Call to the bar

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The hall began to fill with family and friends of hundred or so lawyers-to-be. The atmosphere was joyous, and I sat next to a friend and my ex's parents, who had ventured all the way from Europe, braving the bitter cold, to be present at their son's call to the bar ceremony.

I searched the mezzanine below us for my ex, and found him. I smiled when I saw the back of his head, even though he did not see me. Smiled at the thought he finally made it, pulled through all those late nights of studying and long hard days at work as a law student... And all those around him, everyone shares a similar story, shares the ambition of one day being able to officially call themselves "solicitor" or "barrister". Getting up at 430 in the morning, having slept only four hours or so max, was worth this moment. Bringing a smile and making little surprises is what I seem to do well, and I managed to pull another off.

The ceremony slept began as the organ played a moving classical piece. My friend's mum teared. She said she felt very emotional, especially as it was the anniversary of her own mother's passing. I wanted to do something, perhaps put my hand on her shoulder, but felt perhaps it was a bit too much. But having recently lost someone dear, I felt I should have said or done more to show that "you're not alone". All I could offer her was my smile of sympathy, and I hope she saw in my eyes what I wanted say.

One by one, names were called out and one by one all went on stage. People from all backgrounds, of all ages. Most inspiring was a guy in a wheelchair, who from a distance looked like he had some kind of motorneurone disorder. Yet he did it, he studied hard, he went through ten grueling months of articling, and he deserved so much to go on that stage and claim his certificates. He deserved so much the loud and long rounds of applause from across the hall. If he could do it, why can't I? Why can't I...?

I sat there and watched and waited for my friend to go on stage. I clapped louder an more vehemently than before, smile and hoped he would look our way, look to see how we all came and how we are so proud of him. Later I hugged him and congratulated him several times, reminded him of how fortunate he is to be surrounded by loved ones.

Without wanting to steal the show, as I sat there, I felt the reasons why it was difficult for me, and why it took courage to attend this ceremony, even though I wanted so much to bring a smile to my friend's face and make it a memorable event.

It's the familiarity of it all. Last time I sat in such an auditorium and on such an occasion was my own graduation, only eight months or so ago. And how heavy my heart was, how terribly, terribly sad my face and composure looked on pictures I never shared with any one. And today, here I was, sitting there, though for someone else, yet trying hard to suppress the tears, trying hard not to think of that day (if it ever comes, when I complete my bar...) when I am sitting there in the crowd waiting to be called to the bar. Where would mum and dad be? Who would come attend and cheer me on? Who would come hug me, kiss me, bring me flowers and remind me of what I have just accomplished and what a feat it has all been? Oh, how my ached even though a part of me tried to be strong and tried hard to maintain a smile for others to see.

I may have been dressed elegantly, I may have looked confident and smiley, but deep down inside I cracking up.

Heading home...

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On the plane alone heading back to Montreal. The little surprise I planned was a success, and I think I brought a few smiles to my ex's face. But why do I feel so empty now? Why do I dread to go home and why does a part of me hope that something will happen to the plane...?

This is my problem. I cannot deal with loneliness, I cannot stand it much, even though most of the time I am alone. Just before leaving, I had a sort of nervous breakdown, so close to tears and I was shaking. I nearly threw up my food. A beautiful day was ending, a lovely time spent with the ex is ending. And I need to go home, on my own.

He said he's lonely too. Maybe, and he must know himself. But I do wonder how lonely one can really be when you have a partner, when you have the affection, phone calls and laughters you can have with a partner? How lonely can you be when your parents travel thousands of kilometers away to be with you on a special special occasion? How lonely can you be when your best friend/ex lover puts aside all his conflicted feelings and the difficulties of facing the beautiful love and bond of family life he craves for so much just to show up for a day to make you happy? I cannot really understand, just as he cannot fully understand what I feel when I say I've lost all that is dear to me and lost the purpose and focus of my own life. Perhaps this is where we are diverging from one another's paths: we do not seem to understand each other, do not seem any more to be able to give each other that natural feeling of joy and pleasant company we used to share and treasure so much.

He told me again he loves me and cannot stop caring about me or thinking about me. He said I've always managed to fascinate him, attract him by the "karma" (kindness) I show and by the little touching things that I do. But I feel I've lost that touch, that warmth, that passion and motivation in life to want to make a difference, to want to work towards something beautiful and meaningful. What happened? Why have I lost touch with my inner self and the me that before was so kind and so easily moved and touched?

Rightly or wrongly, I've always been geared toward making people around me happy. Perhaps my happiness depends (dangerously!) on the happiness of those around me and dearest to me. Mum formed a core of my life, my best friend/ex formed another fundamental core that touched my life like never see before. And now that both these people have become out of my life, I feel such imbalance and very distorted. when I lose people who matter most, whether through death or because they've moved on in life, I'm left without a core, without direction. It's not healthy, I know, but I am sort of useless on my own without someone to project my love and affections to. I have a cat, yes, but there's only so much I can give a cat, and only so much she can give me...

I need to find a purpose, find meaning in life, find myself and be comfortable with myself. I need to be able to fully be "me" and not allow Myself be so troubled by thoughts of doubt, thoughts of envy, dreams of the future and thoughts I self-criticism. Cry if I must, scream if I please, close my eyes and swallow the pain and hurt if I need to, but in the end I need to be strong, need to find a way to survive, and move on without lingering, without looking back.

I need to love myself, love myself so much more... Because now the only person who can offer me that fully and unconditionally is me. No one else.

Love myself, hold myself, tell myself I will be alright, tell myself I am loved and I am deserving and worthy of love... And one day, I will really be loved, I will find love, and I will love again.

Munchhauser

Just listening to a radio talk show about munch munchhauser

Operation SMILE

The other day, after another teary session between my ex and I trying to unravel the sadness and disappointments that have gotten in between us, he said: "All I want is a smile..."

 He does not know it, but come Friday (two days from now) I'm paying him a surprise visit in the hope of giving him that wish. Whatever he has done to me, whatever he is doing to me still, however I feel hurt and at times disappointed by his behaviour, he is still dear to me. Am I just a fool? Hurt and getting myself hurt again and again, and the other person seems so oblivious to it all? The most terrifying and perhaps heart-breaking thing to deal with, should it happen, is to encounter his partner there. That would just be a knife in my heart...

But I am going as a friend, a friend who cares and would like to be there to show support and how proud I am of a dear, dear friend about to achieve something remarkable and joyful. In little ways, I have been there to encourage him, support him to accomplish this important dream of becoming a fully-fledged lawyer, and this ceremony marks the results of this long and winding process (a process I myself am embarking on, albeit with much struggle and very little motivation nowadasys...). And part of the reason for me to make this visit is to see his parents again, for they have been ever so kind and caring toward me over the past years.

So I'll just go... an early flight in the morning, and a late return the same day. If worse comes to worse, I'll just turn around and leave. But at least I tried, and hopefull will succeed in bringing a smile to my ex's face, and in turn to my face too.

At the movies

To distract myself and to further procrastinate, I went to the movies late at night. Better than sitting at home and doing nothing, better than sitting there and letting my mind wander and drive myself crazy. Better to surround myself with strangers and life than sit there all alone and feel sorry for myself.

It was an empowering movie about Lincoln and his arduous struggle to bring the civil war to and the heinous phenomenon of slavery to an end.

The acting, with so many seasoned stars, was remarkable. But most of all, it was a portrayal (perhaps dramatized, perhaps hollywoodised...) of an epic turning point in history.

I was moved to tears, and in awe by the spirit and drive of a great man who believed in something so core to his being and who worked tirelessly day and night to make that dream a reality. This despite having to overcome the most painful loss of a child... His soft spoken nature, his way with words and his quiet determination were inspiring and moved me to tears...

I don't wish and never wished to achieve something great or leave a legacy behind, despite the original name my parents gave me (composed of the words "crown" and "great"...). But I do hope I can make a difference, quietly and without much fanfare, to the world of people around me.
But how do I do that when I often feel so weak and so unmotivated, when I have so little drive and so little to push myself? Truly, behind many a great men is someone to support and to console and comfort in the most difficult of times- be that in the form of parents or a partner. I do feel I need, now more than ever, people (or one special, special person) who can bring me joy and happiness, who can relate to me and my dreams and softly guide and encourage me as I try to pick myself up from the rubble of a streak of misfortunes and traumas.

I do believe I can be better again, I do long for that day when I can smile and really feel life is light and the world is so beautiful and has so much to live for... And Mr Lincoln's story was an inspiration, a moving message to my heart that life is so much bigger and greater than the petty problems and issues of a nobody approaching the third decade of his life.

Cuckoo's nest

I walked out of the CBT clinic shaking. My stomach, which was already upset, felt even more queasy. Two and a half hours of interview questions and questionnaires about my life and what's bothering me behind me. At several moments, I felt faint and wanted to close my eyes to sleep... Sleep and not have to think... Because I just can't think anymore.

My ex spend the night at my place. I thought he had no where to go. But this morning it was revealed that he could have gone to his boyfriend's family to stay the night, but he chose not to, because he was sad and affected by the anniversary of his grandma's passing. Instead he'll go there tonight, now that he's feeling better, happier and smilier. To me it is simply incomprehensible.  How can someone reserve happy moments for someone you're in a relationship in and carry the tears and what really bothers him most to me, the ex?  But who am I to judge? Perhaps I have become just that person to run to to cry and to let frustrations and hard emotions out. Maybe he can understand, maybe he does not see a problem with any of it. Maybe that's part of why I am going to therapy, because there is nothing that I can understand or make sense of...

I feel drained. I don't want to be alone, I want a body to hold me, someone or something to make me smile and forget that I had to remember and talk about such painful and traumatic experiences... This is part of what I said to the interviewers, who are assessing me to couple me with a professional. The loneliness, the numbing and disabling sense of loss and abandonment is killing me deep down and killing me so roughly.  But who do I call? Who can I call?

I feel like I've had to dig deep, to bare myself, even though as I did it the words and frustrations came out so smoothly. Mum's death, dad's death, friends' death , caregiving, and the deep sense of abandonment and disappointment at my ex's behaviour (and I seem to let it all continue... He seems oblivious to it all...) And then there's the childhood.

I shook and hesitated before I could utter those words out. The interviewers (two psychologists) were visibly taken aback when on top of everything, I revealed what happened to me as a child. "You have gone through so much..." Too much. Too much. Maybe not war and the devastation of parent losing a child, maybe not the trauma of losing a limb or watching someone get killed or maimed... but abuse is so traumatic, so overwhelming and lingering. It's like a shadow you cannot dispel, even though at times it seems to have faded away... But it always comes back. I told them I forgive, and that I have forgiven who it was who did it to me. Why? Because I do not wish to perpetuate pain, do not wish to carry the pain and misery and allow myself to hurt and abuse another like the way I was abused. But that takes a lot of courage, a lot of self-discipline and constantly keeping my actions and thoughts in check.

"You have gone through so much..." Maybe they say that to everyone who comes through the door, out of professional responsibility and out of compassion. But really, objectively, I have gone through so much and survived. Or at least am trying to. I do not wish to play a victim, do not wish to play the sympathy card. But after so much that has happened, do I not deserve the right to heal? Do I not have a real reason to cry, a real reason to be afraid that if I allow things to continue spiralling downward I will end up causing irreparable emotional (or perhaps even physical...) damage to myself?

It's a lot to take, too much piled on top of one another and too much to sort through. So I'm going to the "cuckoo's nest" in the hope of dealing with it all, in the hope of finding myself and realising that contrary to what people tell me and may think, I am not the selfish or uncaring bastard I am, I am not the mean-spirited and chronically down person I seem to be. I want a way out! I want to feel and be alive! I want to change and change for the better, for myself and for the sake of those around me!
 I maybe down and burdened by traumas and troubles a lot of the time, but it is not me, does not define me, even if friends (and I feel to an extent my ex...) seem to reject those parts of me and distance themselves from me. I am seeking help because it pains me to be and feel so negative, because it pains me to lose all sight of hope and perspective, and because I want to emerge stronger and tell myself that I deserve to be loved and loved in the way I want to be loved. Because I am worth it.

I felt shaken, nauseated and trembled as I spoke. After the intake interview, I wanted to throw up, wanted to cry. But the empty corridors of a clinic seems like such a bizarre place to break down and cry. The bitterly cold temperatures outside did not make me feel better (-26C!)

But I got home, a place where I could relieve myself, and let myself go. Hug my blanket like it is someone's comforting body, and let myself go...

The eve of therapy

I last had therapy eleven years ago. It was the summer of 2001, the summer before university began. For months I had been struggling with nightmares and flashbacks from my childhood. I sought help in self-help books, I read up on "people like me". But it was not enough. I was near breaking point. I felt it, and it weight heavily on my shoulders...

I asked a dear friend, who herself was a therapist, and for many years cared about my wellbeing when my mum moved away for a referral. Within a few weeks, I began.

I didn't know what to expect, but I remember the sessions were intense and left me crying. Mozart's Jupiter symphony empowered me. But still I had to grapple with the pain and hurt caused by memories of abuse and face terrible images and moments of the past I wanted to dispel. But nothing could be dispelled or discarded unless they are unearthed...
That was what that therapy was for.

And it helped. I felt stronger, somewhat, more confident, a bit at least, and I cold go about my daily life without feeling like a failure or like I'm failing... It carried me far. Till now.

And now, after all the noise and troubles dealing with deaths and loss of a relationship that seemed so promising, I need help again. Desperately, urgently.
Need it before I collapse and kill myself, in one way or another.

And tomorrow is a new start, even though I don't know what to expect. All I know is it will not be easy, it will not be easy at all. But dealing pain and hurt never is.

I just hope I have the strength to deal with it all and cope on my own.

Rememberance

I woke up relatively early today, and headed to the florist. Today is the one year anniversary of the passing of my ex's grandmother. I  wanted to do something special for him, to help him get by what I imagine would be a rough day. Especially as the exact moment when he got a phone call from home with "the news" he wrote to me and said it felt rough...

So I got him flowers and brought a candle, and brought it to the office. Clandestinely, I went to seek him out at the library where he said he was studying, and it felt exciting and fun walking around playing "seek" (he wasn't really hiding...), something that reminded me of a game we played between rows of books late 2011 when he and I both agreed to encourage one another to study at the library.

Later in the afternoon, he came to my office and I gave him the things I brought to help him hold a little remembrance ceremony. His eyes turned red, and he was obviously touched. For several moments, he talked about his grandma and shared with me sweet memories from his childhood.

Then what happened? Somehow, I can't even remember how, the conversation strayed to the fragile state of our relationship at the moment. Perhaps it didn't help when I mentioned to him, because I think of all people he should know, that I'm committing myself to a clinic tomorrow for a psychological assessment for my severe bout of depression. He broke down and sobbed, saying he feels he has failed me so because all he ever wanted was to help me get through through. Somehow, his help became hurt to me... "We are destroying each other..." he said.

Today was supposed to be about his grandma, someone he cared about a lot and whom my ex visited every time he went home, but somehow (like so often nowadays...) the topic of conversation between us never seems to stray too far away from us and what "was" and what we "had".

Why...? Why is that?

Isn't it so sad that after four years of friendship, and fully knowing how much care and love there is for one another, now all we seem able to do is make each other cry and make each other hurt. I don't know why I get the feeling there's a lot of hostility toward me and where it comes from, because after all that has happened between us, even as much as it hurts and disappoints me, I believe I am willing to overlook things in the past and just try be there for him... Why else would I buy flowers and try to help him through this special day? Why else did I just clandestinely buy a plane ticket (same-day return, no less!) to surprise him at the call to bar ceremony taking place this Friday?
It's because I want to make him happy, make him smile, because when I see that, it makes me happy, makes me smile, even if he just wants to be friends now, even if he seems to have left behind all those dreams and hopes of being together one day...

It hurts to see such a beautiful and strong  bond just break down so incomprehensibly, and to see two people hurt and cry like this. It doesn't have to be like this, does it?

Sleeplessness at 4am

Restless and sleepless... Four in the morning, a few hours till I need to get up and head to work.

My mind is so tested. I close my eyes and cannot sleep, for my thoughts drift to the ex. Does he know I think of him? Does he think of me at all? Why do I even think of him, when he could be having a jolly good right now lying next someone he is so unwilling to let go of despite all he's told me about how much he loves me over and above anyone else? Well, I hope he's happy now, finally happy now that he's got free from me and does not need to listen to or know about what pains me so or what makes me cry.

It's sad, because the end of my relationship with him and the loss of my mother has driven me to extreme lows. Tomorrow, I'm checking myself into a therapy clinic just so that I do not have to feel, so I do not have to hurt, so I can pick up my life again. Sad that I am in need of professional help in overcoming loss-- loss of a dear, dear friend, and the loss of my mother. How can these two fundamentally different relationships and people in my life be impacting me so much? What clout did they have over my life and my wellbeing?

I do not think my ex has any idea how much I have been disabled by the depression that has descended my feelings and thoughts. I don't think anyone knows or cares to realise how much I've been affected over the last two years by the slow loss of my mother and by the way I've had to experience and watch again and again how my ex (willingly or otherwise, consciously, intentionally or otherwise...) made me believe in something profound between us while at the same time he still being involved with another person. Together these two relationships have destroyed me, an together the end of these two relationships have destroyed all that I thought was strong and stable and dependable in life. I guess I've been blinded and living in a fantasy world where mum would get better and in which I would be with the one and only love I've encountered in my life...

But can I blame him or my mum? Can I blame anyone at all, if I the one who allowed this to happen? Can I blame anyone if I'm the one who, despite repeated warnings and signs, allowed two people to be so central to my life and affect me so much? Can I even lament when I should have known one day things will fall apart and I will need to fend for myself? Can I blame anyone but myself to allow myself to descend to this destructive and negative state of being?

I alone am causing my own suffering. I alone can free myself from my own suffering.

Silver spoon

It was a joke. Or was it?

A friend said I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, meaning I don't have to worry about means and money that much. Meaning I'm the son of rich parents who have left behind a lot of money so I don't have to worry about thing...The other day, someone came to my house and said I live a "lavish" life in an apartment with two rooms and with all the accessories and household goods any one could wish for. These two events really hit and hurt me hard.

It's true. I have been fortunate, very fortunate that my parents have provided me a life in which I do not have to worry (at least not to much...) about having food on the table or a roof over my head. It's true, especially since dad passed away, I have had the (economic) freedom to travel and come and go anywhere as I wish. And it was because of this that a friend said in jest (was it really?) that he can only go home to see his family once a year or so, whereas I can go whenever I want. And now my mum's gone, I stand to get even more...

I fell silent. Perhaps I should not be too affected by words of others. But I hate to give the impression I squander money and do not value what my parents have given me. Because it is one thing I told myself again and again after dad passed away, and now mum has also left, that I must pay heed to. They have left me something, but I cannot and will not allow myself to just waste it away meaninglessly.

Maybe I am just justifying things to myself, or at least trying to. But seriously, over the past five, six years, where do most of my expenses go? Plane tickets back and forth between here and home (Asia), buying medicine and supplements for mum so she does not have to suffer side-effects of cancer and treatments that much... buying mum household goods to make her life easier and more comfortable... taking mum on luxurious once-in-a-lifetime trips with my own money. Yes, luxurious, lavish, excessive spendings at times, and of course I get benefits too. But  really, was any of it just for me, for my own selfish needs and desires? Were most of it not for mum's sake and to make her happy?

I may have been born with a silver spoon, but little do people realise how much I struggle even to buy clothes for myself, how I go for discounted items at the supermarket. Perhaps of all people, mum knows best how thrift (and sometimes to the point of being cruel...) I can be when it comes to buying things for myself. Sure, I admit I may indulge in buying model airplanes now and then, I may collect stuffed animals and souvenirs from my travels, but other than that, do I really spend without thinking?

At one point, I said: "I may have all this, but what else do I have?" Do I have a family? Do I have parents I could call up and talk to whenever I want to? Do I have the luxury of a warm family home I can return to? What I would give to speak to my parents again... what I would give to recreate that feeling of going home and having my family sit down together again for a meal, for a few round of laughs and few  more memories together...



Yes, I have a lot of material things, I have means, I have all that my parents left behind... But I am alone and struggling to find meaning and sense in having so much, and yet feeling so empty deep down inside.

(or is this perhaps the talk and thinking of someone who has a silver spoon in his mouth?)

Night in

My colleagues came to cheer me up on this Saturday night... I'm very grateful, for I have been feeling so lonely and fragile being alone at home. They came, had dinner with me, and we played a game and watched a movie. By the time the night ended, it was already past one in the morning.

I was sad to see them go, even going as far as asking them to stay over. There are two spare beds they could easily sleep in. When did I become so clingy? Or am I just afraid to be alone, afraid that I will break down and cry and cry again?

It felt wonderful to be surrounded by people and to be playing board games. It's been such a long time. And perhaps a reason why it felt good was because these colleagues do not know my ex (at least not that well), so there's none of that awkwardness or feelings that there are things unsaid. Honestly, I just feel like I cannot talk to anyone nowadays, and not least talk about my deepest feelings because (paranoid or otherwise...) I feel word could easily get around. It's a sad state of affairs when you have to be ever so watchful of what you say to your friends. Makes you wonder why they are friends in the first place when anything and everything you say can become the source of idle gossip and entertainment.


 I helped to clear the snow away from the car, and stood there on the street to watch them drive off. "Thank you so much for coming..." I said. I really was grateful, so glad that they came and spent the night with me. I needed it, I long for it. It makes me happy to bring some kind of joy and warmth into the lives of others. It touches me to hear that my little home (and cat...) gives them a feeling of warmth and belonging.

I told them that to be honest, the two bedroom flat feels a bit empty and big for just one person. Why did I get this place three years ago? I imagined mum would retire and maybe come live here a few months per year... I guess I imagined also of living with someone dear, and establishing a realm home together, because god knows I need that and long for that. Well, also partly because I wanted to give my cat more space to run in and big windows she can look out of...

Well, now it's just me now, in this apartment with all these personal belongings and household goods. It's very homely, very comfortable, and perhaps I do not appreciate it as much as I should. But is not warmth and homeliness better when shared?

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...)