Stilettos

I don't know what I was doing in that store, surrounded by all these colourful stilettos with 10cm heels. I've never even owned one, nor do I ever intend to own one. Yet, something about them attracted me into the store.

And so I waited and waited until I was served. People kept pouring into the store, grabbed whatever they like, men and women, and paid for it. When it was my turn, I put on a pair of blue ones, and walked around. It was not as difficult as it seemed, and I seemed to become so much taller. The world looks different from a different height.

"How much?" I asked.

"I'll make you a deal since you waited so long. 850."

For a pair so shoes?! I was shocked, but embarrassed to say I don't want them anymore, embarrassed to seem cheap, or seem like someone who just looks but does not buy. But I definitely could not afford that price for just a pair of shoes.... even with 10cm heels.

So I lied. I made up a story, uncomfortably, about how I'm waiting for a cheque to clear, and after that I'll have the money to buy it. When the shoplady asked for my contacts, I made up a name and a number, and an address right there on the spot. I was nervous, afraid people would seem through my trickery and deceit..... so scared....

....I don't know why I had that dream, or what it all meant. Maybe because I was joking with someone the other day, after seeing a three hour drag show, that I'd dress in a wig. He joked back saying he'd come in stilettos.

But why did it all manifest into the dream?

"Oh, Romeo, Romeo..."

With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt;
Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

Risking thunder and rain, I rode toward the park on the riverside. The outdoor performance went ahead as planned, despite the flooded grassfield and no more than fifty people watching. I sat down, just as the sun was appearing before it disappeared for the day.

The great romantic tragedy of Romeo and Juliet... I've seen it numerous times, in theatres, dance theatres and ballet halls. The story of two forlorn lovers torn apart by the feud of their families. An impossible love in life, and in death. A tragedy, bitter and painful, but perhaps worth it all for they had once tasted the sweet, sweet taste of love's nectar, and forever long for and remember it.

I sat on the ground, a plastic bag to keep me from getting wet from the puddles all around me. I listened to the poetry, the magic of Shakespeare, heard and let his epic words wash over me, conjuring images and memories that only he (or they?) could put so beautifully into words. In the distance, I saw flashes of light in the looming clouds. Clouds that seemed to inch closer and closer with each passing line spoken on stage.

The lightning was spectacular.... sudden, unexpected, swift and merciless. And for those few moments or micro-moments, the sky would brighten as bright as day. Clouds with their orangey glow from the pollution of bright lights in the city moved ever faster, and was soon overhead, overshadowing the open field, overshadowing the performance on stage.

And soon it began to rain, as people ran. I sat there and moved slowly. Savouring the rain, the echoes of Romeo and Juliet's exchanges, and felt the fading romance of the night before the torrential downpour and horrendous sounds of thunder took over.

"How to be alone"

Waking up this morning, a friend sent me a link to this poem/song. He wrote in the message that for some reason he thought of me when he first heard/read this,

If you are at first lonely, be patient. If you’ve not been alone much, or if when you were you were not okay with it, then just wait. You’ll find its fine to be alone once you’re embracing it. We can start with the acceptable places, the bathroom, the coffee shop, the library, where you can stall and read the paper, where you can get your caffeine fix and sit and stay there. Where you can browse the stacks and smell the books, your not suppose to talk much anyway so its safe there. There is also the gym, if your shy, you can hang out with yourself and mirrors, you can put headphones in. There’s public transportation, we all gotta go places. And there’s prayer and mediation, no one will think less if your hanging with your breath seeking peace and salvation. Start simple. Things you may have previously avoided based on avoid being principles. The lunch counter, where you will be surrounded by “chow downers”, employees who only have an hour and their spouse work across town, and they, like you, will be alone. Resist the urge to hang out with your cell phone. When you are comfortable with “eat lunch and run”, take yourself out to dinner to a restaurant with linen and silver wear. You’re no less an intriguing a person when you are eating solo desert and cleaning the whip cream from the dish with your finger. In fact, some people at full tables will wish they were where you were. Go to the movies. Where it’s dark and soothing, alone in your seat amidst fleeting community. And then take yourself out dancing, to a club where no one knows you, stand on the outside of the floor until the lights convince you more and more and the music shows you. Dance like no ones watching because they are probably not. And if they are, assume it is with best human intentions. The way bodies move genuinely move to beats, after-all, is gorgeous and affecting. Dance till you’re sweating. And beads of perspiration remind you of life’s best things. Down your back, like a book of blessings. Go to the woods alone, and the trees and squirrels will watch for you. Go to an unfamiliar city, roam the streets, they are always statues to talk to, and benches made for sitting gives strangers a shared existence if only for a minute, these moments can be so uplifting and the conversation you get in by sitting alone on benches, might of never happened had you not been there by yourself.

Society is afraid of alone though. Like lonely hearts are wasting away in basements. Like people must have problems if after awhile no one is dating them. But lonely is a freedom that breaths easy and weightless, and lonely is healing if you make it. You can stand swaffed by groups and mobs and hands with your partner, look both further and farther in the endless quest for company. But no one is in your head. And by the time you translate your thoughts an essence of them maybe lost or perhaps it is just kept. Perhaps in the interest of loving oneself, perhaps all those sappy slogans from pre-school over to high school groaning, we’re tokens for holding the lonely at bay. Cause if you’re happy in your head, and solitude is blessed, and alone is okay., Its okay if no one believes like you, all experiences unique, no one has the same synapses can’t think like you, this me/ be ?, keeps things interesting, life’s magic brings much, and it doesn’t mean you aren’t connected, the community is not present, just take back to you get from being one person in one head and feel the effects of it. Take silence and respect it, if you have an art that needs practice stop neglecting it, if your family doesn’t get you or a religious sect is not meant for you, don’t obsess about it. You could me in an instant surrounded if you need it, if your heart is bleeding, make the best of it, there is heat and freezing be a testimate.

I was touched after watching the videoclip. Somewhat by the fact that this friend 'understood' me and saw me for who I was, even though we don't really keep in touch much. But I was touched more by the song/poem's message, by the way it makes simple moments and activities undertaken alone so simple and so normal.

For someone as self-conscious and low self-esteemed as I am, it helps to be encouraged by the echoes of someone else's mind. Ironically, "How to be alone" made me feel less alone...

How often I have thought to myself that I must be 'sad' or desperate to be doing a lot of things alone... but really, when I come to think of it, I seem to enjoy a lot of things alone. Less opinions, less conflicts, more freedom, more ease to go and come wherever and whenever I want. Especially after some tensions and letdowns in the past few months, I do feel a bit happier being alone.

Of course, that doesn't drive away the longing for the company of someone special in my life... but as someone once said to me, I can only learn to be with someone if I can first like being alone. And all these years and moments of solitude have taught me that being alone I can see more, hear more, feel more than if I were surrounded by a cacophony of voices and opinions (other than my own, because sometimes there too are many voices and opinions inside of my mind...)

Wash away

I stood on the shore, and watched the water wash, wash, wash against the rocks. The rocks stood their ground and would not budge. I wished the water would wash away the myriad of thoughts and voices that were rushing through my mind... wash away the petty feelings, the discontents, disappoints and leave my mind clear.

One of those days when I am awash with thoughts, when I just want to be left alone (ironically) to be with my thoughts. I deeper I dig, the more disconnect and distance I feel towards people around me. And I cannot express what it is that I am feeling, what it is that leaves me sometimes frustrated towards others, and most of all toward myself. Could this be the result of lacking meaning, lacking purpose in my life? Could this be the effect of longing, longing for something (or someone) but then growing every bit more bitter with each passing day? What is it that I want? What is it that I need?

The river answered with the constant murmur of its flow. The water all around me replied with the soothing sounds of splashes and ripples.

A steady breeze blew, blew, blew against my face as I looked into the distance. When I arrived, the sky was splashed red with the last rays of dusk. But now it was almost pitch dark, and I was left alone, standing there by the shore, watching the river, and feeling the breeze against my face. I wished it would blow away the anxieties, the dreams, tensions and repeating memories that were making me dizzy and tired. I wished the wind would blow me away, or that the river would suddenly sweep me off my feet, and take me away...

Origins of discontent

I'm not even sure if "discontent" is the word for it, for what I'm feeling. I'm not extremely happy or extremely sad... just feeling something that I can't put words to, and the closest I can think of is "discontent", or to be optimistic, "content".

I'm not sure where this feeling comes from... things in life are generally going well. I've been settled in the comforts of my own home for just over a whole month now, which given my travel records of the past year, is an amazing feat. My work is going relatively well, or at least progressing, since I've been disciplined enough to get myself to the library everyday. Mum's health condition is relatively stable at the moment. And I'm meeting new people too to see if there are any potentials out there...

But could it be that in comfort there is discomfort? Am I someone who actually prefers to live in uncertain and confusion, and gets apprehensive when things are settled and stable?

Maybe, as friends have told me before, people always need something to look forward to. Something to work towards, something that will in the short term give you some kind of gratification, result or reward. And it's true, at the moment there really isn't anything for me to look forward to because everything is relatively calm and comfortable...

Dream

I saw dad's face, his smiling face. In that dreamlike state of consciousness, dad smiled back at me, and he looked very, very happy. Did he want so say anything else to me? Did he want to touch me, to hold my hand, as much as I wanted to?

In that dreamlike state of consciousness, I felt again that intense sense of pain and longing...

High hopes

When you don't have high hopes you don't get disappointed. And often in life that's the philosophy I live by.

Whatever will happen will happen.

A little disappointed

After the initial excitement last week, I was disappointed to receive word from my uncle that despite plans to move, they are not moving to Ottawa just yet. Partly because my aunt wants to have some time to adjust, and she feels Vancouver may be a good place to start (especially with the large Taiwanese community around...) Maybe one day they will decide to move, but that's not certain yet.

I'm not sure why I felt deflated afterwards... after all, it's their decision, and they know best what is best for them. I can only be there to support and help them however I can.

I guess I'm kind of disappointed because I was looking forward to having family around... or maybe in a way, I was secretly hoping I could be a 'role model' for my cousins. I have this inner urge to be a sort of 'guide' to them, to help them as they grow up and take the big step moving to a completely new environment. Maybe secretly I want to have a family, to have people I could take care of, and I could care about nearby.

Maybe that time will come. But just not yet.

Little trip

I sat on the river bank, next to the almost still St Laurent. Were it not for the occasional metallic echoes of cargo containers emanating from the port across the river, it could have easily been somewhere far, far away in the wilderness.

Looking up, I could see the silhouette of Montreal's skyscrapers, which from this distance look like little stacked up boxes. On a rough boulder I sat, listening to the sounds of the water, watching the clouds float by and the calm of my own rhythm breathing. Who would have though just half an hour ago, I was pedalling my bike next to exhaust spewing cars and buses, trying to navigate my way out of the drab and rundown concrete flyovers and underpasses of the city.

Boarding a ferry, I made my way across the river. A gigantic Canadian flag fluttered proudly on the aft side. Water parted and trailed a path of foam and bubbles on the surface of the broad, tranquil river as we cruised through it. The buildings, landmarks, green spaces of Ile St. Helene, the oval and hollow shaped structure of the Biodome, the lighthouse of Vieux Port, the arched back of Mont Royal... they all seem so familiar, but today I was seeing it all from a different place, from a different angle, with different eyes.

Today I felt like a tourist, like the other tourists on board the ferry, exploring and discovering, trailing unchartered paths and waters and driven by a sense of curiosity. Except I was a tourist in my own hometown, and feeling every bit more happy to be living in this beautiful town.

Dating

Maybe I'm just naive when it comes to it all. Meeting, going out, getting to someone who is at first a complete stranger in the hope of perhaps meeting the special someone I've been looking for. I don't know any of the "dating etiquettes", like what to wear, what to say, what to talk about and what to avoid. And much less do I know when to call/write back or what exactly to write back if I do write back. Maybe that's the reason I'm still alone, and have been alone for the past five years or so.

Just chatting with friends I do get a sense that I have a very different approach to dating. A lot of people meet someone online, exchange a few words and invite them over for a "movie". More often than not it turns out to be much more than just that, but also not more than just "that". And then on to the next one.

There's nothing wrong with that kind of dating, in fact just thinking about it all is very (s)exciting. But somehow that is just not what I want, just not how I operate. I don't know if it's my naivete driving me to look for something deeper and more "meaningful" than just sex. Maybe it's that day-dreamy and fantasy-driven part of me that longs for something "more". I do know I can't just meet someone, strip naked and have "fun", and leave at the end of the night without feeling some kind of remorse toward the other person or towards myself...

So I move on, ever in search for the 'perfect' (if there is such a thing) guy. But in fact, when I stop and think about, I'm not even sure what I'm looking for exactly... what is it that attracts me? That makes me think or imagine that there could be something between us? I'm not sure...

As unsure as I am about the rules, faux-pas and musts of dating.

Consultation

In expectation of a new bed I bought, I called mum this morning for some advice. Where should I put my bed? It's not just a matter of fitting it into tight spaces I have in my apartment, but goes to something more fundamental.

It's about wind and water, in other words Fengshui. Every single individual, because of the place, time, and date he was born has a unique sort of 'code' that makes this person perform or function better when he is facing a certain direction. For example, mum said to me (and I called more or less to confirm) that I should sleep with my head towards the West. It's worked well for me, and all the homes I've lived in (and there are many...), I have slept according to this rule. And I think I'm doing well and have had a fortunate life (so far).

I'm not sure where the rule comes from, but there are geomancy guidebooks and masters that you can consult to determine which direction is best for you. And it's not just the position you are pointing toward when you are sleeping that is important... also the position you face when you are studying, working may have fundamental impacts on your ability to concentrate or do something well.

It may all be dismissed as hogwash and superstition... but some of the ways of wind and water are actually very logical. You should never place a table that has a door directly behind where you're sitting. There may be deep rooted reasons behind it, but logically, whenever someone walks by the door, you'll be distracted. And also you should never sit or sleep under a beam. Again, from the point of view of psychology, to have something constantly "shadow" over you can create a lot of tension and unseen burden on the psyche.

So my bed and study table has been adjusted, and now waiting for the new furniture to arrive...

To Ottawa?

Before I boarded the bus and headed back to Montreal, I looked back and told my uncle again that if there is anything they need help with, they should feel free to just ask. I meant it, I really did.

For I could understand their worries and concerns. Though probably not the same as mine, I can imagine at least what it must feel like to be in a completely new environment and to start life afresh. I did it, but I had the benefit of being able to converse in (one of) the local languages well, and also the benefit of years of experience living overseas and years of independence. While my uncle, aunt and my two cousins may not be quite “fresh off the boat”, I can only imagine how daunting it must be to suddenly be transported to another setting, where the signs and words that come out of people’s mouths are jumbles of letters.

So I said I would help them in any way I can. Not because I want anything in return. But like many times before, I really do get a sense of joy and happiness out of seeing someone helped on their feet and watching them flourish later on. It was sort of like this with my friend and my godson, and now, my relatives find themselves also find themselves stepping into unchartered territory. If I could offer some advice, offer some simple assistance, just be there when I’m needed, I think that would do a lot.

I mean, what is happening with my two cousins is more or less what happened to me many, many years ago. I see many similarities, and in a way feel there are things that I could do and say to help make their transition smoother and less troubled. For the sake of the children’s education, my uncle decided to apply for Canadian residency (and got accepted), and last summer has already sent his oldest son to start high school in the Vancouver area. And now my aunt and my younger cousin are immigrating to Canada too, and the family is thinking of staying somewhere more suitable for kids and that will be more conducive for their language learning. The dad, my uncle, will remain in Taiwan and work a few more years before he comes to join them when he retires. It’s a story of sacrifices, of separation, longing, but also of hope, dreams and hopefully hardship that will bear fruits.

As beautiful and pleasant as Vancouver is, it is just full of Asian and Chinese-speaking immigrants, which means there is little opportunity (if any) for my cousin to really pick up English. In Ottawa at least, the proportion of Asian/Chinese-speaking immigrants is much less, so as I told them before, it’ll feel and be more like you really have moved to a whole new country instead of being stuck in a small circle of people from the same region, sharing the same cultural and linguistic backgrounds.

Though it will definitely be tough, the story of my uncle’s family is not new. In fact, today when I was with them, we paid visits to Taiwanese-Canadian families who have made the same sacrifices and arduous trek across the oceans to come to Canada in order to live in a better environment and provide a better life and future for their children. They sat at the table, sharing and listening to stories of setbacks, discoveries, experiences, and their shared gratitude of being in their new adoptive homes.

It is not yet sure whether they will move to Ottawa, but it is very likely. What is not to like about the capital of this great nation? It’s green, peaceful city of a decent size, that’s well connected and has a good transportation network. There are good schools in the area, and also good prospects for university studies in the future on the East Coast. There are sporadic pockets of Taiwanese immigrants, but not so many that the signs of certain areas are just in Mandarin scripts and where the word on the street is the dialect we speak at home. And, if it’s a factor they are considering, I’m pretty close by too, in just around 2hours by bus or train.

I will not say much else to them, and let my uncle and his family decide. But by the looks of their initial reaction, I think it might be soon that I’ll start to shuttle between Ottawa and Montreal sometime.

Post on Kosovo

Been a while since I posted anything on the other blog, but thought this issue should be separate from here. Interesting advisory opinion issued by the ICJ on the Kosovo's unilateral declaration of independence.

Postscript...

It's been almost a week my "meeting" with the guy online, and neither of us have written to one another. I'm not planning to, despite the pity I felt for him afterwards... but some things were said during our meeting that were really offensive, that made me want to just walk away and leave, but I didn't.

I stayed around till the end, and we parted company as we reached the metro station in the pouring rain. There were personaly remarks, racist remarks, unpleasant things that made me feel stupid and unwanted. Maybe he said those things because he could not help himself, because he does not have the understanding of social etiquette to know that you cannot say such hurtful things in front of people and out loud.

I dismissed those comments, thinking that it must be a condition of his autism. I know that people with his condition are born thinking and feeling every bit superior to everyone else, and that everyone else is a failure or not worthy of talking to (he said it himself, called his friends and classmates "stupid", ignorant, and lamented that they cannot see things as he sees them). I forgave him and pretended I did not hear it all.

I do sometimes think of contacting him, even now, but I'm not sure what for. Perhaps out of pity? Perhaps out of guilt? Perhaps to convince myself that I am not a heartless monster who turns away from people who are difficult to deal with? Perhaps because I made his first "meeting" with a stranger a complete failure? But I don't even know his real name, he never wanted to let me know. And he never initiated a conversation, asked me questions or take interest in what I do (except only after I asked him to ask me some questions...)

All I can do, I guess, is wish the best for him... and hope that he will find the friend he is looking for, find the "someone like me" he is searching for.

Why does it all matter anyway?
Exchanges, personal attacks, insinuations. It cannot be healthy, either to me or to anyone other person.

I can stop it.

Stop it, breathe deeply, and let go. However misunderstood, however hurtful the accusations. Let go.

Let go. Two months, two years, two decades from now, it will be all forgotten. It will be all so trivial and petty in the grand scheme of things.

I have seen and experienced death and loss.

This should be nothing less. Nothing more.

Different reactions

People can have different reactions to different experiences. That's what makes us all human. That's what makes us all different. But I cannot understand how someone could make crude jokes out of the intense suffering and extremity of cruelty that occurred in a concentration camp.

Maybe I'm too serious or uptight, and should probably dismiss it all as simple foolishness and joke-making for the fun of it (at least I should hope so...). But comparing a concentration camp to a diet camp or the gas chambers to a spa...?

There is satire, there is poking fun. And then there is a level of humour that is so insensitive and of poor taste that it completely trivialises the pain and suffering of countless many Jews, Roma, homosexuals, political objectors and those deemed to be "misfits" by the Nazi regime.

Auschwitz, Birken-Hausen, Struthof... these are undoubtedly infamous names of places in history where horrendous amounts of pain were inflicted-- the effects of which still linger on in the memories of survivors and their relatives. But these places also stand symbolically as a reminder that till this day, decades after the world leaders got together, shook their heads in unison and promised "never again", the same kind of atrocities continued to occur, and still are occurring.

Last time I visited a concentration camp [LINK HERE], I was moved close to tears by my experience. In the narrow, gloomy hallways, in the gaschambers in which a sickly and deathly air seemed to hang thick after all these decades, on the walls of torture rooms and "medical labs ", I felt the ghosts of history come alive and haunt me.

Pictures, writings, shoes, teeth... rusted barbed fences, wind-swept barrack walls, and the open excavation of a quarry dug out by the inmates... All remnants and memories, painful and sordid, that till today still stand as indelible marks of the collective suffering, collective shame and collective guilt of entire nations, of the entire human race, which cannot and can never be erased.
It was a feeling of oppression, of gagging, of silence so intense I have only felt it in the face of watching family and close friends hopelessly suffer and slowly die from cancer... But the concentration camp bears the souls and innocence of so many who needlessly died because of prejudice, because of hatred, because someone was born the way they were born...

And someone actually questioned why people were standing there and weeping, even though they were not even Jewish. A human being's suffering and pain inflicted intentionally by another fellow human being who is acting under the spell of pure malice, and perhaps even out of joy, is reason enough to weep. Whatever race you are, and however remote you are to the time, place and people who bore the brunt of tyranny and oppression. Is not human sympathy and human compassion for the pain of others what distinguishes us from uncivilised beasts?

But this is just my reaction. Other people may have other reactions. And they are no less correct or wrong compared to mine.

Juste pour rire

At first, I was hesitant to go. Not a fan of big crowds, I was I glad though that I did in the end.

Exiting the metro, I was greeted by one of many elaborately dressed performers on stilts, and the steady, steady sound of African drums. Overhead, the papermache head of Hardy, with his iconic thin smile and moustache, gazed down at the gathering crowd with his goofy eyes. Festival Juste pour rire de Montreal ("Montreal Just for Laughs Festival"), is not just laughs and gags, but an elaborate series of festivities, shows and colours that lasts for almost an entire month.

For much of July, downtown Montreal is turned into a giant podium. Against the backdrop of skyscrapers and the normally crowded main thoroughfares of the city, the city's heart beats vibrantly in the heat of Summer, as hordes of revellers from all over the place descend on Montreal to... have a good laugh. Best of all, at no (one's) expense. Already in its twenty-third year, the festival combines acrobatic acts with pantomimes, games, slapstick comedy and street performances of all sorts and sizes. Making people laugh is the central theme, with each day jam packed with a variety of parades, live music and dance.

With friends, I stood on the St Catherine, the city's main artery, waited and watched the night's carnival go by. From the political to the spectacular, from outright outrageous makeup and masks to costumes and floats with important messages. There were surprise tricks, pranks and games played with the cheering crowd. It was a confused and yet delightful feast for the imagination. Fish dancing in synch, political leaders caricatured and spoofed, walking light bulbs, and a flock of forlorn and stained flamingos served as a critique and reminder of the seriousness of the latest oil spill-- an environmental catastrophe of unmatched proportions, which after four months is still unsolved. People aligned the pavements, tiptoeing to catch a glimpse of the action, clapping along with the music, sounds and noises blaring flutes, horns, drums or strange instruments made out of recycled materials and a stretch of the creativity. Signs and billboards carried important messages, about the need for tolerance, the beauty of celebrating diversity and differences. Even the colourful decors of shop windows and bright neonlights of (in)famous "dance clubs" seemed to join in the cacophony of lights and sound.

Perhaps the highlight of the spectacle, and host of the festival, is the midgety green mascote of Juste pour rire, Victor. He has a cheeky grin, fangs and devil-like red horns.. Yet despite his looks, his intentions are simple and pure. Victor makes sudden appearances on stage, next to dancing tongues, mock versions of Japanese robots, and can-can girls, "preying" on unsuspecting victim to infect them with the precious gift of... smiles and laughter. Children, grown-ups, teens; nobody is immune to his powerful spell of causing mayhem, chaos with colourful dance routines and catchy show-tunes. Victor's girlfriend, Rose, also makes surprise appearances. Though perhaps ten times taller and fatter, Rose 'floats' and waves around the various stages. The finale was a romantic reunion of the two lovers... under moonlight, under falling confetti in the shape of hearts, and under the magical, mesmerising lyrics of love songs. Cupids flew and dangled high in the sky, spreading red flames and light snow showers to bless the world with awe, love and laughter.

Standing there, merely "a face in the crowd", I felt a sense of joy. Joy brought about by my own laughter, the laughter of friends, and the laughter of countless others.

Terrible dream

I had a heated exchange with a friend, and things got nasty. I forgot what happened, or what the fight was about.

Nothing physical, but more verbal exchanges and insults were thrown at one another. At one point I just went silent, the way I get when I’m upset. But my friend continued, chiding and provoking me, trying to get me to respond, trying to get me to “loose it”. There were other friends around us, and they tried to calm us both, to stop the escalation.

Then this friend said something that really hurt me to the core. Alluding to the fact that I travel a lot, that I’m never home, and that I travel all the time for fun.

I broke down. I thought this friend understood me, knew me, knew my life. I thought he was understanding enough to know that I don’t travel for fun. At least not mainly for fun… I thought of my mum, thought of the painful moments watching her in hospital, waiting with her for results like waiting for a death sentence to be passed down. I thought of mum’s ordeals, her depressions, and my attempts to soothe her, to make her feel good about herself despite the circumstances she’s facing… those moments are not fun. How can anyone be so insensitive as to accuse me of travelling and flying around just to “have fun”?

I broke down, hit the floor and grabbed my stomach. I felt sick, nauseated, and tears poured out of me.

It was then I shook awake, and realised I was breathing very, very hard. I felt so terribly hurt, so terrible lonely and saddened. My heavy breathing continued, until I calmed down little by little…

Outside, rain was pouring down.

Disaster...

That's what my meeting was with this guy.

I thought I was socially awkward, but this person wasn't so much worse. I suspect he has some kind of autism, because he just wasn't 'normal', and kept on ramblings about things he liked and disliked.

It was probably the longest 1.5hrs I had. When I first saw him, I should have turned around and walked away... but I was too 'nice', and wanted to give him a chance. Well, I tried... I really did. Even the fireworks were terrible, because he continued talking about how he liked that explosion, didn't like that explosion...

It just shows... what you read from email communications and chats sometimes don't live up to half what you expect. Deflated, I said I wanted to go home. I said goodbye, and walked away. But deep down inside, I felt sorry for the guy... it's not his fault that he is the way he is, and he too was probably just wanting to find someone to talk to, to be with. Unfortunately that person is not me...

On the ride back, I felt so sad, and looked out the window, staring blankly into the darkness of the tunnel. At that point I felt so lonely. So terribly, terribly lonely, as if I was alone in the world, yet strangely surrounded by people, by couples, by lovers (a lesbian one, right next to me...)

I tried... I really did.

Differences

When he told me his age, I was surprised, and perhaps a little disappointed. Too young, in my opinion... probably "immature" and ignorant of the ways of the world, whatever that may mean.

We had been emailing one another for a few days, and liked one another (at least what we've 'seen' of one another in writing), and we agreed to meet.

I'm not sure why the issue of age was never raised, but when it was, it was kind of a 'killer' of my enthusiasm for meeting this guy. I mean, I'm not old enough to be his dad, but still between the teenage and tweenage years are exactly the years when someone 'discovers' himself, discovers the world and its "wicked, wicked" ways and finds some sense and direction in life. Let's just say he's probably just starting that process, whereas I've been stumbling through for a while now.

Not to say that I have discovered myself completely, or know everything there is about the world, and I've already crossed the halfway point of my tweenage years. But still, common sense tells me (actually, warns me) that there will be great differences in experience, knowledge and outlook.

I guess I'll just go and meet this guy and see what happens. Worse thing that could happen is at some point either (or both) of us realise there's a great big disconnect, and we decide to part company before anyone of us feels too embarrassed to continue. If that happens, at least there's the fireworks I can still enjoy later tonight...

Well, given the stormy weather (a welcome cool, no doubt, in the persistent heat), that may not even be so certain...

I wish I hadn't seen all of the realness
And all the real people are really not real at all
The more I learn the more I cry
As I say goodbye to the way of life
I thought I had designed for me

Then I see you standing there
Wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Then I see you standing there
I'm all I'll ever be
But all I can do is try
Try

Results....

I slept terribly, plagued by dreams and so tired and groggy when I woke up. I felt worse than having a hangover. And all I drank before bed was water...

But I needed to wake up, to call mum, because today is a big day. She went for a full CAT scan last week, and today she'd get the results. I was a little hesitant about calling. In the past, sometimes after conversations on days like this, I feel down, more down than ever, and helpless...

She answered the phone, and the TV I suspect was in the background. She sounded alright. The first sound of her voice can often tell how she's feeling. Nothing to worry about, she said, the doctor said her results are better than back in May, when she last had a checkup. "Must be all the travelling and good times in Europe," she said, even though I feared that some tensions at home didn't really do her any good.

I asked if she could see the pictures of her scan. She said she did, and there doesn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary. As long as there is not spreading or enlargement of lymph glands, then it's stable. It's under control.

That's good news, right?.

Catcher in the rye

"I have a feeling that you're riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall [...] It may be the kind where, at the age of thirty, you sit in some bar hating everybody who comes in looking as if he might have played football in college. Then again, you may pick up just enough education to hate people who say, "It's a secrete between he and I " Or you may end up in some business office, throwing paper clips at the nearest stenographer. I just don't know [...]

This fall I think you're riding for--it's a special jind of fall, a horrible kind. The man fallingisn't permitte to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started. [...]"

I just finished reading the novel. Perhaps something I should have done when I first came across it in high school. Other kids were reading it, but I never did. I never understood what the fuss was all about at that age. But I do now.

I feel like Holden, he's the main character. Lost, confused, discontented, lonely and depressed. He's actually sick, but he doesn't know it... and neither does the reader till the very end. He's sick in the head, because there are constantly a thousand thoughts and images rushing through his mind. He has difficult concentrating, focusing and staying interested in any one thing. He's sad, bitter and perhaps angry too, at many people and at the state of the world. He can't name one thing he likes... but there are many things that bother him, that make him feel like puking or swearing... even though, deep down inside, he longs for the comfort and safety of childhood, of yesteryears. He's an adolescence thrust into a world of adults, but with one foot in the past. Traumas of death, abuse continue to linger in his mind... the happiness and lights and colours of growing up remain etched in his head, but he is afraid that they will fade with every passing day.

I may not be as discontented or angry as him, I do feel and can identify with many of his traits of his character. Maybe that's why it's such a celebrated novel, because it captures the mind of a confused adolescence who is desparate for love and help so well... By no means am I unique, I do not think, in being often plagued by feelings of depression and sadness and loneliness.But I am troubled, my mind is besieged by thoughts, fantasies and dreams, and all the while I long, I long so much for understanding and affection. Which Holden does not get. And neither do I, I feel.

But I don't think I am crazy, at least not yet. Then again, who knows a few years down the line, if all else remains the same, where and what state of mind I will be in...

Summer storm

The wind, strong and stubborn, blew against the window, sending the curtains flying and the door banging wildly. A storm was brewing. I could feel it in the wind, I could sense it in the damp and see the black, black clouds gather behind the leaves. Rain was sure to come down, fast and heavy, and the world would be drenched...

So I grabbed my sandals, put on a light waterproof jacket, and made a dash outside. I felt the rain on my feet, felt the rain wet my legs and feet, and dampen my hair and head. Let it rain, I felt like saying to the sky. Let it rain, and wash away the heat, the confusion and lethargy.

I ran, and it rained more and more. The more it rained, the faster I ran. The streets were deserted, as was the park. I ran on the path through the park, and felt the rain cleanse me thoroughly. Lightning flashed across the dark sky, thunder roared through the air. The sun hid somewhere in the distance, and you could see the storm gradually float overhead. I felt free and happy as I got wetter and wetter. My hair was like a sponge. My feet wet with water, dirty with mud and pebbles. My glasses blurred from the drops of water that ran down the lenses.

Then I had a thought... if lightning is supposed to be laden with positive charges, do people with negative thoughts not attract lightning strikes...?

And I ran.
Then

Nap

I closed my eyes for a nap... The humidity and heat is really getting to me. Even though I was born in the tropics, I sort of dread the daytime nowadays... and night isn't much better either.

In my nap, in a dreamlike state of mind I saw myself. A thought flashed by, and I saw myself older, twenty, thirty or maybe even thirty years from now. Old, lost, alone... beset by the same uncertainties and insecurities as I am today. I shook and woke up. I don't want to be like that... I don't want to grow old and bitter and lonely.

I feel like I lack enthousiasm these days. Lack that 'spark' in my brain and body that used to propel me and used to drive me. Somehow that has disappeared, and like a lightbulb, I feel dim and dull in a world full of noise, full of light and colours.

Where or from who can I find inspiration again...?

Waste of time.

If there's one thing I really don't like, it's people who make an appointment with you and then show up much (much, much) later. If it's 7 o'clock, then I'm most likely ready and waiting already for the person to show up at ten to...

But,10 minutes later... 15 minutes later... half an hour later... an hour later, and still no sign. I walk around the house, looking for things to do. The food I prepared has gone cold and dry. I'm starving and have lost almost all enthousiasm for a good evening in. Imagine all the things I could have done in that time waited waiting for the person to show up. Or at least call when they know they'll be late...

Such a waste of time!

Starting new

Been back home for a week now, and slowly, slowly I think I'm back to my 'normal' life here in Montreal. It's good, to wake up every day in the comfort of your own home, to wake up to my cat, to my own food and everything else.

The weather has been unbearably hot and humid in the last week, so hot I just don't feel like doing much. I've been going to the school library, but not really do work, as I should be doing, but just sitting there, enjoying the cool of the aircon and reading out-of-school things. I really must get a move on and push myself.

Push myself also in other ways... after all the trips I've made to spent time with mum, and having experienced some things with my brother and friends, made me realise something. I really need to pick up my life and start doing things for myself. And to do so I think need to distance myself from certain things and people which don't really help but rather hinder my life and personal growth.

To start, I'm going to cut down on (non-essential) travels. In a way, to make sure that I'm not always coming back to all sorts of unfinished (or unstarted) business after the many trips I've been making. Especially after all this flying around, I sometimes think to myself why it is that I should go out of my way to see other people, whereas hardly anyone comes to see me? For one thing, I've been here almost two years, but my brother's never visited, whereas I've gone to see him at least four times...

Not that I should suddenly become selfish and care less about other people in my life. Just, I need to do more things that will make my life and work move forward. Do (more) things that I enjoy, do things that will benefit me (more). Again, it may sound very selfish and egoistic... but really, when I come to think of it, I've been giving myself too much and not really giving myself to myself.

It's a little pact with myself. Not sure if it'll change anything, or I'll be any better off in the end. But sometimes you have to start somewhere.

The river turning

What makes the river turn? What makes it make a dramatic swing to the left and continue to flow like a sheet of green and gray satin being pulled rapidly downstream?

I sat on jagged rocks, and listened to the constant rush and murmur of the river. An endless sound, a sound without no end, as endless as the river stretched across the broad horizon. A seagull stood tall and still on the river's edge. It was braving the powerful waters made twists and turns and splashed at its webbed feet until a curious photographer got close. The bird suddenly leapt and took to skies. To greater freedom, while the river continued rushing beneath its spread out wings.

I sat watching as the river turned, as the river chose its paths. At times, together with the wind, the river would splash a few droplets of its abundant water on my cheeks. The sun beat down heavily on my skin, while the breeze was gentle and brisk.

The river turned before my eyes. A part of it chose the smooth course, while the rest, driven by strong currents, tore through hidden boulders and perilous whirlpools, down the wild, wild rapids.

Happy Canda Day

Woke up early in the morning, having gone to bed early. By ten, I could hear my pillow calling, and almost as soon as I lay down I fell asleep. Sleep has not felt so fine in so long, especially as when I was travelling most of the time I slept on the floor. It's good to be in the comfort of your own home after such a long time away...

It's a gray morning, cold and damp hanging in the air. Unusual for this time of the year. But it is an special day. Not only dad's birthday, who today would have turned 63. It is also Canada Day, the birth of my new homeland 143 years ago. The day when a nation of beavers and bears, of great lakes and majestic mountains, of remote hamlets and sprawling cosmopolitan cities, of natives and newcomers, of diverse cultures and of acceptance was born.

Canada means a lot of things to a lot of people. And to me, it is a new land of opportunity to be myself, to 'make' and discover myself.

How fitting that I come back here after the series of unwelcome experiences in Europe, and it just happens to be Canada Day.

Sleepless at AMS

I should sleep, but I can’t. Perhaps I’m too excited, irritated or sad by the dramatic events earlier this evening. I can only lie awake on the comfy bed, with mum slightly snoring by my side, and see all these thoughts and images run through my head…

It’s been a long time since I have become sad prior to leaving. But this time, as I lie next to the silhouette of my mum, I cannot but feel sorry for her… sorry for what she has had to go through, what she has had to experience, and most of all, because of whom she has bear all this disappointment and hurt. So sorry that I feel the corners of my eyes moisten at the thought…

I lie awake, and she is already fast asleep. I sure hope she can rest well and wake up refreshed in the morning. But I do wonder… what originally was a trip for her to recuperate from her chemo turned into an experience of great mental trauma and emotional upset. How many cancerous cells have been multiplying since…? How many cancerous cells are now feeding on her sadness and deep heartache…? Is her cancer index again through the roof, like last time when brother tormented her emotionally about funding his renovations?

“I will never come here again…” she said earlier as I journeyed to the airport. Maybe she said it because of her deep disappointment at my brother’s behaviour… but maybe, just maybe, deep down inside she knows that this may be the time that she has the chance to visit the Netherlands.

And what a memorable time it has been…

Forgiveness

How many times can you forgive someone who continues to hurt you again and again?

How many times can you just forgive someone who does not seem to know or understand how much hurt and wrong he can cause to others?

The monk in the mountains told me the Buddha never taught that endless forgiveness is compassion. You can forgive, but do so with wisdom. Forgive not for the sake of forgiving, for forgiving without wisdom is foolishness. Forgiving only to make the person repeat the same mistakes again and again is not helping him, but instead hurting him, and others. Someone who continuously beats you and torments you can be forgiven. But forgiving with wisdom is to let go of the past, and let go of this person who brings no benefit to your spiritual or physical wellbeing.

There are those who can be forgiven, and shown the path. But there are those who can be forgiven, and are forever lost in the vices of greed, hatred and delusion.

Forgive, pardon his ignorance and not knowing better. And let go.