is not shy for publicity, and in recent years has attracted a lot of it for his controversial statements, and his provocative 16 minute documentary Fitna (viewer discretion advised). He is the same guy who once said that those Muslims who want to stay in the Netherlands must “rip out and throw away half of the Quran ”. The UK once even refused Wilders entry because his opinions are deemed “anti-Islamic”. In a Dutch opinion piece he caused outrage when he likened the Quran to Hitler’s “Mein Kampf”:

Enough is enough. Let us stop beating about the bush with political correctness. […] The core of the problem is fascistic Islam, the sick ideology of Allah and Mohammed as laid down in the Islamic Mein Kampf: the Quran. The texts from the Quran do not leave much to the imagination.

It is for this (and other) reasons that the Public Prosecutor of Amsterdam has brought a case against Wilders for his open discrimination against Muslims as well as non-Western (“allochtone”) Netherlanders. The case is based on Article 136(c) of the Dutch Criminal Code (Weboek van Strafwet) (discrimination against a group, “groepsdiscriminatie”) which provides:

He who publicly, verbally or in writing or image, deliberately expresses himself in an way insulting of a group of people because of their race, their religion or belief, or their hetero- or homosexual nature or their physical, mental, or intellectual disabilities, will be punished with a prison sentence of at the most one year or a fine of third category.

- and Article 137(d) of the Criminal Code, which makes it criminal for inciting hatred (aanzetten tot haat):

He who publicly, verbally or in writing or in an image, incites hatred against or discrimination of people or violent behavior against person or property of people because of their race, their religion or belief, their gender or hetero- or homosexual nature or their physical, mental, or intellectual disabilities, will be punished with a prison sentence of at the most one year or a fine of third category.

In support of the prosecution, the court summons cites a number publications and interviews dating from 2006 to 2008, in which Wilders personally stated (among other things):

- “I point to the role that the terrible Quran plays in the Islamisation of our society”.

- “The demographic composition of the population is the biggest problem of the Netherlands. I am talking about what comes to the Netherlands, and that which reproduces here. If you look to the figures and the developments therein, Muslims will migrate from the big cities to the countries. We must stop the tsunami of Islamisation. It touches us in our heart, in our identity, in our culture […]”

- “One in five Moroccan youth is registered as a suspect with the police. Their behaviour flows from their religion and culture. You cannot see them separately. The pope was completely right recently: Islam is a violent religion. Islam means the suppression and conversion of non-Muslims […]”

- “[…] Close the borders, no more Islamites in the Netherlands, more Muslims [out] of the the Netherlands, denaturalisation of Islamic criminals.”

- “[…] The Hague [the seat of the Dutch government] is full of cowardly people. Scared people who are born cowardly and will die cowardly. Who believe and advocate that Dutch culture will be founded on a Judeo-Christian-Islamic tradition. […] Who [ignore] the interests Dutch population and cooperate in the transformation of the Netherlands into a Netherarabia as a province of the Islamic superstate of Eurabia. “

- I have had enough of Islam in the Netherlands: no more Muslim immigrant. I have enough with the worship of Allah and Mohammed in the Netherlands: no more mosque. I have had enough of the Quaran in the Netherlands: ban that fascistic book.

- “I have good intentions. We are letting something happen by which this will become a totally different society. I also know that in a few decades there will be no Islamic majority. But it will grow. With aggressive elements, imperialism. Walk on the street, and you see where it will lead. You feel that you are no longer living in your country. There is a conflict going on, and we must defend ourselves. There will be more mosques than churches soon!”

The right-wing politician will of course try to claim parliamentary privilege, which grants him immunity from prosecution. However, much of what he has said was done outside of the walls of the parliament. Further, Wilders claims that this case is more than just about the freedom of expression, but also about establishing the truth. He will try to get expert witnesses to testify whether the Quran indeed is as abhorrent as Mein Kampf. If he can establish that the provocative statements and remarks he made were based on facts, then the court may be persuaded to acquit, or at lessen the charges against Wilders.

Wilders’ case is interesting, but by no means unique. In July 2009, the European Court of Human Rights in Strasbourg held that while the freedom of expression is important, it is crucial for politicians to refrain from public statements that may foster intolerance. The case was an appeal from the Daniel Féret, the chairman of the Belgian political party “Front National”, who had been convicted by a Belgian court for publicly inciting racism, hatred and discrimination against immigrants during election campaigns. The ECHR held that there was no violation of Article 10 of the European Convention for Human Rights (freedom of expression) in sentencing Féret, as it was necessary for the Belgian authorities to sanction someone under the prescribed law in order to safeguard public order and protect the reputation and rights of others in a democratic society (State's right to derogate under Article 10(2)). Féret and his party had in fact spread leaflets which “presented immigrant communities as criminally-minded and keen to exploit the benefits they derived from living in Belgium and that they also sought to make fun of the immigrants concerned, with the inevitable risk of arousing, particularly among less knowledgeable members of the public, feelings of distrust, rejection or even hatred towards foreigners”. So should Wilders be found guilty and opt to appeal, his chances in Strasbourg are at best slim.

Interestingly, another case in 2009 which went all the way to the Supreme Court of the Netherlands, dealt with the issue of inciting hatred. The case dealt with an A3 poster for the far-right “Nationale Alliantie”, which called for an end to “the tumor that is called Islam”. In that case the Supreme Court held:

“A remark cannot be judged without context. It can ignite the wick in a powder keg. It is the task of the government to act against discrimination and stigmatisation. Politicians have on the one hand more room for manoeuvre, but on the other hand also great responsibility. […] The ECHR has repeatedly decided that it is acceptable for the government to take measures to protect a religion or followers of a religion against hurtful expressions. Sharp criticism against a religion can lead to the injury of the believers.”

Against this backdrop of recent jurisprudence, Wilders has a lot to answer for.

In court today, a defiant and unflinching Wilders stood up and delivered an emotive personal statement defending his right to free speech:

I believe with all my heart and soul that freedom in the Netherlands is being threatened. That which is part our heritage, that which generations could only dream of, that freedom is no longer a given, no longer self-evident. I dedicate my life to the defence of our freedom. […] I know that the words I sometimes use can be harsh, but they are never reckless. It is not my intention to spare the ideology of conquest and destruction, but neither am I [out there] to hurt people. I have nothing against Muslims. I have a problem with Islam and the Islamisation of our country, because Islam stands opposed to freedom.

Future generations will ask themselves how we in 2010 at this place, in this court, have served our most treasured achievement. [Does freedom exist] for both parties in this debate, and also for the critics of Islam, or that in the Netherlands only one side of the discussion can be heard? Does the freedom of expression apply to everyone in the Netherlands, or just for some? The answer [to that question] is immediately the question to the question of whether freedom has a home in this country. Freedom was never the property of a small group, but has always been the heritage of all of us. We have been blessed by it […]

It is not only the right, but also the duty of free people to express themselves against every ideology that threatens freedom. […] I hope that the freedom of expression will triumph in this trial. I hope not only to be acquitted. But also that the freedom of expression will continue to exist.

Wilders’ “Trial of the Century” is to be continued.

Sleepless nights

I woke up feeling horrible, and again like so many nights before, well past midday.
A terrible dream had disturbed my sleep. A dream about my mum. How she needed to go to the hospital. For treatment.

I did not call her that day, for she was already asleep. And in the afternoon I forgot to call her, and by the time I realised, she had gone to work. So I made it a point to wake up early to call the next day. I spoke to her.

She sounded alright. But then she revealed to me that she might indeed need to go to the hospital. The doctor has been telling her to do the treatment. And some others have been telling her too.

I was quiet. Perhaps I should have said something. Something to soothe her, to calm her and to tell her that things will be alright. But I was silent, and did not want to say. All I could think of was why this sudden change of decision... why this, and why now? Had she not promised me before I left Taiwan a month and a half ago that she would try alternative treatment and see how things go? Going back to the hospital for chemo therapy.... just the thought of it disgusts me. Just the thought of it brings back memories of the smell, the anxiety, the pain of watching her, watching others suffer and have their liveliness taken away from them slowly, bit by bit...

This is not helping the current depression I am going through...

Writing block?

Looking at the posts in the last three years (or so) since I started this, it seems a of a pattern of "diminishing posts" is setting into place as time goes by. Sometimes, weeks, or even a month goes by without single post. And I feel kind of bad.... have I lost that writing edge? Is there a block I need to unclot?

To be honest, sometimes I just feel like there isn't much to write about, and lately I've been too dazed and lethargic to write.

But really, does that matter? Is not quality more important than quantity? I could post ten posts a day, but they could have no content, and could be just ramblings about mundane things that are repetitive and boring. Boring to write about, and boring to read about.

Maybe it comes from this compulsion of mine, whereby if I write, I want to write about something out of the ordinary, write about something that will impress and leave the reader (if there are any) in awe. I feel like when I write I want it to be an art that I am creating and leaving behind.

Or maybe that's going beyond myself.

New Years Day 2010

, it is beautifully drifting with white fluffy snow. The first few hours of the new year, and the weather is pretty mild. But there is a beauty that lingers in the air, that falls and floats with the flakes of snow that descend to cover the world with a blanket of white softness.

The first moments of the new year I spent with some friends at the Old Port of Montreal. The moment came unexpectedly, and suddenly in the distance the crowd began with the countdown. We counted down too, surprised that the year was coming so quickly. We hugged, and according to a Mexican tradition, each of us ate 12 grapes to symbolise the 12 months of the new year. With eat grape you are supposed to make a wish.

I made a wish... happiness and good health for my mum, happiness and good health for my brother, peace for Taiwan, my homeland, peace in the world, happiness and good health to all my friends, happiness and good health to all my family, happiness and good health to all sentient beings in the world, happiness and good health to all non-sentient beings, happiness and good health to my dad...

When I got to that bit, my eyes watered. The firework display above the frozen river and snowy landscape seemed so distant away. I heard the crackle of the fireworks, saw the blinding and colourful exchange of the pyrotechnic display. Yet, perhaps because of the alcohol, I was dazed and overcome with a sudden sense of longing and missing. How I wished dad was there to share that moment... how I wished I could be there with mum to welcome the new year in... all the cheerfulness and laughters and salutations of the surrounding crowd was not enough to overwhelm the sudden pensive mood and sorrow that crept up.

Happy new year... I hope it indeed is a happy one, every single day, for every single person

Goodbye 2009

One more day till the end of the first decade of the millennium. It seemed like yesterday I was sitting at home alone and playing Sim City 3000 in those first few moments of the first year of the 2000s. And now, some nine years later, I have changed, and so have many circumstances of my life changed.

The number of blog postings for this year has halved since the previous year. Maybe I just don't feel the inspiration or the frustrations to write much any more. I know that quantity counts less than quality, but to be honest, I have been lethargy and verging on lazy this entire year. I am not sure what it is, or why that is... But I do know much of the time I have spent sleeping, or in that sleep-like state of mind lying in bed. Dazed, unmotivated, unchallenged and, dare I say, depressed.

It is true I have good friends here, and a mother who cares about me dearly far away. Yet inside I feel somewhat empty of feeling, like there is a void that is longing to be filled, like there is something that is waiting to be discovered. Is that longing for love? Longing for closeness, for closure with the passing of my father, longing for some dramatic achievement and recognition, or simply longing to finish my long-overdue thesis and finding some stability?

I do not know. But maybe 2010 will hold the answer.

Intense dream

I fell asleep quickly in the room fit for four people. Outside, the lights of towering buildings close to Vancouver’s False Creek shined like beacons at night.

Then I woke up, with such intense loneliness and longing for my dad. Such longing that I have not felt for a long, long time. I longed for his presence, for him to be next to me, for him tell me that things will be alright. I was curled up in bed, hiding almost under the blankets, and felt the world was so empty. Then tears rolled and streaked from one eye to another, as I was on my side.

Perhaps it is seeing my cousin alone, and somehow his sense of being alone here has rubbed off on me.

Farewell, Formosa

Mum must be asleep by now, as it is past eleven in the evening. She usually sleeps early, at least tries to, though when I’m around her sleep time is delayed often by last minute talking and fiddling about. On the way to the airport, mum said she always misses me the first few days that I am gone. She gets so used to me being around, and then suddenly I leave, leaving an emptiness in the big house.

I guess I can imagine how that must feel like. I leave home now, but this time it does not seem so bad. I hugged her tightly, twice, and stroked her back softly. In my mind I quietly wished her peace and happiness, and told her out loud to take good care of herself. I will return soon, in two months time. It seems short, but it can also be a long time too.

This trip home, to Taiwan, has been eventful. Though I did not get to see mum move to her new house (in fact, the renovations have yet to take place, after a month or so of delays…), but I did pack some things up into boxes for her. Not much, but important things… things that otherwise might be too difficult for her to pack, because of the memories and the stories behind the pictures, letters, and memorabilia. Especially those in dad’s room. I told her to wait for me and/or brother to return before moving the big things. I hope she will wait, and not exhaust herself too much.

The trip with my friends was enjoyable, despite some of the tensions that surrounded us and clouded my mood at times. I guess I wanted to plan and have the ‘perfect’ trip… but didn’t realise how difficult it is to coordinate the times, minds and whims of four people. I don’t know about them, but I got to see parts of Taiwan’s nature, culture and people that I never realised lay so close beneath the surface, and I feel there is so much more there is to discover, to explore and to learn about my own home. This feeling is somehow mixed with the gloomy thought and hearsay that I have encountered about Taiwan’s demise, about China’s rise and zealous ambition to swallow the island and its people whole no matter what. The current political situation, with the Chinese Nationalists back in power again and cozying up with the Chinese Communists, is extremely perilous for Taiwan’s future, and the fate of its people, and their desire for independence and freedom from pepertual colonialism. Perhaps, this island, and its people is destined, despite of or maybe because of its beauty and riches, to be an lonely child with many parents as claiming to have an interest in the child’s welfare.

And, perhaps the most painful of all, next to learning and living with mum’s illness, is watching my friend fade slowly away in the hospital. I’ve been to see him three or four times, and every time he gets weaker and weaker, like a fragile flame that can be blown out at any moment without notice. I cried for him, because it pains me so to watch a fellow human being suffer, to watch a friend I know, though perhaps not well enough, slowly, but seemingly steadily drift in his morphine-dazed state of mind, towards death.
I wrote him a card, wishing him the best, happiness, peace, and most important of all, wishing that he can let go, and let Dharma take its natural course. It is only ever so much.

So here I sit, next to the conveyor belt at Gate C4, ready to board, ready to leave home to go back home. Thank you Formosa, thank you friends and family, for your care, for your being there, and for making me feel welcome every time. Most of all, for making me feel at home.

Goodbye, dear friend...

“David… I’m dying.”

I almost could not hear him.

“…dying,” he repeated. A coarse whisper that took much effort and energy.

I did not know what to say, except hold onto his hand tighter, and look at him more intensely in the face.

Are we not all dying? Is that not the natural way of things, the way of the universal law of Dharma? We are born, we live, we get caught up in worldly emotions and material things and we suffer, some suffer more than others. And then we die. That is all.

But that realisation is sadly one which most make upon death. My friend was not crying, nor shivering in fear as he told me that he is dying. He was calm, despite being weak and tired. He was firm, despite the months and years of ongoing treatment, and dashed hopes of finding a treatment

Leaning in close, our cheeks touching, I bid him goodbye. It felt like a final farewell, and perhaps both of us know it. “Let go,” I said, “May you be happy, peaceful…” I gripped his thin hand and fingers one more time. I turned away to walk away, but turned back to see my friend waving. His arm was thin, frail and the movements were weak, but the small smile on his face was genuine. I walked back, and grasped his hand again. “Take good care”, I said, and finally left.

I had to lean against the window, and let the tears flow for a few minutes. Outside, were rows and rows of hospital wards that had seen much birth, suffering, and death. Such pain went through me, such raw emotions I never knew existed were released in those tears that temporarily watered my world. Pain, not so much because of the encroaching death, but of watching a dear friend fade ever so slowly and ever so painfully before you.

And then I braced myself, swallowed hard, bit my teeth tightly, and watched the pain. It is only so much, as the Buddha taught, it is only an emotion that comes and goes, comes and goes…

Comes and goes, as certain as life and death.

Brother troubles

It is a real shame that it has come to this. My brother only ever calls when there is something he needs. And recently it is help with money to renovate his house. It's been going on a while, and he really has invested a lot of time (and now money) into the place... but things seem to be getting out of hand.

The most recent episode revolves around an interior decorator. Long story short, she decided not to continue with my brother's work because for a while she was involved with work for my mum. Basically there was a difference of opinion, and she decided to quit, which basically leaves my brother without a decorator.

And the last two weeks, he has been calling and been angry on the phone, blaming left and right. I can understand it is frustrating, especially as he has to deal with the construction work and the renovations all by himself. But I don't understand what it is that he wants from mum, or from me. Every time he calls, he is full of anger, full of blame, keeps on saying how much trouble he has to go through, how much extra energy and money he has to waste, because my mum made a real mess of the situation...

But what purpose does it serve to blame and to scold someone after the deed has been done? I really don't know what he wants, what he expects mum or me to do. All I can say, as I have said so many times before, is to be realistic with the renovations, and to spend what he can, and try to make the best of the situation. This does not get to him very well, and in fact attracts a whole tirade against me (and my mum) for not caring, never caring and never willing to care.

I can speak to him, but I cannot get through to him. He is such a difficult person to talk to, and whatever I try to say, whatever sense (or what appears to be sense to me...) I try to get into him, he turns it into a weapon and uses it against me (or mum). What pain and anguish he has caused us... and yet what can I say about that? If I complain about his angry words, his blaming and his scolding, he turns it into how we do not give a damn about his life or wellbeing, how we do not understand his needs or do not care about his problems.

All I can think of is mum in the background... she is listening to all of this, and hurting deeply inside... how painful it must be to hear your own son scold and blame you for mistakes that cannot be turned back again... how painful it must be to bear the angry words and the deep resentment hidden behind those words, and to know that it comes from the child you spent hours and tireless amounts of energy and time to bring up. And he actually bites back, demanding apology, demanding that you sit and listen to the scolding and the hurtful emotional outpouring.

I can see mum hurt and her hair become white over the past two weeks already...

Why, mum?

Am I pushing my mum too much? I get upset that she doesn't get up to exercise in the morning... I get upset that she rushes off to work, even though her superior told her already that she can go in much later so that she can have her morning exercises and take things slower...

Just now, I was telling her all this in bed, just before she went to sleep, and she seemed saddened. She turned away, and said she's going to sleep. And soon, she fast asleep and snoring. But I feel bad... for being so harsh on her, for scolding her and being too pushy.

She was sighing and again speaking in ways that seemed like she has no more hope any more. And that gets me really down and upset. "There is no cure," she said, "I will not get better. All the doctors say that."

But that doesn't mean that she can't coexist peacefully with the cancer. If it can't get better, then at least don't let it get worse with such negative thoughts and negative energies...!

It really pains me to see her like this. And it pains me even more that she puts her job and the number of hours that she can spend at the office before her health and her peace of mind. When I see my other friend, who has become so frail, so weak, so close to death with cancer and chemo, I fear, I fear and dread that one day I will have to endure seeing my own mother in such a sorry state...

How do I keep positive and remain happy and undisturbed by my mum's negative thoughts, and be there and be strong for her?

"I have a dream..."

I dare anyone to visit the hospital on any given day, at any given moment, and come out unaffected.

It’s been two weeks since I last saw my friend. During that time, I have been to lands and islands far, far away, and marvelled at deep gorges made of marble. I have dipped and swam in warm ocean springs bubbling from cracks in the earth, and eaten at a crowded dimsum restaurant in the company of complete strangers.

Yet, all this time, my friend’s world was confined to that sterile room in the oncology ward. Unable to walk more than a few steps without feeling his breath being stripped from his lungs, he has been seeing and living the sounds and wonders of the world, of life, through the presence, laughter, tears and voices of family and the occasional visitor.

Again I said little while I was there. What could one say in the face of pain and suffering? There was a numbness, a perpetual sort of silence that transcends all words, even words the most eloquent of poets cannot piece together. Again, he apologised for ‘wasting’ my time by going to see him, and for being in the sorry state he was in. The morphine is slowly eroding the control he has over his emotions and consciousness. The pain causes him to weakly wail and moan. He feet were swollen from inactivity, his body thin, and frail, no more than skin to bone.

Out of nowhere it seemed, his daughter sang, and made the room come alive, and fill with warmth and laughter.

“I have a dream…” That was the extent of her knowledge of the lyrics. Little did this three year old understand the significance of the moving words of this old ABBA song.

Silently, in my mind, the words slowly trailed across my heart… and in my prayers.

I have a dream, a fantasy, to help me through reality
And my destination makes it worth the while
Pushing through the darkness still another mile
I believe in angels, something good in everything I see
I believe in angels, when I know the time is right for me
I'll cross the stream, I have a dream


I'll cross the stream, I have a dream

The SARS

It was drizzling and dark when I approached the Golden Lotus. A surreal flower suspended in bloom, perched on a pole in the middle of a square close to downtown Macau. The petals were chunky, lifeless and sterile, especially in the glow of the artificial lighting.

The square was deserted, and I was alone. For a few moments, I stood silently under the yellow floodlight before the gift from the State Council of the People’s Republic of China to the people and government of Macau. Ironically, earlier in the day I had posed before the “Forever Blooming Bauhinia”, which is the Reunification Monument marking the return of neighbouring Hong Kong to the People’s Republic.

These golden flowers are gifts of great significance for and from the Motherland. They are memorials and a tribute to the glorious reunification of the Motherland with its long-lost territories of Hong Kong and Macau, which had been given away in humiliating treaties with European powers years ago. In 1997 and 1999 respectively, members of the armed forces of the People’s Liberation Army marched through the two former colonies, and the five yellow stars flew for the first time alongside the flags of the new Hong Kong and Macau, which become Special Administrative Regions (SARs—no relation to the severe acute respiratory syndrome) of the People’s Republic.

The return of these two territories were made under the principle of “One Country, Two Systems”. Thus, under Hong Kong’s constitutional document, the Basic Law, China solemnly promises that “the socialist system and policies shall not be practised in the Hong Kong Special Administrative Region, and the previous capitalist system and way of life shall remain unchanged for 50 years”. In other words, the existing political, legal and economic structures and democratic protections in both former colonies will remain untouched. Previous treaty commitments made by former colonial powers, such as those governing protections of fundamental human rights and civil liberties which are not applicable to China and its vast population, would continue to be the law of the land in the SARs. The “One Country, Two Systems” formula is the same one that China has been using (alongside the thousand plus targeted missiles) in attempts to entice the people of Taiwan to “return” to the Motherland.

True, Hong Kong and Macau remain the two isolated places in vast China to enjoy freedoms of expression, assembly and genuine rule of law. Nowhere else in China can Falun Gong practitioners openly spread flyers that denounce the Chinese Communist Party and show posters that reveal the atrocities committed by the regime’s machinery of oppression and propaganda. Nowhere else are the events of Tiananmen 1989 more deeply remembered and mourned annually on June 4 than in Hong Kong Park.

Yet, a decade or so from the momentous return to the 'Motherland', Hong Kong has become a tax-free shopping mall for the nouveau riche from the Mainland, while Macau is quickly becoming an adult playground to satisfy the insatiable Chinese urge for gambling. The Chief Executives of both territories are effectively handpicked by business and political elites with close ties to Beijing, and promises of universal suffrage remain to be realised. How can such a system, in which an overbearing authoritarian regime constantly looms and pulls the strings in the background, ever be acceptable, let alone applicable, to the people of Taiwan, who for the past few decades fought for and gained unprecedented freedoms in a budding democratic society?

The drizzle continued, and the palm trees swayed gently in the wind. I looked around, and saw that I had overstayed my welcome and was being watched. At the corners of the square surrounding the Golden Lotus were booths, white and compact with shuttered windows and pairs of eyes staring out from them. A random man walked past me in plain clothing, yet there was a coiled wire coming out of his ear. He said nothing, and I said nothing, but I quickly moved away, ever wary of the eyes that followed me into the distance.

No, I did not have paint or eggs in my bag which I intended to throw at the Golden Lotus to deface this glorious golden gift from the Motherland. And no, I did not wish to disrupt the upcoming celebrations of the tenth anniversary of the return to the Motherland. I was not even wearing my prized T-Shirt bearing a Tibetan monk standing face to face with a soldier of the People’s Liberation Army.

I am but a simple student with a white space monkey and a kitsch fridge magnet with the portrait of Chairman Mao in my bag.

Welcome to Korea

Who would have thought that within the first one and a half hour of arriving in Korea I would be walking around in public completely naked? Certainly not something I had anticipated doing after an 18 hour trek across the Pacific Ocean and Japan Sea.

Yet I finally feel clean again. All that grease in my hair cleansed after that long shower and soothing soak in the sauna. All the worries and anxieties seemed to melt and flow away. All that discomfort and pain I felt in my backside and legs, especially during those maddening final few tens of minutes and seconds before touching down at Incheon, seemed to be diluted by the clear, hot water.

I closed my eyes, and cleared my mind. Why get upset about the terrible cantine-style and children’s-sized ‘food’ they serve on United Airlines? What does it matter if I had to dish out US14 for a simple udon soup at Narita Airport? Can I do anything about the fact that the current whereabouts of my suit and case (read suit-case) is still a mystery due to the incompetent handling by United ground staff? And what can I do about the fact that my credit card suddenly decided not to work any more, or that I have been wearing the same clothes (and yes, underwear) for the past two days?

Sitting there in that clear pool, at close to midnight, some fifty hours after I set out from Montreal, I could not but smile at the ridiculousness of it all. Five cities and airports, four different planes, three different airlines, and a hell lot of air miles later, I finally made it. I could have wept at the exhaustion and strain on my mental and physical health, but I could have just as easily kissed the ground a-la-pope as soon as I stepped off the plane. Such ridiculousness that could not have ever happened had I not come on this trip. The excitement of flying in gigantic metal birds, the anticipation of encountering strange new cultural experiences and anecdotes, thrown in together with the bumpy turbulences, hindrances, setbacks and disappointments of journeying to foreign lands.

Yes, there is this strange sensation of having flown so far to be here, right now, sitting in this darkened lounge with a dozen Korean strangers all dozing away, while in the background some melodramatic Korean soap runs.

You travel, you learn, you watch, you experience. And at times, you laugh at the ridiculous and bizarre things that get thrown your way. Like today.

Green Island Serenade

There is a song made popular in 1950s Taiwan called “Green Island Serenade” (綠島小夜曲). It describes the longing of a lover for his girl far, far away…

“This green island like a boat,
Rocking, rocking in the moonlit night
Girl, you are also floating, floating in the sea of my heart.
Let the sound of my song follow that slight wind,
Blow open your window drapes.
Let my heartfelt emotions follow that flow of water,
Endlessly pouring my heart out to you.
The long shadow of the coconut tree
Cannot hide my tender regards.
This radiant and beautiful moon light illuminates my heart,
The night of this green island is already so heavy and silent.
Girl, why are you still silent without words?”
(translation mine)

But just as easily, “Green Island Serenade” could been interpreted as a song to capture the longing of the hundreds of political prisoners who were once imprisoned on this tiny island off of Taiwan’s eastern seaboard.

They were imprisoned for daring to oppose the Nationalist Chinese dictatorship that established itself on Taiwan after the Japanese colonialists left in 1945. They were imprisoned for championing the rights of local Taiwanese people, who were oppressed, silenced and stripped of their property, land and jobs. Some were imprisoned for speaking out for the promise of an independent Taiwan—the same promise that was once made by the United Nations, yet buried by the complexities of the Cold War and warming Sino-US relations. For almost four decades, the Nationalist Chinese government imposed the longest martial law ever, and put all opponents in prison or to death. And Green Island, as beautiful, as luring, as much a tropical paradise as it is today, was perhaps the worst place one could be sent away to.

First came the “New Life Correction Centre” established in the 1950s, which was nothing more than a camp where high profile political prisoners were interned and sentenced to hard labour. Many of the roads, and even the airport, on Green Island owe their construction to the hard work of these prisoners. Later, in the 1970s, the “Oasis Villa” was established. Despite the name, the “Villa” was an euphemism for the “Green Island Reform and Re-education Prison”, intended to house those offenders ‘convicted’ of engaging in ‘rebellion’ against the government. Many of these ‘rebels’ were in fact democracy activists, and most would go on to serve in public office with the dawning of democracy from the late 1980s. Most prominent among the prisoners is the feminist scholar and pro-independence activist Annette Shiou-lian Lu, who was imprisoned for 12 years, and later went on to serve as the country’s Vice President between 2000 and 2008.

Today, the former maximum security prison is open to visitors. Faded writings on the walls recall a past of indoctrination and pro-China propaganda, while the empty cells (though much renovated) echoes with the emptiness in which the prisoners counted away the passing minutes and seconds of their youths. On a wall of the Human Rights Park, in the shadow of the gentle waves, hundreds of names are engraved, each with the inmate’s date of entry and release, or death. On another wall, more but not all of the names of the thousands upon thousands of Taiwanese people who suffered, who were tortured or killed by the Nationalist Chinese government.

I did not know the names. I did not know their stories, or the injustices that were done to them and to their families. Yet, each character, each date, each name engraved on the wall came alive in a haunting, heart-wrenching way, and reached deep down inside to choke me of my breath and tears.

I met a middle aged man, who stood silently before the walls. His eyes were red and moist. He spoke to me, and asked me to take a picture of him pointing to one of the many names. “This is my uncle,” the man said solemnly. I said nothing, and nodded in acknowledgment. In that momentary silence, it was as if he and I understood one another’s pain and love for this island and the fate of its people. After walking on for a few more metres and spotting a name high on top of the list, he pointed again and said, “This is my friend.”

Later, I learned that he was with a group of Taiwanese-American physicians who were on their bi-annual tour of Taiwan. Out of fear of persecution, prominent Taiwanese intellectuals, professors, doctors, and lawyers fled the island after the Nationalist Chinese government took over. Many of these Taiwanese people were blacklisted, unable to return to see their home and families until the lifting of martial law in 1987. Most found their way to the United States and/or Canada, becoming accomplished people in exile, yet continuing to support their long lost home and people through donations and a powerful lobby in the US. Even abroad, spies and secret agents of the Nationalist Chinese government gave Taiwanese in exile no rest (the recent movie “Formosa Betrayed” has a good portrayal of this, and Taiwan’s current president Ma Ying-jeou is one such spy who worked for the (then) authoritarian government). Perhaps, if it were not for the commitment of these overseas Taiwanese, and their efforts to secure the passage of the Taiwan Relations Act in the US Congress, Taiwan would have long been overwhelmed by the Chinese Communists.

“God bless you,” the middle aged man said as he left, “And God bless Taiwan”. I nodded, and lifted my thumb up to him. Outside, the stuffy confines and green metal bars of the prison, the sun was slowly setting. The sun had already set for many who gave up their lives for a struggle for a country and people they cared for and loved. The tranquil Pacific waved and waned, ebbed and flowed, spanning the distance between the island of Taiwan and this isolated little green island in the distance. The wind blew across time, across the soft, soft sand.

“In that era,

How many mothers

Wept through the nights

For their children imprisoned on this island?”