Working life

I asked mum today what she wanted to do when she was my age, and what was the most memorable event of her working life.

Tax officer, she said. After she graduated, the first in her family, she was lucky to that the government was recruiting civil servants, and she managed to get through the difficult exam. And within a month or so, she began her career. She wanted to interact with taxpayers and educate people about the importance of paying taxes, because back then people were (and are even now) very resistant to the government taking money away from them. But little did people understand that raising taxes is necessary for a country to develop, to provide public goods and services that we take for granted.

Throughout her career, she said she advised many people, many low income people and families, how to reduce their taxable amounts and get reductions. It's all part of her job, she said, part of serving the public, and doing so within confines of the law.

The most memorable day was about thirty year ago. I wasn't even born yet, and my brother was only one or so. A middle aged man walked into her office, sat down and began to cry. He didn't make much money, and he complained  the government was taking a lot of it away. "I don't even have money to pay my son's tuition..." (at the time, education was not free).

Mum, seeing the poor man cry, and moved by his story, took out whatever she had in her purse at the time and gave it to the man. "Not really thinking much", mum said. Not really because she consciously wanted to do "good", but because it was and felt like the right thing to do. She was purely driven by a sense of compassion and charity.

"I don't know if that man just made up a story to get sympathy, but it doesn't matter..."

No, it didn't matter. But the story revealed to me a side of my mum that I am grateful for  having inherited.

Friends of Cancer

"The most painful thing about oral cancer is... I can't even clearly say "I love you"

I stepped into the meeting room, and already a dozen or so people were seated and listening to the enthusiastic talk of the social worker. Quietly I sat down, and was in the midst of a "Friends of Cancer" group meeting.

Yes, as frightening as cancer is, you can be a "friend" to it, as long as you accept that it is there, and try to coexist with it, instead of fear and dread what it will do to you and your body. And the meeting was for patients and their relatives, for them to get to know about their condition, understand about nutrition and post-treatment care, as well as get support, whether psychological or financial. 

When I inadvertently saw the flyer at the chemotherapy ward, I though it would be about head-and-neck cancer in general. But the one-hour lecture was focused more on oral cancer, which is but a subgroup.  Mum did not come with me, as much as I would have liked her to, as she returned home after a few hours of treatment at the hospital.

Around the room were mostly middle aged males sitting next to (what I presume are) their wives. The vast majority (a staggering 88%!) of cases of oral cancer in Taiwan is caused by the chewing of betel nuts (penang). Smoking and alcoholism are other causes. It is most common among the lower and working classes and in the countryside, where the chewing of betel nuts is more prevalent, and primarily it strikes the male segment of the population.

Most of the patients in the room had a cough mask on, thus hiding most of their faces. Other than chemotherapy and radiotherapy, the most effective treatment for oral cancer is the surgical removal of the infected area, which often involves the complete removal of parts of the mouth and the lower jaw area. And after the procedure, the patient often resembles someone who has been seriously defaced after a terrible blow to the face. Truth be told, and as judgmental as it may be, some of the faces look frightening, like a  deformation, and I avoided looking at the faces for too long...

But this is exactly the kind of stigma and ostracisation that patients of oral cancer face. People shun them, and employers are afraid to hire them, because they are not "presentable enough. It is bad enough to have cancer, and to deal with the debilitating effects of the treatment, but after the treatment, most have to live as social outcasts, and many dare only go out wearing a mask of some sort.

I was extremely moved by the talk of the social worker, who shared information on getting support. Two people came up on stage, and despite inhibited ability to speak after the surgical removal of much of their mouth, they had such enthusiasm anead optimism for life. Just because you have a life-threatening illness, one that in some cases will almost definitely kill you, does not mean you cannot live and live life to the max. They were depressed and isolated themselves from everyone, but it takes just a change of heart to finally go out and face the sunshine, to realise that the illness does not mean the end of everything, but a new beginning and a new perspective on life. They shared how their relationship with their families have changed, how they have learned to appreciate life and the world much more. "Living day by day,  moment to moment..." It is almost Buddhist in the approach to the world and everything in it. No use beating yourself up about a condition you cannot change, so just accept it, embrace it, and take everything as it comes and goes. And the foundation has done invaluable work to support patients and their families, with work programmes, holidays, counseling services and much more. One such working programme is training oral cancer patients, most of whom have never touched a needle or thread, to work as tailors in the comfort of their own home, making textile carrier bags for sale.

I was extremely touched by their spirit, and at various moments moved to tears by their ability to accept fate, and to continue living despite the physical and mental pain they have had to, and most likely continue to, endure on a daily basis. At the end of the meeting, we were all given a carrier bag, the very kind sewn by a survivor of oral cancer.

The fabric felt especially soft, especially precious, and so very humbling. As I left the room, I looked the people with whom I shared an informative and touching hour with. I walked slowly away, and the corridor of the oral cancer ward filled with the chatter and rare laughter of patients and their relatives.

Testing the limit

The day after chemo is always the hardest. Countless good and bad cells have been killed off, leaving mum weak and lethargic, more than normal. Seeing her like that pains me, and this time it seems to be worse than ever before.

She apologises... for sleeping so much, for being so 'lazy', for being at home all day, for making me feel anxious and worried. I tell her that it's not her fault, that she cannot control how she feels and all the pain that she has. I try to comfort her, to reassure her by stroking her hand once in a while... but nothing seems to placate her mood and her mind.

More and more, I myself feel like I am being tested to the limit. My patience, my compassion, my ability to care, my ability to be strong for someone else's sake... tested and eroded with each passing moment, each passing day, which seem to pass so slowly.

I know that we are only ever constrained and imprisoned by our own minds and perceptions. But being here with mum, the helplessness, is killing me deep inside, really exhausting my body and mind. I try to control my emotions, not let the frustrations and the boredom get to me or show. But at times, my short temper, my raised and anxious voice show how terribly impatient and uncaring I may have become.

How have I become like this? When did I become so concerned about my own wellbeing and happiness that I find it harder and harder to empathise what mum is going through? More and more I find myself wondering how much easier life would be if I did not have to deal with all this. Why can't I be out there having "fun", enjoying my youth, going out, doing what I want to do with my life, instead of being here taking care of mum and being faced with illness and death every day...? Have many opportunities have I had to pass up because I had (or actually, wanted) to come home?

I know, I know it myself it is such a terrible thought to have, and I feel guilty for thinking that way. Mum could never know I have these thoughts, for it would devastate her and make her feel more like  she has been a burden to my life throughout these years.

 Sometime ago a friend of mine commented that nobody but me has the ability to give up my youth and so much of my time over the years just to be with mum. I still do not regret ever coming back here to be with her, to encourage and support her at critical moments...  It was always a decision I made, and I stand by them, and I am in a way glad that I can place mum first above all else and rush back here whenever she needs me (even though she never asked me to).  But being back here, with every extended period of time I spend here, and with every passing day, I find myself more and more wanting to get away, wanting to go back to my own life.

Why is that? Perhaps being 'stuck' is my fate, and if I can't get out of it, I should try to 'enjoy' the feelings of confinement and frustration of having to live with mum and live with her condition day in and day out.

If I just tell myself, again and again, that so many others have it so much worse... if I just look at mum and see her frown from pain or groan from her uncontrollable discomfort, I ask myself: how can you even think of yourself or think that you have the worse situation to deal with in life?

Dream

Everyone has dreams.  Sometimes we never get to realise them or live them, because we keep on  telling ourselves there will be tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow. And then we die, and the dreams die with us.

And there are times when you know your time on this world may be limited, so you are prompted to accomplish your dreams soon, or as soon as possible. Facing death can be terrifying, or it can be a refresher course on living, living to not just dream, but living to realise your dreams.

Mum has been sharing some of her dreams with me. A dream of my is to help mum realise her dreams. If I can in any way help her get closer to seeing her dream realised, I'll do it. Many have already been reaslised, especially in the past year or so... travel to Canada, see brother get married, have a grandchild... All of these have given her hope, given her a reason to continue living and go through all the excruciating pain and treatments.

One dream is simple and obvious, and it is to meet and hold her own grandchild. I have been encouraging her to visit Europe again at the end of December, so she can spend the very magical Christmas period with my brother and his family. Most important of all, so she can share that miraculous feeling of Christmas with loved ones and a newborn baby. My fingers are crossed on that one, and I'm working to make that happen...

And tonight, as we went for a stroll after dinner, she told me another dream of hers. "I'd like to see you settled down, get married and have children..." I was a bit lost for words.

"There is nothing more beautiful than building a family together with the one person who can support you and be your best friend and partner for the rest of your life..."  At one point mum joked I shouldn't rush into marriage so I can please her before she "goes"!

"It's hard to find a soul mate, but when you do keep that..." I smiled, and didn't say anything. I've told her on several occasions how I'd love to settle down, to be with someone who is compatible and whom I can give to and receive love in return from.

Truth be told, I'm very envious of my brother and his family, envious of the joys of holding his own child, and having someone to come home to every day (but of course, I know even family and marriage bring different kinds of worries...). But how beautiful it is to see him, his wife and son together... how happy, how very, very beautiful and touching...

"What about with [my friend]?" mum asked. She has met him on a few  occasions, and mum has a good impression of him. She was disappointed when I told her back in May that we broke up. I wasn't sure where to begin, how to explain where we were now. I just said he's a very good friend, but no more. We are... I don't know what we are, where we are headed. "He seems to be very caring, and you're both outstanding boys," mum said "You seem to be good together".

There are a number of dreams I can help mum fulfill... make sure she is fit enough to travel to see her grandson, make sure she is well enough and accompany her to a number of places she would like to. I look forward to that sense of 'achievement' when I help her realise that dream. I look forward to seeing her smile, to seeing the calm on her face when she has fulfilled one of her dreams.

But getting finding someone, getting married, settling down... As much as it is also a dream of mine, I'm not sure if I can fulfill it. And I'm not sure if I can fulfill it in time for mum to see me, with tears in her eyes, exchange vows with my one true love...

Laughing and crying

We laughed and joked in the morning as we had breakfast.  Some morbid joke about death, a play on words in Taiwanese which both mum and I found so amusing for some reason.

She was talking about whom I should call after she "returns". "To return" being a euphemism for dying, for passing. She was telling me about her colleagues at work and arrangements she's made with regards to her pension plan.

"Return? Where are you going to return to?" I asked cheekily.

"To become a deity! To become a finance officer up there!" At her last post, one she held for many years before retirement, she was in charge of finances and accounts at the branch of the revenue bureau she was working at.

Somehow that was very amusing, and it was beautiful to see mum laugh, to hear her laugh out loud. However brief that lightness felt, it was felt and distracted from all else.

In the face of death, you must be able to make fun of it, to poke and prod at it. How can you fully realise life without joking about death? Humour is a way to deal with and accept the unchangeable, the unacceptable. And I'm glad we still have the ability, though rare, to laugh out loud.

Fast forward an hour, and that laughter was long gone. I could see a tear in the corner of mum's. Was she tearing because of the pain, the excruciating pain that had come back as the painkillers wore off? Or was she crying because I insisted on accompanying her to the hospital? She kept on telling me to leave, leave the chemotherapy ward. "Go! Go, I don't want you hanging around here, the air is stale here and there are many sick people here..." but she is there, and has no choice but to be there.

I did as I was told, and left. I looked back though, looked back and saw mum sitting in the armchair in her personal "pod" as the nurse kept busy preparing the doses of drugs to be injected intravenously.

 The last image before I left was mum with her eyes closed tightly. Her forehead was crumpled in grief, her face contorted in pain... Immense, indescribable,  immeasurable pain.

Again, the sense of helplessness and deep deep compassion overwhelmed me and caused me to cry as I quickly stepped outside.

But like the laughter and lightness that disappeared so quickly, so will my pain... Everything will pass...

 Everything will fade away and pass.

Phone call

I was getting ready for bed when the phone rang. It was my friend, whom I've been minimising contact with for a number  of days ever since I came back.

Why do I want to distance myself from him? Why am I no longer telling him what is happening in my life and how I'm feeling? Because I feel terribly ashamed and troubled that I've been burdening him with my life and problems almost ever since we met. And somehow, ever since we broke up, I have slowly come to realise (or believe) that we I cannot keep on depending on him for emotional support and comfort.

He began crying, almost unstoppably for a while. Was he hurt by my lack of news, by my silence? Was he hurt by my brief and curt responses when he asks me how I'm doing? I never mean to hurt him or to punish him, but I just felt I could no longer talk frankly to him about my life anymore without delaying or impeding his, and his pursuit of happiness and love.

He cried because he was so worried about me, and imagining the worst when for a day or so I didn't reply to his messages, and for a number of days didn't talk to him on the phone. He said he felt so helpless unable to do anything for me, to be fully there for me as I'm going through perhaps the most challenging period of my life so far... He would fly here to see me, to just comfort me, if I would only say the word. I was touched, and I softened somewhat.

For a while now, I wanted  there to be distance between us,  to keep him at bay. In a way, i want to cut myself out of his life so he can finally move on and not have to carry all this mess I seem to bring him with him as he goes on with his life and pursues his dreams of happiness and love with one person. I have for too long been the reason he felt so torn, I have broken up two of his relationships and made him feel so rejected and uncertain about himself.

And I want to free myself from his care and support so I don't feel so torn when I'm here with my mum. Because since a year or so, since we became romantically involved, and I feel even before that, he has been the one major reason I feel so comfortable and safe in Canada. He has been that solid rock and confidante I can pour out my deepest and darkest feelings to. But I feel I've lost that since we broke up...

Yet, he still cannot stop caring, cannot stop thinking about me  and having such compassion for what I'm going through. In whatever capacity, he said he feels responsible and that he will always care and be there if I want him to be.

On and off he cried and sobbed. We are no where closer to where we were a month or so ago. We are no more closer together, and no more distant from one another despite my efforts to change that. Where are we now? Who are we to each other? Why do I want to know...?

It is comforting to be so cared for, to be so loved in a way that transcends friendship, that softens me to the core because it is something I have never ever encountered or been given from anyone.

But it is also confusing, distracting and even fills me with guilt to always turn to one person, to the object of my deep, deep affection, to pour out my feelings, when  we are "just friends".

My mum's ailing condition has so dominated my mind, and yet on the side is this personal matter with my friend I must learn to handle and balance.

How I wish time and distance could give me some perspective and free me from these two things that are testing me and tearing me apart from the inside.

Out of control

I was numb when she told me. "it's more or less the same as in September."

I pressed her for a number, and it took a while till she said "Thirty something." it's the Cancer index, a measure of the number of cancerous cell in the body, and an indication of how advanced the cancer is.

Though she said thirty something, on a print out of her latest medical record I saw for 8 September, the index stood at 45. I tried to imagine what that meant, but my lack of knowledge of medicine meant I didn't really know what it implied. I only know it's bad, terribly, terribly bad. A look at her historic cancer index level, the highest it has been is somewhere in the mid twenties. Back in 2007, when mum was first diagnosed with cancer it was hovering around 15, and that I thought at the time was bad. The index always came down, and at one point was "normal" as low as that of a smoker. But now, it's at an unprecedented level. Ad it's scary...


I was surprised, but was I sad? Was I mad? I went quiet, I know I went quiet. But that is all. Can I cry now? Maybe if I'm pushed, I will burst put crying. But what will that bring me, what will that bring my mum?

Maybe soon I will break down and cry, maybe I'll quietly cry in bed later tonight...

But for now, I'm just floating and my feelings are just the way they are, a strange, and fragile calm bouyed by the devastating revelation.

Thirsty

"I get very thirsty," she said, "You have to give me water at the end..."

Why did her word hurt so much? Why did her words immediately cause me to cry ( even though I quickly blinked away the tears so she did not notice). Mum was talking about the "end" again, about the moment she dies.

My heart wrenched so painfully, I could have burst out crying in the middle of the pavement. I could have tore at my hair because it hurt so much to hear her speak like this. Can you imagine what it feels like to hear a loved one talk like that...?

She recounted how when dad entered the hospital, he had been so thirsty. Mum clandestinely got him some water, and he gulped down half a small plastic bottle, even though the nurse told her that it's dangerous to give dad water, as he might choke lying down. "But he was thirsty... You get very thirty toward the end..."

I listened in silence, swallowing my emotions, swallowing my tears , as mum continued. "Your auntie's mother had cancer of the lymph gland, and toward the end, the pain was so much she would cower in the corner of the room and sweat cold sweat..."

I imagined the scene, and tried to blink away the image of mum in the corner of the room, groaning in pain, shaking from the uncontrollable torture of physical pain and discomfort...

I swallowed more, and felt my stomach churn from the pent up emotions.

This will pass, I told myself, this feeling will all pass...

Suicidal note

It is already very difficult and painful when a loved one is dying... But what does it feel like when a loved one wants to die...? 

"I'm just waiting to die," mum said. Not the first time. She has said similar things in the past, but within less than a week of being here, she has said something alone those lines a couple of times. 
"I hate myself for being ill...".  
"I feel so extreme and feel life is so meaningless...". 
"I'm just waiting to die..."

It hurts. It really really hurts to hear that. And I 'retaliate'... I know it's not the proper reaction, but hearing mum talk like that makes me so very angry I hit back. "what if I said that?! Do you know what it feels like to hear your own mother say something like that??" I know it doesn't do anything to diffuse the situation, and I should be more compassionate and understanding, but more and more I feel I'm losing patience and getting frustrated again...

Do I  make mum feel depressed and suicidal, I wonder. Is it because I push her too hard when I tell her I'd like to see her do things, go learn something or so something constructive? I really mean well, and hope only that she can step out of the house more and meet new people, instead of wallowing in her own pain and misery at home. 

But instead, being told that she should go out more has had the opposite effect. It has made her realise how lethargic and depressed she has become, which fills her with regret and guilt, especially as she realises how difficult it is to get out of the vicious cycle of sleep, eating, watching tv and surfing the internet... 

She knows she should do more with her life and live it to the max, but she feels she cannot because of her sores and pains. and because she feels she cannot, mum feels double the guilt of being so down and lethargic all the time. 

I keep on telling her, I'd like her to be happy and live a fulfilling and happy life. " what does that mean?" she asked me. And it struck me.

 Maybe she is happy the way she is, maybe she is happy just staying home and surfing the net and looking at pictures of her grandson and looking at what other people are doing on Facebook. Am I being too harsh on her, wanting her to do things that I feel would make her happy, even though I don't know what she is really going through and what pain she has to endure everyday? Maybe she is happy being left alone to do her own things instead of having someone else (ie me...) watch over and scrutinise  her every move.

I feel my mind is going dizzy with the frustration and fear of hurting mum instead of helping her. My stomach is getting upset again, and I cannot do much for mum.

Really, all I can do and all I can give her is the assurance that I'll be happy and trouble free, In the hope she'll do and be the same. 

Helplessness

I feel the helplessness and frustrations creeping in, I feel the tears build up and threatening to fall...

But who can I turn to? Swallow, swallow all that helplessness, swallow all that hurt. Mum is hurting more, I cannot cry, I cannot vent my frustrations and anger on her... I need to give her love, give her affection and compassion.

But I feel the negative emotions again overwhelming my heart and drowning the sense of lightness and clarity of mind I was buoyed by in the immediate days after my retreat.

Swallow, swallow the tears...
Swallow the pain...
Swallow the terrible agony that is eating me inside...

These feelings will pass....
Hug yourself, comfort yourself and tell yourself it will be ok.

Even if it is not, it will be ok.

Grandson

I lay on the floor and listened to mum converse with my brother on my iPhone.

"Call grandma! Go on, say "gradma"", my brother joked as he held his baby in his arms and occasionally leaned in to kiss him, while his wife sat and smiled in the background. What an extremely touching sight, and I was moved to tears. It is so beautiful to hold your own child in your arms... Am I going to have that precious privilege one day too...? Am I going to have a partner by my side as well?

Mum laughed out loud many tines for the next hour or so as she chatted with my brother and sister-in-law. From a distance, i took in the scene. Mum lay in her armchair, resting her sore arm over her head, while with the other arm she held onto the phone. With deep concentration, she looked at what her grandson was doing. Every little move, every little kick or punch or noise he made made mum laugh and squint from smiling. Seeing that made me smile too, and smiling makes you forget everything else.

 I noticed one of the first things she does after breakfast is to switch on the computer and check her Facebook account to see if new pictures or videos of her grandson have been posted. If not, then she'd review the already uploaded pictures again and again. And again.

Doing so gives her hope, gives her a reason to live, a reason to take care of herself, even thought it is so hard on her own. All in the hope of one day holding her grandson in her arms...

A few days at home

When things are difficult, it is best to remind yourself of what you have already gone through. In comparing what you have already experienced, you realise you can face whatever life has to throw at you. In knowing what hurdles you have already overcome, you know if you put on a brave face, breathe, the tears will stop. And you can force a smile and struggle on, for another moment, for another minute.

I noticed more and more strands of hair on mum's clothes and on the floor of the apartment. And this is only within a few days of arriving here. One of the first things I noticed when I walked through the door was how much hair had grown since I last saw her in July. Much of her hair is young, healthy looking and dark in colour. But the treatment she is currently undergoing, and the chemo pills that she has to take on a daily basis, will cause her hair to fall again. And that is already starting to happen.

Two more days, and mum will be doing her second invitro treatment. I will be here, next to her, to see her through what always is a painful and grueling process of being weakened and attempting at recovering her strength and energy.

I have had many opportunities to speak to her since my return. Many times I told her how much I wish she could go out and 'do something', anything, to make full use of her life, to make herself feel alive again. Whether it's going to classes and learning a new craft or arts or going to lectures and talks about traveling and healthy living, anything is better than her staying at home and languishing on the couch in front of the tv or the computer.

She says she'd like to, but her recurring sores and pains are preventing her from doing things she would like to. "It's not like before," she said, meaning her sores have gotten worse over the past few weeks. It comes and goes, and the medication keeps it in check, but not necessarily all the time. There are days when the medication have no effect, and she could feel such pain and sores that makes her want to cut off her arm...  "There will come a point when the meds lose their effect completely". What then?

"Morphine," she said quietly. The doctor said she will probably need to start taking morphine. Invitro or pills, she is  unsure. But the thought of it scares her. It scares me. I closed my eyes, blink away the tears and breathed deeply...

We have gone through so much... Mum has gone through so much... from the first ever chemotherapy just after dad passed away to the severe diagnosis of the tumour on the spine back in January, so much has happened. Every treatment, every few months I thought I was close to losing her. Every time I feared she might enter the hospital and, like dad, never return. But mum has bravely gone through it all. Most of the time alone all by herself, with her own courage and determination. And she is still standing, still fighting.

But this time around I notice a difference. I sense a certain degree of fear and hesitation... I notice a sense of resignation, and sense of guilt surrounding her own failing health and mortality. "You can't imagine what it feels like," she said to me many times. She said she sometimes hates herself for being like this, for being ill, for being unable to do what she would like to. Whatever happened to her health, she lamented a few times. Whatever happened to being able to just get up and go wherever she would like, without needing to worrying about how she will be feeling or whether the pain will come and steal away all the pleasure and fun she is having?

I try to comfort her, try to find reassurance and that semblance of wisdom and clarity of the mind I managed to recover during my retreat last week. Think positively, I tell her, think of this moment. Nothing else matters, not fear of the uncertain future, not regrets about your own health and the conditions you find yourself in. Whatever it is anyone is facing, it is never our choosing. We can accept it and face it, or live with dread and fear and remorse why we are in the situation we don't want to be.

If we are prisoners of the circumstances, why not make the most of the circumstance and at least try to "enjoy" where we find ourselves? "Laugh," I told mum, "Laugh everyday, laugh at everything..." She joked people will probably look at her funny and wonder whether she's insane. That may be so, but difficulties can make you insane and confused, or you can try to see the humour and lightness in it all. It is there if you want to see and feel it.

Of course, I could never ever feel the same pain, feel the same fear that mum feels about her own body and close brush with mortality, but I tell her again and again as I hold her hand, as I pat her on the shoulder "Be strong... be happy, and let things be."

I don't know how much those words help her, because sometimes those words sound so empty and so meaningless in a situation of such despair and hopelessness.

But keep on saying it, keep on telling it to mum, I tell myself, and she will be a bit stronger, a bit calmer.

Or at least I want to believe that...

Poor sleep

Sleep was so disturbed. I lay there, the wind was howling outside the window. And images of my friend kept entering my mind... And he was not alone. He was intimate with someone, and it was not with me...

I kept walking around the house in the dream, fully knowing they are there together, wanting to interrupt them. But I held myself back, however difficult and painful it is, I held back. There was a deep deep void on the inside of me, and I broke down...

I stirred from my sleep and the nightmare. Let go, let go, I told myself. What I do not know never happened, what I cannot see does not exist. The mind is merely making up fantasies, frightening fantasies based on my fears, the mind is playing with me... And even if the dream were real, so what? What can I do? Why should I do anything?

Over the last few days, I have kept communication between my friend and I to a bare minimum. And it will stay that way. No more long talks on the phone, no more video chatting. Just a few exchanges of messages here and there. Friendly, cute messages, nothing deep or personal.

 He does not know what is happening here with me, and I do not know what is happening with him. He does not know about the pending hospital visits, about my feelings of longing, and my feelings of  becoming bored and frustrated with my self-imposed exile here. And I don't know what he is feeling, how he is doing, despite a few pictures of him I've seen, smiling, or forcing a smile.

However much I'd like to speak to him, I cannot. Last time I was here he said I called a lot. And that was just after our breakup, and I had a feeling all the calling and keeping in touch for a long time afterward was an impediment to his pursuit of happiness and to him finding out where his heart lies. So I'll stop all that. Our friendship has ground to a bare minimum of contact, and I'm scared all that magic between us might just fizzle out and die... What a shame that would be... And what is if all for? Something worth it I hope, something, some uncertain day when there will be more clarity and a healthier (or no) interaction between us.
I tell myself it is all for the best, perhaps, if it will help us free ourselves from this entangled web of mess we have caught ourselves in for almost a year now. I want to be free, an I am sure he wants to be too. And if the solution is free me from this picture, then I am already away and out of the picture.

With those images still lingering on my mind, I heard the rattling of pills in a bottle.

Mum had woken up, been woken up by her sores.

This is far more important... Far more important than any fantasy or fear or anything I cannot change, cannot control...

Soothing pain

I took mum's left hand, and stroked it gently. It was very wrinkled, and very soft. An abnormal kind of soft. compared to the right hand, it looked and felt different. I noticed that the left hand was a little curled, and the skin dented between the thumb and index finger.

Later, at the massage parlour, mum's  masseuse said that the abnormal softness was due to the constant pressure on her nerves, causing the left arm and left hand to contract. "Chemo kills good and bad cells!" the masseuse said. Mum lay on the massage table and groaned a little from the pain. But at least afterwards she would feel better, at least for a little while, and on rare occasions, a day or two.

The first morning I woke up at six or so in the morning to the sound of mum groaning. It was a groan from pain, and I immediately rushed to her bedside. Mum lay there, her face contorted in pain.
She said the pain killer had lost its effect, and she was feeling pain again. It happens, as the drug lasts only six hours or so, after that the pain can be felt returns, with a vengeance.

The soreness and pain in her arm seems to be getting worse. Relying on medicine is the only way to keep the pain at bay, and massages are an added bonus to make her body feel less sore all over.

Sometimes I steal glances at mum when she's not looking. And I notice how her face twitches in pain, how she frowns from pain...

I wish deep down how I could do something to remove that pain. But I know I can't. The only thing I can give her is to hold her hand, to smile at her, and hope my touch, my smile is enough to soothe her pain...

Cleaning lady

She is a lovely, warm lady, and as soon as she came in the house, she put on her rubber gloves and got to work. Scrubbing, wiping, vacuuming, cleaning, and all of it with a smile on her face and jovial laughter.

Mum had been introduced to a cleaning lady, and today was the first day. It's reached a point that mum can't do simple chores like bending down or changing her bed sheets without feeling exhausted or is overwhelmed. I've been telling her for a while to get someone, and finally she did.

I smiled at her, and thanked her many times for coming by. At one point she turned to me and said, "You care about your mother so well..."

I almost cried on the spot. I don't know how she saw that. I wasn't doing anything in particular... Just made something simple for lunch, and asked mum to come eat. But the lady saw something. And she said: "There's only one mother, take good care of her..."

Mum looked at me and smiled. She was looking at me with pride, and quietly thanked me for being with her.

But I am only doing what I can, with whatever time I have. Nothing more, nothing less.

An apple fell

No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don't want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life's change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true. Steve Jobs

The world lost a great innovator and visionary... Steve Jobs passed away, having lost his battle to cancer. After giving the world so much, and having "change[s] everything" with so many creative, user-friendly and innovative products, he left this world.

But he knew that his time would come, as the words above attest. And that knowledge must have given him much less fear, and more hope, given him the strength, even on days when he was feeling weak and frail, to continue breathing and living for another day.

That is true courage, true spirit: to live despite knowing you are at the mercy of death.

Too few people do that, and yet Jobs not only did that, but even in his final years he  continued to surprise and lead the world with products that show there is no limit  to continual development and improvement.

And it is the same with people: we can always improve ourselves, develop our potentials and human spirit, and invest fully in what we do with however much time we have in this world.

An apple fell, but so many are still remaining.

Novel

 I began reading the novel around five months ago. A beautiful semi-autobiographic novel about the story and hardships of a young girl's to build a better life with her mother in a new land.

The book spoke to me personally, because, despite the relative ease and comfort I have had growing up and adapting to a new country as a child, there resonates a sense of being "lost in translation", a search for identity and belonging, and a struggle for acceptance that I could see in my own experience growing up.

The character's struggle to learn English and excel in school was of course much more difficult. She went to school along side working part time after school in sweatshops in order to repay the debts of going to America. Together with her mother, she lived in an unheated apartment crawling with insects, and toiled to make literally cents in order to make ends meet. Ultimately, through hard work, resolve and wanting to give her mother and herself a better future, she excelled academically and became a doctor. The hardship she endured, the humiliation, and ultimately the triumph of being able to succeed  on her own is moving and inspirational, and written in a clear and accessible way as if the girl is talking to you personally.

I began reading the book, but never finished the last chapter. I don't know if I left it unread intentionally, but I did know that it would be a difficult chapter to read. Through, or despite of, the hardships of growing up, the main character recounts the story of meeting the love of her life, and describes vividly their sweet, brief and beautiful moments of intimacy. They both know they are deeply in love, and would be good for one another.

But circumstances, unsaid and undeclared feelings and truths kept them apart. The last chapter is the closure and coming to terms with difficult decisions we all face and have to make in life... happiness now or the possibility (though uncertain) of coming together again later with the one true love... stability for the present, or a possible life of hardship and sacrifices to be with the one true love?

Ironically, I received the book as a gift just a week or so before my break up. And finishing this novel now, five months after that shows how far, and in some ways how very little, how my friend and I have progressed from those tumultuous days of tears and being afraid to let go and to be alone...

We all have to make choices in life, and some choices take us apart from the happiness and comfort we have grown so accustomed to and are so reluctant to let go off. We may live with regret and remorse for the rest of our lives, and keep on imagining, thinking and torturing ourselves with what could have been...

But eventually, one day, we come to realise, things are the way they are, and they are just the way they are. Nothing more, nothing less.

Screens

Within less than twelve hours of landing, I was back at the hospital with mum. It’s nothing major this time, an x-ray of the chest, to ensure that the cancer has not spread to the lungs, and three blood samples for analysis. She cringed as the blood was drawn. Because mum has had blood drawn so often, the vessels have faded, the nurse had to draw blood from the right arm instead of the usual left. I softly patted her shoulder as if to tell her “It’s ok… I’m here…” Even though I will only be with mum for a little while this time around, I was there that day, at that moment…

It’s a routine check, to see how the cancer has progressed (or not… hopefully not). We’ll be back in a few days for mum’s next chemo treatment… I did notice one thing that has changed. On the wall of the lobby were two big rectangular flat-screens. On them, the names of the doctors, the consultation room, and the call number of the patient now being seeing are displayed.

”Is this…?” I asked.

Yes, mum confirmed what I thought it was. A couple of months ago, when I accompanied mum to the hospital one day, I noticed there were a lot of patients, and their relatives or friends and care-takers, all of them crowded outdoor the various physicians’ offices. The scene resembled that of a market… crowded, noisy, stuffy, and it was uncomfortable being there for a long time.

But sometimes you have to wait an hour or two or more, just to be seen, because though there is an appointment, it works by a call number system, and depending on the physician, some of whom work slower than others, it may take a while till it’s your number. Some physicians see five patients an hour, while others rush through them and can see dozens of people within one morning.

Though I had been to the hospital many times with mum (and before, with dad), the particular scenery and the experience made me write to the hospital. So I picked up a form and wrote a “suggestion”, and deposited it in a designated box the next time I visited the hospital.

My suggestion was that instead of having people all wait outside the physicians’ offices and crowding up the narrow corridors, perhaps there could be some kind of display system placed somewhere. Patients and their family and friends can wait elsewhere, the best place would be outside, where there would be fresh open air and a lot more space. Not only would that create a better environment for patients and visitors, it would make it a much better environment for the hospital staff too.

Mum said one day the hospital called asking to speak to me, but I had already left the country. They said they registered the suggestion, and were going to do something about it. And there, on the walls, were what they did and the result of my suggestion (or perhaps some other people had suggested it too… I’m not sure!)

I looked at the big flat-screens with a little pride and smiled. It helps to “suggest”, and any little idea to make the world a better place is good for anyone, and for everyone.

Home

I hugged mum and did not let go for a long time. Uncontrollably tears started to well in my eyes. I could not speak, for speaking would betray my tears and probably cause me to break and cry more.

 It was an emotional, overpowering meeting, nothing I could have imagined more beautifully, more touchingly. All that time since the moment I (clandestinely in the forest...) booked my flight, I have been imagining waiting for this moment to come. And it was finally here.

Mum is with me, I am with her. She is in my arms, I can feel the warmth of her body. This is real, not a dream, not a fantasy. The long, long flights across the ocean, the sense of being fatigued and numb, even to the comforts of being upgraded to business class, began to thaw in mum's embrace.

I could feel again. feel the care and love flow through me and I imagined into her body. I took her by the hand, the one that gets so sore and painful without medication, and I held onto it.

I of course cannot feel what she feels, but I imagined my grasp, my hand taking some of that pain away. Every little bit helps, every little bit makes it all the less... It is one of the reasons why I am here.

"Mum, I'm home..."

Girl on the bus

The girl asked if she could sit next  to me. And it was only later that she said she likes to sit in the first row of the bus to avoid getting dizzy.

We sat in silence for a good while, then she initiated conversation by asking me where exactly to get off. And one thing led to another, she revealed just came back from Vietnam visiting her mother in the hospital.

"Tumour in the brain," she said, as she pointed to her forehead. I was touched, in a way that almost instantly triggered a tear to drop. It was as if I could 'feel' her worries, her pains, her sleepless nights and distracted mind as she goes about her everyday life. From the gaze in her eyes, I knew she too could understand me and what I am going through. Truly going through...

"It's not easy..." I said, and we exchanged each others stories. Very different lives, but very similar worries, concerns and expressions of love for our parents.

She came to Taiwan eight years ago under the facade of marriage, but in fact she came looking for work (it is very common she said, but much more difficult nowadays). She's happy here, much better off than back in Vietnam, and her sister is with her too now.

Still life is hard, working at a restaurant and living in an expensive city like Taipei. But the money she makes can provide for her entire family back home, and  she is a citizen and so can enjoy the benefits of free health care. Her mandarin is flawless and she understands Taiwanese too. Most of all, she feels at home and free here. She is truly a "New Taiwanese", born elsewhere but who has made this island her home.

Two months ago her mum was diagnosed with cancer. She did not know about it till one day she kept on calling and calling but couldn't get a hold her mum. The family kept the news secret from her. She rushed home as soon as she found out.

"We're lucky that I work in Taiwan and can pay the medical costs. A friend's mother also diagnosed with cancer. She had three months to basically wait to die..."

I could see a shimmer of tears in her eyes, as she recounted the waiting and gruesome hours of the surgery. Her dad fainted numerous times from the stress, and the family was stricken with anxiety and fear, for her mum's life was hanging on the edge... But now she's recovering, and apparently the operation was successful. I did not ask more details.

In those dozens of minutes we talked, we shared out burdens, our worries as children. We shared our feelings of being so torn between the need to be there for our ill parent and wanting to pursue happiness and a life abroad. We both knew that there is nothing much we can do, and worry and fear does not help anyone. "Just the way it is. Just the way life is..."

Two different people who have just arrived from two different countries, yet who happen to be seated next to one another on a bus. I will probably never see her again, but her feelings met mine, and the temporary humanness of our bond was beautiful, magical.

As I picked up my bag and prepared to leave, said "Take good care, and bon courage! As for our mothers, all we can do is spend precious time with them however we can. The rest, just let things be..." I was tempted to lean in and give her a long hug and pat on the back. But I reminded myself that 15 hours of flying had brought me to a different culture, a different place, and stopped myself.

She nodded and smiled. "Take good care. Be well!"

NRT-TPE

The plane rocked and shook so horribly. In the dense cloud cover I could see the occasional flashes of the white light on the tip of the wing. I felt my stomach turn, and my brains fill with images of the aircraft hurtling out of control and plunging into the ocean below. In my mind, I could picture one or both of the engines breaking off. The turbulence was that violent... It didn't help that the B777-200 plane was over ten years old (I wouldn't be surprised if it were much older...)

When you are sitting in the middle of the cabin, surrounded by people and have no way of looking out the window, you start imagining things, and often it's imagining the worst...

But three hours in a half asleep state of mind, interrupted by really bad rice with chicken terriyaki (there was no other choice) I landed on the island I was born on.

It felt so surreal to be back again, merely four months or so after I was last here. My third visit of the year. Surreal also in the way that just a few days ago I was planning and anticipating (with mixed feelings) flying back here, and here I am...

  Every timeI half expect someone to come greet me as soon in the arrivals hall. And as I quickly walked through the crowd of waiting families and friends, my eyes somehow welled with tears. Of course there is no one there, and I'd personal hate to trouble people to come all the way to fetch me. But it's heart warming and beautiful to imagine arriving home and being welcomed in the warm, warm embrace of a loved one, and being showered with kisses and smiles. It makes arriving home feel less empty.

But all that is waiting for me at home.

Take off

The plane just hurtled down the runway and took off. The ground is getting further and further away, the sky and clouds closer and closer.

How am I feeling now? Quiet, calm... A little anxious because I'm on the plane I feel least safe on (the A330, which has had a number of accidents in recent years. And this particular one is old, has paint peeling on the engine outside my window...). But other than that, surprisingly calm and quiet.

The moments before the plane pulled back, I was texting back and forth with my friend. Surprisingly, telling each other how much we'll miss each other. And, in fact, how much we care about and love each other. At one point he broke down in tears, and it hurt to see him crying. I wished I could have been next to him to hold him, hug him... But instead I'm on a plane to get further away from him.

wrote him a long message, pouring out all I'm feeling, hiding nothing, revealing everything. I just want him to be happy, to be free, even if it's not, or never going to be, with me. That is true love, true wishes of happiness for someone you love and care about so very much. And I came out of the retreat with that clarity, with that ability to let him go. Of course, it'd be beautiful if we could one day come together again under cleaner and clearer conditions. What could be more beautiful than lovers who are the best of friends? But that is up to fate, not me.

I sent him the message only at the very last minute. something I tend to do just before a long flight, because frankly, as much as I've been flying around, I don't know why I seem to feel more and more unsafe and apprehensive on long flights, especially ones that cross the oceans.

The calm and quietness in my mind is perhaps from having no regrets and leaving with nothing unsaid. Because we bottle things inside, tend to suppress our thoughts and feelings for fear of facing them or telling others around us, we suffer. Whatever happens on this trip, or even on this long flight across the Pacific, i have cleared my mind, emptied my feelings out.

And I seem to be buoyed with such a sense of joy and peace, feeling as if I'm floating, and that nothing can get to me. Of course I know this feeling, this lightness, will fade and disappear, and sadness and gloominess will return, because that is just the nature of the mind. But now I feel content just being with the way things are, just living and breathing and being in this moment. And that is such a rare feeling, such an uplifting feeling. A free feeling I'd like to share and pass onto mum. To give her courage, to give her strength.

My aunt took me to the airport, and she said to me she envies my mum for being so strong, and for having a son like me. She wondered if my cousins would ever do that when she gets older...

I smiled a little. It's really nothing special to me, because it feels so natural. I'm just doing what I can, what I feel like is right. It's my way of showing how much I care, how much I love someone, and it's priceless. Mum was delighted to know I'm flying home to see her and be with her, even for a short time. And knowing that my visit and presence give her much comfort and joy is worth the tiredness and all the traveling.

Going home

I waited a few days until today to tell my friend where I am going. He asked me when I'm coming home. My reply was I'm "going home".

He was under the impression that after my meditation, after my exam, I would go back to Montreal. And on the phone today he was happily talking about how beautiful the weather would be, and how nice it would be to go cycling in the weekend, and to cook up something special for  Canadian Thanksgiving. I too long for all that, would so much want to enjoy all that, but there is something else, someone else I need to be with at this moment. Somehow, for some reason, I feel I must embark on this sudden and impromptu trip home. I can't explain it, I really can't.

From his silence after I told him I;m flying off to see my mum, I could realised how disappointed (or hurt?) he was. It felt like I was playing games with him by withholding details of what I'm doing until the day before I leave, he said. I felt really terrible, because that was never my intention... I waited till today because I really didn't want to deal with this issue on the night before the exam last night.

But it's all too sudden, all too unexpected I guess, even for me. At the time when this sudden urge to go home to see mum swarmed my mind, it felt so right, so doubtless. But after my conversation with my friend, I began to have doubts and questions... was he longing so much for my return? What does he really feel about me leaving and being away for longer than expected? Why would it matter if we are just friends? He wouldn't say, and I'd probably never know.

To be honest, now that tomorrow is approaching, and as I'm closer to the time of take off, I'm feeling somewhat anxious. What am I really doing? Why am I really doing this? What am I putting myself and my body through to go on such a rushed trip home? Does it matter why, what or how? I'm going regardless, and I can either go feeling heavy with doubt and anxieties, or go buoyed by that sense of happiness and lightness I found during my time at the monastery. 

In the end, he wished me a pleasant trip home, and sent his best wishes to my mum, which is a very touching gesture. All I said was that I hope he can understand what I'm feeling right now, which this deep sense of wanting to be with my mum, wanting to be with someone I care about and love deeply without complications, without needing to feel guilty or like I need to be careful how I express my love and care.

Because at this moment, I'm just brimming with love and care I need to share. And no one else needs it more now than my dear, brave mother...

It is done

I sat there and went blank for a moment. The questions stunned me. I was not prepared, at least not in the way that was expected. But strangely I did not feel much fear or apprehension... Just a strange calm, and acceptance of the reality, and just picked up my pen and began to write something.

I had read through the materials, know the facts and deciding factors of major cases laying down major legal principles, but the exam was in essay form, asking us to connect dots where I did not see dots, to provide critical analysis where I sort of skimmed through looking for grand principles and not minute details to be compared and contrasted. And all that material covering aboriginal rights, the "whiteness" of the law, and protections of human rights and freedoms (all the interesting stuff!!) did not come up...

At various points during the exam I found myself just writing anything... Anything remotely related I could pluck out of my notes to fill the pages. The invidulater was very friendly (gay) man, who knitted while he watched over us and smiled every time I looked up. He even gave us a head start as soon as everyone was in the room. The exam can be harsh, he said, and he'd like to help balance out that harness.

I left the exam room, in Vancouver Public Library, feeling down. But it did not get to me as much as it normally would for some reason.

Do i realise what this exam really implies? Is it I've somehow become so complacent I don't really care about this? If so, why am I doing it? Why am I putting myself through 10 more exams for a recognition to practise a profession I'm not even sure I really want to practise? Or perhaps the knowledge that I only have to pass (50%) is enough to 'assure' me that I don't really have too much to worry about?

Within minutes of leaving the exam room, I was hauling my suitcase on the crowded streets of downtown Vancouver. It's such a bizarre feeling. I know these streets yet I've never lived here.

Just two years ago I first came to the city to transfer on my way back to Montreal. And now it has become like a focal point of my travels, and I think this is probably the five or sixth time I've been here. This city has somehow an attraction in my life, and that attraction does not seem to wane.

By this time tomorrow I will be gone, but I know I will be back here again very soon.

exam

Out of the monastery, back into the city. Disoriented and getting used to the crowds and noise. Must focus, as less than a day later I must sit an exam- my first one toward taking the bar eventually.

Surprisingly I don't seem to be too bothered or stressed by this at all. Is it because I've read through everything again and again and feel i know what is required? Or is this the effect of the calm I received during my retreat still insulating me from the usual anxiety and stress?

Just going to go and write this. And it will be over.

Letting go...

Let go... It is the hardest thing, but also the easiest thing in the world.

Once you've let go, you're free. Free from worries, free from attachments, free from fear and clinging, free from longing and sexual desires... True freedom comes from relaxing- relaxing your mind, relaxing your clenched fists, relaxing your tight and sore muscles that you feel like is holding up the weight of the world... That is freedom: when you are free of all things and are content with nothing.

Let go of the many things we have accumulated in out lives... Let go of the bits and pieces of papers we have kept in storage as momentoes...

 Let go of the many clothes we have that cause us trouble when we are undecided what to wear... Let go of wanting to be someone, wanting to achieve something, and being made to feel like a failure if you don't live up to the 'norm' of what society wants from you, demands from you...

Let go of relationships, of families, of concerns about what will happen to people you care and love about most... You can still love, still nurture love and care and compassion, but when you let go, you do it from a distance, you do it all with the knowledge that your happiness does not depend on another person or any external object out there, but depends on yourself and what you have within.

Can I really let go? That is the question I asked myself at this time last year when I left the monastery. And now I find myself asking again: can I really let things, let everything just go?

I've been told before I can give it a try. What have you got to lose, but there is a lot to gain. Again today, this guy who gave me a ride home told me, even just from talking to me for a little while, that he can see potential in me. There is a certain kindness, compassion ad wisdom in me, he said, that is rare for someone my age. All my experiences of life and death, illness, traumas and love have shaped me, made me realise, that life is only so much, nothing more...

This all came from A handsome, all-rounded and sensitive guy in his forties, father of two lovely, smart children and husband of a beautiful, loving wife. why not try? What is there to lose but your fears and desires? What is there to gain but real happines, real peace that will carry youand others around you to a deeper level and connection with this world?

 Try before I get too deep in life to disentangle myself, he said. Do it now before you make commitments and have more worries and fetters around your life... Sure, finish off what you started, the studies and the qualifications for the bar... But, as he told me, I can do more as a robed monk to help people than I could ever as a lawyer or whatever professional I may become...



It sounded tempting, as it had sounded tempting when I first entered a monastery and met the monk who became my guide and father-figure. And it takes time for digesting these thoughts and the implications. Time not to think or brood it over, but time to let the heart feel and know what it really wants.

But can I do it...? Can I retreat fully into a life of meditation and solitude, of abstinence and living with the bare necessities of the robes I have on my body and the bowl I have to eat out of?

 It takes the courage and audacity of a special character, it takes determination and will power to commit to something and oxide by strict disciplines of the practice.

Returning to the world

Everything is just the way it is, success or failure, it's only a matter of perspective. Everything is the way it is, just perfect. Perfection is accepting the ways things are... Accepting change, illness, happiness, sorrow... Accepting the way people are, accepting the way world turns and carries on, because you so no turn it, you do not carry it.

Let go of the burden of the world, let go of hope, let go of fear. Just be. Let go of regrets, of anxiety, let go of the past. let go of wishes, of desires, let go of the future. Don't blame yourself, feed  yourself with guilt or anger. Be kind and gentle to yourself, be happy and be free.

All you can ever be is in this moment and be fully with yourself.   And everything, everyone around you.

Closing

"Buddha, Dhamma, Sangha, Metta..." The meditation sala reverberated with the sound of our song to the tune of Pachebel. It was a powerful, emotional experience after ten days of observing complete silence.

The retreat came to an end. But was it an end or just the beginning of something? One by one, we shared our personal experiences of our time here...

 A common theme of gratitude echoed in our closing ceremony, as each of us appreciated how, even in complete silence, there was such harmony, such understanding and compassion. It showed in little ways... In our silent nods, in our smiles in the corridor, in the way we quietly went about our lives in this shared space and yet respected one another's need and desire for silence. In silence, we hear our deepest thoughts. In silence, we notice how so little is said with so much in our daily lives.

We shared these last ten days together, strangers at first, yet we have grown and developed together and become friends in the Dhamma. We may come from all walks of life, from all over the world, but something brought us together. It was this unique sanctuary that has been built up from the generosity of countless supporters. It was the guidance and stewardship of resident monastics that united us all in the  comfortable, serene "palace in the forest". And it was our shared faith in the teachings of the Buddha, who over two and a half millennia ago already understood and taught that all life is shared through common experiences of aversion and attachment, of experiencing birth, ageing, illness and death.

We may all have our own personal stories and burdens which we carry with us. Loss of a loved one, death of a sister, a child's worry about his mother's ailing health, stresses and tensions at work, coming to terms with the 'mistakes' and 'wrongs' of the past, realising how much you have fooled yourself and others all these years...  in the end, it all comes down to the human experience of grief and pain, longing and desires, dissatisfaction and regret. In the end, all it comes down to is how our minds meet and perceive the challenges and difficulties in life.

An end could be a beginning, a beginning could mean the end. The retreat is officially over, and tomorrow we will go our separate ways, return to our lives and worldly affairs. But we do so with a lighter heart, with a clearer mind, and with the experience and knowledge that there is joy to be enjoyed in each and every moment if only we allow our minds to see it, to realise it. Life can be simple, pure and clean, or it can be filled with fetters, worries and burdens. However you perceive it, however you live it, it all comes down to attitude.

The abbot shared with us a Japanese poem from his days as a hermit. A beautiful flower, so magnificent and perfect, was seen by one person hidden behind a boulder.  "blooming in glory, unnoticed in fame". We can be like that little flower too. Others may not notice the efforts we have made to work on ourselves, but it will show and radiate in our smiles, in invisible the sense of our tranquility and collectedness.

We have all made  sacrifices to take ten days out of our lives to be here, to strive at perhaps the most difficult task of all in this world, which is to look inward and to tame our minds. Some may scoff at us for being insane, for being out of touch with the world and what is real. But what we have discovered, what we have realised that is far more valuable than gold is the silence and peace of the mind when you are living, being in this very moment.

Hopefully this realisation  will remain with us, and as we go back home, go back to our friends and families, we can share some of that lightness of feeling, some of that joy and clarity with those around us. It is a wonderful and most powerful gift, and yet it costs nothing.


23.48

We started by sharing the joy gazing up at the night sky, Identifying stars and constellations. But we ended up sharing life, touching each others hearts with life experiences and anecdotes. Talking and sharing with her warmed me , and she offered me a warm blanket to keep away the bitter cold.

Live, experience and discover the world, she advised me, and you will discover yourself. Travel, explore, dare, and you will challenge yourself and open your mind. Discover what you want, what you need and what makes you happy. Because there is nothing else in life but to enjoy yourself and what you're doing, and enjoy the person you are with.

 If you're in a situation where you're not happy, get out, change- either the situation, or if you can't, change the way you perceive it. No experience is ever wasted, nothing is ever a failure. If it doesn't not work out, learn from it, grow from the experience and move on, prepared by the experience and lesson you've just had before.

Let go of negative influences, negative emotions, negative reactions. free yourself and you will be free, feel free, and feel like there is so much the world has to offer, whereas you've only scratched a tiny bit of what is out there. And sitting under the stars, watching the universe change and twinkle and meteors flash by, we both were humbled by how small we are, and how little we know...

From family to relationships, from life outlooks to our shared inspiration from Buddhism, we chatted and chatted till we were both shivering and realised we have only five hours (or less!!) to sleep.

"If you want out and can, get out.
If you want out but can't, stay in."

A minute

(from a dhamma talk by Ajahn Sona)

A minute, though short, can be a transformative moment. How often have you experienced or heard of how a person is changed for life by one single experience? A kind word, a harsh word, a brush with death, a touch of love... They can all change a person so quickly and so profoundly.

And so too can a minute of real peace, real serenity, change our minds and lives. Even if  in the ten days we have been on this retreat, or in our entire existence on this world, we experience one single minute that tells us that there is indeed a sense of liberation and lightness, other than being chained by troubles and burdened by negativities, that alone is enough to make us change, make us strive to be a better person, to strive for a better life infused with spirituality and mental development.

Unfortunately, most of the time our minds and lives are entangled in thought, lost in reliving memories and deluded by imaginary projections.

How often are we obsessed with the future? How often are we preoccupied by the past? It is only human, so it is pointless to fault ourselves for it. It is  our conditioned way of thinking and being to long for something we have lost, to cling onto something we experienced before, to live with regret and remorse why that beautiful experience in the past did not last...

The past does not exist (note the present tense), for it is only a fabrication of what we (choose to) remember (or not). once gone, it can never return, can never be saved or savoured again. Do not just try to untangle the knots, but cut off the past, and live for the now, live for what  you have now right now, right here. Nothing else matters, and you free yourself from the heavy, heavy burden of loss, regret and clinging.

 It is also human to dream of a better place, to imagine better conditions of being, to escape into the infinite possibilities of the future. But the future is yet to come, yet to be determined by our present actions and thoughts, and all subject to change and unpredictability.

So why fill our minds with regret and sense of loss, or fill our minds with made up fantasies and daydreams? Why live with memories of the past and imaginations of what could have been, when you are missing the beauty, peace and very existence that can be enjoyed in the very present?

We are all guilty of it, of wanting to relive the past, of longing for a better future... But often the most beautiful is the moment all around us, and the people we have before us. Take a moment, one single moment, one single minute of silence, and try to realise real peace, real happiness.

Relish the moment here and now, take in the each moment that comes and goes, and live it in the fullest,  the best,  the greatest way you possible can. That is real living, that is real being, and that is the key to real happiness and freedom from longing and from fear.

It really is not hard to live a light and simple life. It really is not hard to relish in every moment and enjoy the presence of everyone person you have around you now. It is much harder to want something you cannot have, to change things you cannot change. So why go though life and spend your moments weighed down by longing, desires and regret when you can live with contentment, appreciation and In celebration of what you do have?

When we live this seclusion and serenity of the monastery, take these realizations and truths with you. Meditation is not just sitting down and being isolated from everything and everyone else. The real practice, the real test, is living out in the real world, dealing with all the people and emotions that cross our paths from moment to moment.

But when you remind yourself every single moment that a moment is just a moment that will come and go, you learn to really live in and experience freedom and happiness.

Wandering mind

How the mind changes so quickly, from day to day, from moment to moment!

Just yesterday I was so sure, so determined to go home and spend some time with mum. But today, while meditating, I was filled with doubts, hindrances, fears... What if I can't leave as intended? What if I can't return to Canada because I don't have a proper study permit? What if the plane crashes?

And I was questing myself: why am I really going home? To escape from montreal, to keep more distance and time away from my friend so he (and I) can sort our feelings out? Or to be with mum, to really spend some time with her, just with her, to give her a boost of encouragement a support before I leave again to ultimately start pursuing my own goals in life?

Doubts, questioning, different reasons why I should and should not go home... Fears, missed opportunities, what may be, fear of missing out and coming home two weeks later to learn that much has changed in my absence... Fear that mum would be more hurt than helped by me showing up and leaving again so soon...

 Fear of the unknown... Fears, anxieties, uncertainties...

 All the things that were not there yesterday, but somehow have surfaced to disturb my peace, to conquer my mind...

All the things that through this retreat and meditation, I am supposed to overcome.

18.16

Just because someone (good looking and kind) offers you a ride, doesn't mean you're going to get together settle down and live long, happy lives together as partners and Buddhists!

But that is the way the mind wonders... The mind Takes a gesture, a word, a symbol, a sign and adds on meanings, fantasies and day dreams that do not exist! It's scary when you realise that so much time and energy is wasted allowing the mind to wonder and to proliferate freely and fantastically...

Some thoughts are plain absurd, completely out of touch with reality, completely imaginations of what may be or could be, just based on what I perceive to be. The guy is probably not even gay for starters, but I'm already imagining how soft and gentle his touch must be, how caring and sensitive he must be, just based on what i've observed him doing over the last week or so...!

Ridiculous... But this is the nature of the mind- it has (literally) a mind of its own, likes to escape reality and dive deep into surreal,  imaginative fabrications of what re world should be idealistically based on our deepest desires, fears and delusions. And good that I see it, can try to capture and tame the mind before it proliferates any more, before it gets any more lost and confused by what is real and what is imaginary. But just think how often we are lost in thoughts, lost in flights of fantasy, but do not realise it... Just think how often we may just do things without realising that we are perhaps influenced in our ways by our inherent "greed, hatred and delusion".

I see how dangerous it is that a word, a kind gesture, a move can be so misinterpreted and be used to fuel imaginary realities in the mind... Or it could be just the effects of delusions from deprived of sexual release for the past seven days.

20.38 (dharma talk by sister Mahn)

To a little child who is learning, you would not be too harsh or punish him for making a mistake or for wondering around. For the child to learn needs patience, encouragements, and equanimity.

 It is the same with our minds... Our minds have been so conditioned to respond, to react, to have feelings of aversion, to have feelings longing and desire. But the mind can learn to just experience, to just be, to not have so many wandering thoughts, to have equanimity of feelings, to be unmoved by external factors and change that go on all around us.

The teachings Buddha are simple: there is suffering and discontent in all of us, but we can develop and let the happiness and calm that is also within all of us thrive. There is that potential in everyone,  we just need patience, understanding and clarity to develop those potentials.

Like we eat a varied diet to maintain the health of our bodies, we must also have a varied practice of meditation to cultivate the health of our minds. Meditating on the breath is good to calm our minds and reach the here and now, but we can also cultivate loving kindness.

We can cultivate love and kindness for all beings, spread love and warmth to those closest to us, to our friends, and even to those we are in conflict with. Just the sending out love, compassion, and understanding from our minds is powerful enough to fill our hearts and minds with much  calm and joy.

We can also develop calmness and clarity by meditating on death and impermanence. By reflecting in our minds that everything will die, everything will change, we free our minds from clinging and attachments, we allow ourselves to better see and experience this world as it really is, and not as we would like it to be- which is ultimately the cause of all our pain and suffering when what we want the world to be is not the way it really is.

Anyone can do this... Asian or white, male or female, old or young... And this retreat, with all these different people from different backgrounds coming together in one place for ten days is evidence of how we can all strive toward improving ourselves, and how we can, from experience, share that improvement with people around us.

 We all posess that essential element of being human and being constantly subject to the changing nature of the world and of ourselves. We can look inward to find true calm, true peace and true happiness. We can experience the world and just be, but not be caught up with all the noise and bustle. This is the way to higher living, to living free from fear, and living with real joy and peace.