Failure

What have I been doing?  Nothing... nothing except feel like an utter failure and useless.

Failed to work, failed to study for an impending exam, failed in my relationships with other people, especially the one special friend I had miserably.

Failed promises to myself and to my late mother.

God help me.

Terrible mistake

I cannot deal with all this from so far away...
I do not have the strength or energy to fight or argue. But do I just let people step over me? Do I just let people take advantage of me and forfeit my rights?

I'm too tired to fight, too tired...

Calling home

The last time I called home, mum was still around to pick up.

The number is so familiar to me. I know it by heart, I use parts of the digits for some of my passwords. It was a number I used to dial, once, twice, sometimes even three times, a day.

And then nothing. There was no more need to call. And once, sometime ago, when out of force of habit and without thinking, I dialed that number. But there was no one to pick up.

I needed to call tonight, because my sister in law is supposed to be there today, and she wanted me to contact her to discuss what to do with mum's possessions. But I guess she was out, because no one picked up the phone... 

Instead, I called one of mum's dearest friends, whose husband (a medium and Toaist priest...) was in charge of organising her funeral. As bizarre as it may sound, I asked how mum is doing...

She knows I've sunk into terrible, terrible depression. She knows somehow that I've been crying a lot (as I am crying now...) from pain and loss. She knows that I am feeling so lost and directionless, and so very lonely. Mum knows.

One can dismiss this all as superstitious rubbish, you can say I am insane to believe the exploits of charlatans,  but think of it this way: imagine mum were still alive today. Who knows me better than any one else in the whole wide world? Who can feel my feelings and share my thoughts better than any one? She may not be here on  this plane of existence, but, somewhere where I cannot see her, somewhere where I cannot hear her, that's where she is now... Perhaps my dreams and the images in my mind are portals to that alternative plane, perhaps the realm of my dreams and imagination is where we can see one another and "communicate", albeit in the language of silence and facial expressions...

 I imagine she is looking at me, watching over me... looking at me as I looked at her all those days and nights by her bedside, watching over her helplessly. Perhaps she is feeling helpless and hurting now as much as I did when she was in pain and suffering from her illness...

"When you need to talk to someone, please call. We are here..." My mum's friend said she misses mum too. "And she was just a dear friend... I cannot imagine how it is for you, she was your ma..." In her voice, I could hear her begin to tear. "She was such a kind person, your mama..."

She was my mother. My dear, dear and brave mother. I had to cover my mouth to muffle the groan of pain and agony from escaping. I had to close my eyes to contain the tears. Quickly I ended the conversation. It had to be quick, because I could not utter another word.

For the next ten minutes, I cried and cried, and cried some more.

Fear

Friday night, and I'm dreading to go home, dreading to face it all...

Piano Concerto No. 20

You can feel it, can you not? 
The anxiety, the desperation, the longing, and the beauty...?

All you have to do is close your eyes, and let it all flow out, pour out like a clear and cleansing stream.

“When a letting go occurred, everything was light, the self-importance of despair was humorous, and you wondered how you could have forgotten that [...] “The whole trap was set around “I am”: the need to get life under control by figuring it out or attaining something.

This is deathlessness: the freedom of the heart through nonclinging,” said the Buddha.”

Excerpt From: Ajahn Sucitto & Nick Scott. “Rude Awakenings.”

I walked down the long jetway toward the waiting plane, the eighth within a span of three weeks. Pure white her fuselage was, a kind of pureness and whiteness rarely found in the dry, dust-covered and barren-looking lands I have traversed in recent days. The plane glistened even in the morning haze, and the shape the windows were formed looked like she was smiling at me, welcoming me aboard. Back to Europe, away from the Indian subcontinent...

It was past nine in the morning, yet still dull and grey outside. Was this the final impression India wanted to leave me? This journey has been far from the mood of the morning. It has been wild, free, unexpected, incredible. It has been deeply personal.

My mind tried to make sense of things, tried to formulate some kind of grand conclusion with the jumble of events, people, places, emotions I have encountered over the course of my self-proclaimed pilgrimage. All I know is at first, even before I began this journey, I was hesitant to call myself a "pilgrim". In this world which places so much emphasis on being successful and material wellbeing, going on a pilgrimage is an invitation to be mocked as a chanting religious zealot or a weed-smoking hippie. I am neither. But the more I traveled, the more I saw and the more people I met, I less I was concerned with sanitation, opinions, words and labels. It was a personal pilgrimage, and perhaps not healthy in my attempt to tame the ego, I am proud for having come so far, traveled so extensively, and come out relatively unscathed but much affected.

So what came out of all this? This is a question I have been trying to answer at moments throughout my trip, and this desire to answer it grew and grew as the days counted down to my departure. I thought standing at the gate, I would know or at least have some kind of a clue. But having slept poorly at some cheap transit hotel which seemed to lie in the flightpath of planes taking off throughout the night, my thoughts were blurred. The crazy last-minute attempt to squeeze in a couple hours of cycling in and around Kathmandu the day before did not help my coughing and added to my fatigue. And my mind was still somewhat agitated by the rudeness of the taxi driver who, even before arriving at the airport, demanded I tip him.

There are annoyances that get on your nerves traveling through these parts of the world. The barrage of beggars, the preying touts and vendors, the traffic, the pollution, the never ending din, the lack of a bin and over-abundance of litter everywhere, the intense smells and need to hold your breath using public washrooms... But the only way to deal with it all is with a sense of humor and acceptance. Things are the way they are. Things are not going to change anytime soon. But you can change your perception of things.
The rat running down the platform and cockroaches playing on the table, people jumping the queue (if there is a queue...), the broken streets and lack of pavements, the (un)expected power outages, the constant feeling you get from locals that you are a walking ATM... Observe it all, let it all register, smile and let it all go. Isn't this how we should approach all things in life (and death)?

“I realised that I loved India. I hadn’t been able to see that because I’d always assumed that you couldn’t love something you were so irritated by. The thinking mind works in such exclusive patterns and then denies that reality doesn’t fit them. But when your head gets turned around, you have to accept consciousness dancing like a stream, flowing [...] in contradictory directions according to hidden forces, its surface prickling and wrinkling with every breeze, dimpled by creatures surfacing within it or descending upon it. When the controlling patterns of the will loosen, consciousness is never the same from one moment to the next. It is not even a “thing” at all, just sensitivity trembling according to habits and circumstances.”

Excerpt From: Ajahn Sucitto & Nick Scott. “Rude Awakenings.”

I went to India and Nepal searching for something, and hoping to experience some kind of mini-enlightenment. I found a lot, perhaps too much to make sense of, but I don't think I'm any closer to nirvana. I'm still so prone to judging, still so susceptible to daydream and "inner chatter", still have habits of replaying and reliving unpleasant memories of the past and feeling sorry and guilty about things said and done before. I still have hair on my head, despite some initial fears I'd return (if I even do return...) a shaved monk. The creature comforts that shaped me and mental and physical desires are far too strong. Still.

Perhaps I searched too hard, looked too deeply, and wanted, even expected, to see and experience things how my mind imagined things would be. And am I not then creating my own "suffering", setting myself up for disappointments and imposing my "wei" on the ways of the world?

On the rugged hills of Rajgir, the very place where the Buddha went several times to be by himself, I sat and meditated briefly. Everything looked so small and even insignificant, everything so distant, everything in perspective. Momentarily, I was alone, but gone was the lingering pain, void and loneliness since my mother's passing. I looked at her picture, at the three animals that have tirelessly accompanied me on this personal pilgrimage, and smiled. We made it. I made it.

There was such tranquility, contentment and peace of being with the rocks, the trees, the vultures that circled above, the rhythmic drumming coming from the Japanese Peace Stupa a dozen metres away. I thought to myself, what wonderful place the world would be if every moment, every being, could be like this...

But every moment can be like this. Whether walking in the chaos of Kathmandu's traffic, whether driving through the rough countryside with the risk of encountering dacoits (bandits), or sitting under the very bodhi tree where two thousand five hundred years ago a normal man became a greet teacher and inspiration to billions throughout the ages, every moment can be met with calm and acceptance, equanimity and letting go. At least that is the idea.





Besides a bag full of memorabilia and a memory card full of pictures,



But I am not home yet.


“I was expecting India to live up to my projections of a “spiritual place.” What that seemed to mean was that it would allow me to stand back from it and feel balanced. And that was a demand that India refused to comply with. The way out, surely, was in letting go: let go of getting a clear picture, let go of wanting things to be my way, especially as I didn’t even know what “my way” was. Letting go: although it feels like dying, it gives you the freedom to live without self-importance.”

Excerpt From: Ajahn Sucitto & Nick Scott. “Rude Awakenings.” Amaravati Publications, 2012-06-05. iBooks.


What is the purpose of a pilgrimage? Is it not to test your abilities to cope by putting yourself in a foreign environment and in foreign situations in which you have no say or control over what happens next? Is it not to expose yourself, your whole mind, body and life, to the unknowns of circumstance, and to the kindness, or at times wickedness, of strangers? Is it not to learn and realise how very little you really need in life, and that all else you can leave behind? The further you journey, the deeper into unchartered territory, it seems even the unfamiliar becomes familiar, strangers soon become friends. All the while, like the practice of meditation, you must deal with each rising thought, each encounter, each passing judgment with equanimity and non-clinging. For how else can you travel and live surrounded by conditions beyond your control, beyond the wildest excesses of your imagination?

Operation Dismantle

 170113.02.02
It's begun.

Just before heading to bed, I got an email from my sister-in-law, who is now at my mum's house. There were a bunch of pictures, and list of furniture and items to be divided between my brother and I.

Dad's old, old Rolex that's been in the glass cabinet for four years...
The hi-if system I bought for mum to enjoy when it became clear she would be spending more time in her bed...
The two woolen blankets she used till the very end (one of which she once gifted my friend for his birthday, which has the exact same pattern and was bought at the same time...)
A Buddha statue and worship table...
Her favourite arm chair, one she loved to lounge in because the lumbar support eased the almost constant aches in her back and shoulder blades...

Is it easier that I'm not there to deal with all this and to see the house and the empty state it is in now?
Is it easier not to have the chance to say goodbye, and to just find out you may never step in that house again?

I'm not sure.

A friend who lost her mother last year did not return to her family home since. Another who lost her mother two years ago wrote to me about how she has no courage to even touch her mum's glasses, which ha been collecting dust. An auntie said ten years after her daughter passed, she does not dare to touch her room still.

It takes time, it really does.

But for me it's already begun. And this email with picture attachments is just the beginning. My brother and sister-in-law have told me to keep my phone by my side so they can live-cam with me and show me what to take and what to chuck away...

The walls of the home mum has lived in, and which I have frequented so many times, are being torn down, it feels like. And with the walls, the memories are coming down too... memories of dinners and new year's eve gatherings together, of watching mum sitting in front of the telly absorbed in the prices of her shares, of lying next to mum's bed "just in case" something happens in the middle of the night... Memories of my nephew's first few steps, memories of beautiful, romantic nights spent lying next to my ex on the floor in the spare "bedroom"... Everything will from now on be wrapped in bubble wrap, tape and so many vivid memories.

The coming days will i feel be an emotional and tiring experience.

Talk

We all hurt, we all become disturbed and hung up on different things.
We all cry, for different reasons, at different times.

Can pain be ever be measured and compared? Can the depths of what traumatises someone and the extent of experience with life (and death...) ever be comparable? I don't think so. What shocks me may have little or a numbing effect on someone else. What I see and experience as tough and so very difficult to get through, someone may have gone through it a dozen times already.

I do believe that with every encounter with death (and to some extent illness) and loss, you grow stronger, you grow more immune. You realise everything is only so much in the end, and everything is just the way it is, nothing more, nothing less.

I arrived at the office today, and found my ex sitting there. I was surprised, and at first unsure how to deal with him being there. For much of the day, though our interactions were light and felt like it was "like old times", I was distracted and did so very little work (another day gone by...).

By afternoon, towards the end of the work day (well, more like "sitting-around-doing-very-little-day...), he came in and sat down to chat. My colleagues came to say goodnight one by one, and we continued talking. One thing led to another, and he began telling me what disturbs him so much.

Images, moments real or photographed, scenes and flashbacks... of soft animals attending mum's  funeral, of me crouching next to mum's bed and wearing my graduation cap with a forced smile on my face, of me sobbing uncontrollably next to Niagara Falls after speaking to mum... There were just some of the painful, terribly heart-wrenching and painful moments of the past  year.

He could not stop crying, could not stop even as I held his hand and leaned in close to embrace him and stroke his head. It was hard to watch him break down like that. Who knows how many times he has woken up at night, or how often he has been kept dazed and feeling downhearted, by those moments and images. As  I listened to him sob and recount moments that he has such difficulty processing and getting over, I wanted to choke and cry, but I did not. I swallowed my tears, because he did not have to see me cry. Who would comfort whom then?

 But those moments and images he mentioned, those were tough, tough moments. Tough does not really describe it. There were so many moments behind, in front, after, surrounding those moments my friend mentioned when it was just a dying mother and her child who prayed and held her hand ever so tightly... Some moments will be forever just be between mum and I, it would be our beautiful little secrets. "Secret" is not used here in the negative sense, but just used to denote some moments, some experiences that no one else knows about or saw. Moments and experiences that cemented  the love between a mother and her child, moments and experiences that will forever transcend death. Beautiful, but also painful, very painful. All of those moments melted and blended in my mind like a terrible haze. I don't know if I consciously do not think of or cannot think of the details, but they feel so distant, so far, far gone away in the past.

He cried, and stopped crying. Then, "like old times", we joked and laughed and our conversation led to a million different topics... his travels, how he has been, the thesis he is trying to finish... It felt natural, strangely natural, even though barely two weeks ago there was so much tension, misunderstanding,  and deep, deep sense of disappointment and hurt.

"I hope we have reached rock bottom..." he said (or something along those lines... ), referring to how much our relations have deteriorated over a span of almost two years... arguments, tensions, mistrust,  frustrations and anger seem to have dominated our bond and soured what beautiful and precious little moments we used to share. I still question myself how things got so sour so quickly, and how much of a (guilty...) role I play in all this. But can we get any worse than this? Can things not get better?
Where would we be in a few months, in a few years from now? I do not know. Who knows?
But there is genuine care, genuine love and something very special there still. We both know it.
The question is whether we know it enough, and what we are willing to do to (or not...) to allow that special bond and relationship flourish.

"Sometimes the snow falls down in June..." was his response.

 Maybe... maybe.

But in the dead and silent loneliness of Winter, snow is falling already.

Being a friend

If a friend did something wrong, if a friend were depressed and down, were feeling upset and telling you he feels like he is a failure, would you be unkind to him? Would you scold him, give him more pressure, blame him? Would you make him feel worse by telling him not to be so dramatic, by telling him he's insane or indeed a terrible person? Why would you do anything to make him feel worse when he's already down hearted?

Would you not remind him of how good he can be, how kind and gentle he is, and how much potential he has? Would you not remind him he is loved and that there is so much to live for in life? Would you not be there for him, be patient with him? Would you not hug him tightly, hold him, and reassure him "everything will be alright"?

If you can do that to a friend, why can't you do it to yourself? Why be so hard on yourself? Why do we have such a difficult time with ourselves and make our own lives tougher than it already is?

Need to hug myself, once in a while, hold myself, and remind myself to love myself more and more...

Things will be alright.

Struggle

Past eleven at night, alone at the office still, trying to study. But it is such a struggle. I read, and I forget. I lack motivation, lack interest, and most of all, lack the concentration to focus on what I am doing. My mind is such a mess, scattered like leaves at the end of Autumn all over the place, and my heart feels like it is balancing  on the edge of breaking down and crying. Crying because I feel so weak, so vulnerable... (I really should stop listening to the radio and to all these songs that mean so much to me...)

It is such a struggle, such a painful struggle to ground myself, to find joy in anything. Such a struggle alone to find meaning or purpose in what I am doing (what AM I doing...?) and not feel like I am useless and wasting my breath and life.

Something has to change. Dramatically. I cannot go on feeling ugly and negative. I cannot go on like this indefinitely.
For I am killing myself, killing my own soul and every single dream and ambition I have ever held...

And it aches to imagine my parents watching over me and seeing me in this completely depressed and unproductive state of being... I imagine they must weep seeing me like this, and yet being unable to hold me, encourage me or show me love however much they would want to...

Underclass

From the cover of Maclean's this week.

How true...

Friend

150113.1243

I suddenly received a call from a friend who I've not seen in months. Over the past year or so we've grown closer with our shared interest in biking, traveling and also the growing bond in both our attractions to Buddhism. We are both looking for similar things in life: companionship, love, and a career. We are lost and frustrated at times...

Today she called to tell me she found an ideal job in Europe. Her dream position at a famous law firm. I was happy for her, because I know how much she's been trying and waiting for something. Finally, hard work and patience paid off.

But at the same time, I felt a tinge of sadness. I've grown close to her, enjoyed our conversations and dinners together, enjoyed the company of someone who is in a similar situation, who lost a parent not long ago so knows what it feels like. I felt sad, because soon I will no longer be able to just call her up and go for a walk or bike ride together, or go for long talks over cups of hot tea...

I feel the missing already. Another friend moving on, moving away.
But it happens.
People come and go, even those you feel close too must one day leave.

Thank you for the wonderful moments and intimate personal talks we shared...
Thank you...

Bursting with tears

140113.2034


One moment you're fine, and the next just bursting out in tears... I am reminded of that movie I watched a few months back, where out of nowhere the daughter in the movie suddenly breaks down and cries over the loss of her remaining parent... Who would have known, I am at that stage now.

Second time today, just sitting and crying. Unable to control the tears, unable to still the pain. Where does it all come from? Where am I going with all this...? I can't keep on breaking down and crying alone at night. I can't...

It began as soon as I was searching through my emails for some information. I came across an email mum sent me, back in September 2008. I just moved to Canada, she was planning to visit me. Her email detailed her itinerary, flying in from Boston Logan to Pierre Trudeau Airport. The plan was to visit me, and then we would fly together to Europe. She ended her email with:

 "I'm going to the community college now for lessons. If there is anything, contact me. Good luck with everything, hope all goes well... Mama 0909"

9 September  2008.   I just began my life here, just had a week or so of school, just found and moved into an apartment, my very first apartment on my own. I moved here not knowing what to expect, and feeling somewhat excited about the unknowns to come, but also reeling from the (then) recent loss of my dad. I was lost, confused, lonely, and longing for someone by my side. Funny, four years on, and the same feelings of loss, longing and loneliness have not much changed. Perhaps they have only intensified now that my mother has also gone.

But four years on, I will no longer get an email or touching message from mum  again. 

Call from brother

The last time brother and I spoke was two weeks ago, when I called him on new year's eve from some obscure location. It only struck me when I looked at the date that two weeks have  already gone by, and I realise again what a waste of time and my life to be so unproductive and so down...

The beginning of the conversation was about (family) business, which I just dread talking about, even though it must be dealt with. What to do with my mum's house, what to do with her belongings (chuck them or donate them...), and so on. He wants me to be available online in the coming period so he can skype with me and show me things to decide what to do with every single item in mum's house. It will be a very tough process, especially from afar...

It depresses me even more to think of all these things, especially knowing that for the first time in five years, I cannot be there for the lunar new year celebrations. When my brother mentioned what he plans to do to commemorate my parents on this special occasion (specifically for my dad, the anniversary of whose passing falls on lunar new year's eve...), I just cried. When he mentioned that he will not be spending new year's at home, but instead will go to stay with his mother in-law, I cried even more... Cried quietly of course. Thank goodness the office door was closed.

Just the image of my mum's home being empty for the first time ever is heart-wrenching. To think, only last year we were all together. Mum was still there, though sickly and weak, but we were together. We shared a meal, even though she ate very little. Mum, brother, his wife, my nephew, and I, all of us together. I could still hold her hand then, I could lie next to her and fall asleep imagining I'm a baby next to his mother. That's all in the past now... no more, no more... Momentarily, the past and all those beautiful memories saddened me.

"Are you alright? How are you doing nowadays?" he asked I think he could hear from the sound of my voice that I am really deflated and unmotivated (I imagine anyone can...). In a rare moment of bonding and care, I felt he was genuinely concerned, perhaps more so because when I visited three weeks ago I told him I have been terribly lonely and often sad these few months since mum left-- a feeling that intensified only after my return to Canada and as I began to pick up my life. I told him then about how lost I feel, so uncertain I am where to start and what to do with myself.

On the phone today, he encouraged me, told me to do things to distract myself and feel less lonely. "You just have to go on... what else can you do?"

Yes, go on, swallow the unpleasant feelings and debilitating emotions that leave your mind and soul so weak and tired, and you must try not let the loneliness and feelings of loss get to you and affect you. Or at least try not let it all affect you too much.

Coming from my brother, it was rare, and heart warming.

Dream: denial

I was back home in the Netherlands, sitting in the living room. Out of nowhere mum appeared and sat by the sofa. I looked at her, admired her from a distance. She looked so beautiful, and i wanted to go and touch her, but I did not (I could not?)

Mum looked so... "normal". She was reading something, moving her body freely in ways she could not months before the surgeries and before she passed. She did not seem to notice me at all.

Then a number of her closest friends appeared. One by one they came to me and spoke to me. I forget exactly want was said, but they were trying to calm me down and reassure me for some reason.
A phone call came. Then a text message. Grandmother passed away.

I was distraught. By that point mum vanished from sight. I heard myself shouting and crying: "Mum's dead! Mum's dead! Dead! Dead!" Dead!"

The power of the heart and mind is strong. I'm caught up in negativities and fear, and will not be able to escape this vicious cycle of nightmares and clouded mindlessness if I do not open my eyes to seeing the world in more positive light...

http://mirror1.birken.ca/dhamma_talks/indiv/Mun/02/01_Just_Leave_It_Over_There.mp3

Dream: Arguments

Fell asleep eventually close to five in the morning, with my laptop on my bed, with a series running in the background. It feels somehow comforting and reassuring to hear voices and to have the make-believe presence of people in around me...

Dreams woke me up. Disturbing dreams of intense arguments and people wandering around in my house. They were such familiar faces. Friends? There was such anger and shouting, misunderstanding and heated exchanges, especially with this one person. There was such desperation, such pain and longing for escape. Familiar feelings I have in my waking moments.

The feeling of being suddenly "shocked" awake by a bad dream, and by the intensity of arguing with someone, is a horrible way to start the day. A day that's almost half gone...

Sleeplessness

Almost three in the morning, all is so quiet, all is so still. It is as if the world is asleep, and I am the only person still awake. Lying in bed and still awake. My mind is anything but quiet, anything but still...

When was the last time I really slept "normally"? When was the last time I did not dream or lie in bed feeling so cold and alone? It's nights like this when I feel like my house is too big, too empty. I can fill it with personal things, personalise it with pictures and my favourite things. But it will still feel cold and empty. And pictures can fall and break and shatter. I found out the hard way last night when a glass picture frame containing a picture of mum and a special teddy bear fell to the ground and shattered. It broke my heart.

I look over and the bear my mother gave me lies there inanimate next to me. He smells of me, and a bit of the smells from my travels. I hug him, but he cannot hug back. There's a familiar scent in the pillow case, and on the blanket. But that scent is fading, and with time I will forget how it smells like. It's sad perhaps, but there are moments I wrap my arms around myself and imagine I'm being hugged.

How I wish I could fall asleep... fall asleep in the arms of another human being, and feel safe and loved again.

Vast

I stepped onto the ice. Before me was the river that always looked so vast and formidable. But today, it was frozen and still.

I trudged through the slush. Perhaps it's not the wisest thing to do to stand on the river when the temperature has been hovering above zero Celsius for the past two days. But maybe I'm foolhardy and somehow not afraid. Besides, there were people ice fishing even further out than where I was standing. In the distance, I could hear the rumbling of the rapids, and  a thin veil of mist forming on the horizon. Winter makes everything so desolate, so cold, feel so lonely, but there is a certain beauty to be found in all these extremes.

To think, just a few months ago, the day after I returned from a "mission" lasting almost eight months, I sat on this very river bank and sobbed by myself between the bushes. A few months on, so many more tears have been shed, so much distance traveled, so many words, some unkind, spoken... I could not but wonder, as I stood on the surface of the river stared into the distance, whether I am feeling better or worse than before, and how much longer it will be till I can really smile again. "Any day now, any day now..." I must keep reminding myself, just as I reminded myself all those days and nights I spent by mum's side and gritted my teeth to bravely face it all.

A gust of wind blew and disturbed the tranquility and my thoughts. I trudged back to the bank, slipped and fell into the soft cushion of slush and snow.




(I often played this piece of music at home and at the hospital, especially before bedtime. Somehow, the music can send mum to sleep, and in a way, take away her pains...)

Mother and son

I watched as the boy zipped up his mother's winter coat, watched as he walked slowly behind her and carried her two big bags down the winding stair case. I watched, with a sense of reminiscing and envy, the beautiful, beautiful bond between a mother and child. She grabbed him by the hand, and slowly, slowly they made their way down the snow-lined pavement...

I could not take my eyes off of them. How inspiring, how beautiful and genuine the love between them. Their chatter and laughter faded as they disappeared into the distance...

Come back to me

The Letter

I must seem a distant memory
Which is probably a good thing
And it will have been a long, long time
And I will have missed you growing,
And I'll have missed you crying
And I'll have missed you laugh.
Missed your stomping and your shouting,
I'll have missed telling you off,
But please Billy,
Know that I was always there.
I was with you through everything.
And please, Billy...

But please, Billy
know that I will always be
Proud to have known you
Proud that you were mine
Proud in everything
And you must promise me this, Billy

In everything you do
Always be yourself, Billy
And you always will be true...
Love you forever
Love you forever
Mam

I will try, mama... 
I will try to be myself, and to be true.

I will try so hard.

Leaving

I looked up and saw him rub his eyes, his reddened and moist eyes. Momentarily, he buried his face with his hands. The  metro pulled onto the platform, a gush of wind nearly swept me off of my feet. Dizzy, feeling nauseous and the saltiness of recently dried tears on my cheeks, I watched him stand there overlooking the crowd and tracks below. Perhaps from high up there, one gets a better perspective of people and circumstances.

I hoped he would see me, see me gently wave and smile at him. My hope was realised when he lifted his head and looked my way, waving too. I waved goodbye, quietly wished his pain, tears and hurt can be washed away, quietly wished that he could forget me so that he will no longer hurt, no longer cry. All anyone ever wants is to be loved, to be wish someone who brings happiness and lightness into our lives.

Quickly I disappeared into the metro, so I do not have to cry...

Billy Elliot the Musical

I loved the movie Billy Elliot, and have watched it twice before. And tonight, I went to the musical adaptation of the movie.

A special little boy with a talent for dancing set against the backdrop of the mine strikes of 1980s Britain. While the adults argued and struggled to get by, while the Margret Thatcher sent in the police and strikers were pitted against "scabs", a boy just wants to dance! Dance to get his emotions and frustrations out, dance because he feels like dancing, dance because he feels free and hears music even when no music is playing.

But dancing for a boy is reason for ridicule. "Poof", "fruit", they called him because he wanted to dance the ballet. His dad and brother were dead set against it, but soon they realise that though their livelihoods and dreams are over, they cannot stand in the way of a boy with dreams and hopes. And how much the boy has gone through, having already lost his mother at the young age of 11.

It's a beautiful story about hope and hard work, striving and gain. It's also partly about loss and letting go. There is a scene in which  a letter from his late mother is read out (see other post). I could not keep from sobbing. The words reached deep inside me and wrenched my heart and caused a flood of tears:

And it will have been a long, long time
And I will have missed you growing,
And I'll have missed you crying
And I'll have missed you laugh.
Missed your stomping and your shouting,
I'll have missed telling you off,
But please Billy,
Know that I was always there.
I was with you through everything.

I enjoyed the musical, I really did. It was beautiful production, perhaps the most animated and well choreographed musical I've seen to date. It was  comical and extremely, extremely moving. And amazing what this scrawny little kid could do with his voice and feet on stage. But for me, personally, and a reason why I dreaded going to see the performance in a way, the most touching was that moment when the words and love of a late mother were transported into the present. Love, beautiful love, never dies...

Sick

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I threw up again. Terribly. Everything inside emptied out. Last time it was a month or so ago, in India, but that was due to something I ate, I imagine. This time... I don't know why.

Is it my body trying to tell me something? Am I ill? Is something wrong with my digestive system? Or is it all mental? Caused by stress, anxiety,and such fears of the world and all its people? I feel such fear, fear of waking up, fear of falling asleep... Just beset by fears and paining from the inability to find some kind of security and certainty.

I threw up just as I was heading out the door. As bizarre as it may seem, to meet up with my ex. He bought tickets to a musical he wanted to watch with me. We spoke for over an hour on the phone earlier, I spoke most of the time, voicing my opinions and frustrations about the way we are and how we got to this. It was the same conversation about our relationship and how we've seemingly grown so sour and tired of one another, the same conversation which never has an end, which doesn't resolve anything.

He said very little, and just said there are three choices. Be stuck in this ugly cycle of misunderstanding and hurting, cut off all ties, or try to start afresh, "get to know one another". I'm not sure what the last sentence even means, for do we not know one another already? Have we not known one another for over four years? I don't understand, but
perhaps against my better (or worse) judgment, I agreed to go to the show. One chance at salvaging something that was once so strong and so beautiful and carefree. Perhaps I am still imagining and dreaming of the impossible.

Why did I throw up? I still feel the uneasiness inside. I feel horrible, and to be honest am not in the mood to sit through a show. But I make myself stand up and clean myself up, and I go anyway.

Persevere

Another night disturbed by dreams and images of my ex and my parents. Somehow, and especially these days,  the most important people in my life who are no longer around, appear in my dreams and waking moments a lot. I often wonder why my mind punishes me so, why I'm causing my own suffering, when other people seem to have an easier time to move on, to put things on the side, or to even just forget.

It was another struggle to drag myself out of bed and to work. A colleague saw me this morning and was very concerned. For almost an hour we chatted and she tried to console me and remind me again that what I've gone through over the past years is not been easy for anyone.

Her voice was so calming, so motherly. "You seem to forget it's only been a few months..." A couple of times I had to blink hard and wipe the corners of my eyes. My colleague said she cannot imagine going through what I went through, especially at my age. Her words hit me as she pointed out how lonely and empty I must feel. And for some reason, ever since the long trip to India/Nepal that was supposed to bring me some closure and perspective (at least I thought so when the trip concluded...) the void has been growing ever emptier and ever deeper.

Later, in my boss' office, my boss sat me down and asked me how things have been with me. Even he could see through me and see how disturbed I have been. He encouraged me again, and like a father-figure told me to hang on there and be strong. Father figure... that is what I miss.

Though my boss is much older, he's not lost a parent yet. He admitted to  that seeing me venture off to India all on my own, partly on my mother's behalf, inspires him. Again, he explained his reason to keep me by his side, because he sees something in me, and "You deserve it!"

What is it that people see? Perhaps I am just blind and too weighed down by pain and the past.

I must somehow try to persevere, try to hold myself together and not break apart so easily...

Middlewei

 Long project to retrace my footsteps through the "Middle Land" with words and pictures before they are lost...


http://middlewei.blogspot.ca/

Coping

Being down, I went to the movies. Just like that, on the spur of the moment, thought it would cheer me up a little. Little was I prepared for moments of crying.

As a side character, and sort of as a comic relief, we are introduced to a young guy with a rare form of cancer. He knows he's dying, because as he put it all the relatives are visiting. His impending death allows him to see the world with such wonder and amazement, to enjoy every breath. He meets one of the main characters in the movie, who happens to be at the hospital after a serious overdose. She is a heroine addict and alcoholic. In several scenes, you see the girl, a very pretty young girl, shoot and sniff cocaine, and drink herself out of consciousness. She wants to stop, but cannot. An addiction is too hard to kick. But the alternative of not drinking or abusing substances feel much worse.

Around her apartment of pictures of her and mother, in one her mother, whose cheeks looked so thin and sunken, is wearing a woolen hat, one that covered her head completely. From that one picture I understood why the girl hurts, why she drinks and shoots. Why she has even had to prostitute herself so she can drown in the painlessness.

It's cancer, cancer took her mother away. Later in the movie she explains how she spent so much time with her mother, trying to taking care of her, trying to pray for a miracle, giving herself completely to her mother. But her mother died anyways.

As she described her ordeal, shedding light as to why she is destroying her own body and her own life, I empathised with her... After the loss of a dear, dear one, there is such void, pain, loneliness and such deep, deep longing to belong, to be with someone... How can you get rid of all that pain? Can anyone really understand or feel the depth of the pain? It is no wonder (but no excuse either...) she sought escape in drugs and drink. How else can you drown out the emotions and rawness of it all without driving yourself crazy from despair and feeling like you cannot breathe, cannot do anything right? How else can you get rid of the feelings of being abandoned and so worthless in world?

I'm not saying I'll go seize the bottle now or start tracking down dealers on the streets. But I understand, and maybe in understanding I can cope and be a little stronger. Any little bit of self-help helps now.

Any little bit...

Call

One phone call, and I am left crying again, at the office of all places. Call from my ex.
Why am I so fragile, so tormented inside? Why am I shaking and unable to pick up my work again?

I was lost as to what to say to him... lost for words, lost in a mess of thoughts. I want to tell him I care about him so much, still do after all we have gone through, after all those arguments and tears... But those feelings are so misplaced, so wrong! Feelings I feel but do not seem to be shared as strongly. Deep down inside there are so many things I want him to understand, so many things I feel he must know. But what? How?

And what is the point, really? What is going to change, when for two years almost we have been dealing with the same issues of torn feelings and love triangle? What is going to change anything at all?
Powerful what a disappointed and broken heart can do to you. Unimaginable how one person can affect your life so much...

And who is suffering here most of all? Is it not me, stuck in this mindset dominated by loss and pain and disbelief? Is it not me who is so miserable, so utterly demotivated and lacking any joy and inspiration to do anything, while other people do not understand why I am this way? Is it not me who is crying and becoming ever stressed about work I cannot continue to do because I am so distraught and unfocused?

Call

One phone call, and I am left crying again, at the office of all places. Call from my ex.
Why am I so fragile, so tormented inside? Why am I shaking and unable to pick up my work again?