Bright eyes...

Suddenly as soon as the music sounded in the room and the words flashed across the screen, I began to tear.I have not cried since my return from Taiwan, since I bid farewell to my mum, my dad a month ago...

Is it a kind of dream,
Floating out on the tide,
Following the river of death downstream?
Oh, is it a dream?

There's a fog along the horizon,
A strange glow in the sky,
And nobody seems to know where you go,
And what does it mean?
Oh, is it a dream...?

It's just a song. Just words, sentiments, sounds, notes, just the softness of an artist's voice, just the emotions evoked by vibrating chords on a guitar... Yet they mean so much more to my ears, so much more to my weary, weary heart and soul. A word, a sign, a song, a smell, a taste, a picture, a thought, a memory... everything and anything could cause the false sense of "I'm-over-it" to completely crumble and drive my mind and mood to experience such intense pain and loneliness...

Bright eyes,
Burning like fire.
Bright eyes,
How can you close and fail
How can the light that burned so brightly
Suddenly burn so pale?
Bright eyes.  

I saw my mum's eyes before me suddenly... eyes that once were so bright, so filled with love slowly fade as signs of her life waned and faded... Those soft, loving eyes that looked at me with such love and affection, that looked at me with such motherliness and unconditional care. Where could I find such a glance again? How can such bright eyes suddenly fade and become so eyes? How can the eyes of the mother I grew up imagining would watch me grow up and grow older, watch me graduate and settle down to found a family, so suddenly "close and fail..."?

Just as you think things are ok and life is back to "normal" again, just as you believe you can "move on", the sadness and the pain that is so deep and so personal comes back to remind you you are still vulnerable, you are still so very vulnerable and need to heal... "You don't move on from it, you move forward with it", I heard some one on the radio say the other day.

Move forward with it... move forward with it in the hope that one day, one day, the load will lighten, and that my eyes that "burn so pale" and are dampened with tears  will again "burn so brightly"...












Is it a kind of shadow,
Reaching into the night,
Wandering over the hills unseen,
Or is it a dream?

Two sided

I am always surprised how two sided people can be, and more and more I see it around me. Was I naive before, and did I for too long refuse to see the "real" face of people? Did I cling too long onto the idea that everyone is innately good and kind and selfless?

At work, a series of events over the past year or so have made me so tired and cautious at work. People stepping over one another to get recognition... people bickering and feuding privately, yet openly and publicly maintaining this charade of being the best of friends... mud-slinging and bad-mouthing when someone is not around, and yet praising and boot-licking when the person appears... the hypocrisy, double standards, the pride and prejudices, the "daggers behind smiles" can be sometimes nauseating. But this is every day life... every day politics at work, amongst colleagues and "friends".
 
And it is ugly. Uglier yet when people you held such respect for could in favour of money, fame, glory, respect, shed their lofty academic credentials and titles and become such petty people. It just shows, we are all human after all, and titles, degrees, number of books written do not make a person better. In any way.
 




They say as you grow older you become disillusioned with life, you begin lose hope and lose faith in the world and in people. They say that. But somehow I still want to believe people are not inherently selfish; people are just ignorant and unaware. I still want to somehow believe people are the way they are because of circumstances and their upbringing, experiences and surroundings.

But with all that's going on at work, it just makes me want to move on and move away at the earliest opportunity. 

Family

I received a census in my email and began filling it in. There were questions about my family, my background, my childhood (even very personal questions about abuse experiences as a child...). And there were questions about whether I want to have a family.

Yes, I do. I haven't thought about it for a long time, not since last year, but it's always been at the back of my mind. The reason why I've not thought about it is simply this: you can't have a family being single, and for now, for too long, there's just no longer any potential to start anything. The closest family I have now, at least in the immediate surroundings, is my cat. And perhaps my collection of stuffed animals. My brother and his family are family too... But they are too far away, and in many ways since he got married two years ago he started his own family, one with a lovely and lively one-and-half year old.

I look at pictures of my nephew an am often filled with envy and longing. Sure, behind the cute poses and laughters must be a long of frustrations and exhaustion  ( having and raising a child is not easy...) but the beautiful moments together, family time, dinner together, coming home to a child wanting for you, watching the child grow up, take his/her first steps, speak the first words, bike, go to school for the first time and so on and so on... Those are moments and experiences that are so precious. Precious in part because they provide you with the opportunity to relive what you experienced earlier on in life.

Mum dying and leaving this world last year made me long more for the idea of starting my own family. When you begin to lose something, you long for it even more. losing mum was a final break in the disintegration of the idea and feel of family, and I knew it. Hence the hurt and paralyzing disbelief and lingering pain when my ex made all these promises that with time became more like words to placate me in a time of desperation and longing for hope.

But that's all in the past now... Or is it? 

My ex called and we spoke last night ( he calls almost every night... Strange, yes.) and somehow we got onto the topic of babies and children. (Must have been triggered by the news of the birth of the latest heir to the British crown) He and I both want to have kids. For a few minutes we talked about how wonderful it would be, about how many children we like to have. It felt familiar, felt comforting. Felt at the same time also like a dangerous trap. 

Maybe for him, it's just wishes and dreams he's sharing with a friend, an ex. For me, talk like this with him just conjures up memories of dreams we once shared together, and raises hope and wishes that in the end will end up hurting me and hindering my progress to moving on and being less attached to him and to what we once had. Maybe to another person it's just all talk, but to me, a dreamy Pisces who is gullible and so easily lead on, talk of babies and family  means so much more... 

I wish I were not like this. I wish I did not feel like this, I wish I were not so vulnerable and easily swayed by talk of family, a beautiful family and a future filled with love and security, stability and the comfort of not being alone... But this is the way I am. Take me as I am.

Restlessness

It's a little after 5AM. I have been waking up almost every single hour, partly because the day's been restlessly running around. And these days, especially after the close call of having my bike stolen in front of my own door step,  every little noise at night keeps up awake and on edge.

What's wrong with me? Why can't I sleep? I had such "good" productive day yesterday, went in early to work and left after 7pm to go home and eat before working a bit more before sleep. 

But I couldn't sleep... Not until well after 1AM... It's going be a long exhausting day...

1.53AM

I fell asleep early, abnormally early. Half a day of spent listening to friends about issues affecting their relationship is so draining. I was so exhausted, so exhausted when I came home and collapsed into bed...

I dreamed...

Ghosts. Terrible and horrific haunting Images of ghosts and ghouls that frightened me so. I broke out in a sweat and opened my eyes. Only close to two in the morning. I was so scared... And I got paranoid. My mind conjured images of burglar, of someone trying to break in in the dead of the night. 

I heard creaks and noises. Is someone here? Am I alone?

I'm so frightened. So frightened...

In between

Why do relationships break down? Why do people who loved one another once become so estranged? Why do people who once was so filled with love and hope become disillusioned and bitter?

I will never really know or understand why. With the death of my parents, I came to the conclusion that if people really experienced death and ever really saw it take away a loved one, then they would not fight or bicker or be filled with so much ego and pride. If people really understood death and fragility of life, perhaps they would truly treasure and realise the real meaning of love, and really see how magical it is to find someone you love and think of so dearly...

My own experience with love and relationship has been so fraught with dashed hopes and broken dreams. As a child, I prayed and prayed so hard for peace in the family, I hoped and wished and promised god (whoever he was or whatever he meant to me at the time...) that I would give my own life for my parents not to argue and to make up. I hated being in between, hated being the bridge. And it seems once you are in that role, it is hard to get out of it.



Again, I find myself caught in the middle of something between two friends. What can I do? What can I say? I never wished to be involved in the breakdown of a relationship... heck, I am longing and dreaming every night and day to be in a relationship myself. But it seems I am on the outside hoping for peace while in front of me, all around  me, relationships break down and love turns to bitterness and anger.



One day, I maybe will understand why.
One day, maybe I will stop believing that love and peace can cure all ills in the world.

Disappointment

There's nothing worse than being excited about something, looking forward to something, only to be disappointed at the last moment.

I invited two friends over for dinner, and they were so happy and saying it would be a great time.
I shopped, cleaned, spent over an hour cooking tonnes of food. When the agreed time came, nobody showed up. I checked my phone. They're not coming anymore.

The circumstances are quite sad, and I can't blame them.

But still, it's so disappointing. I can't go and invite my neighbour friends, as it would look so bad I didn't invite them in the first place. And now? Tonnes of food just for me... Another night alone at  home

Alarm

I stood on the platform on my way home. I leaned against the wall and felt so tired. The heat, the humidity is eroding my energy levels, even when I feel like I do so little. 

The work I do, reading and researching for others, doesn't really mean I get a chance to talk to anyone. So to go home at the end of the day and be silent for the whole night is daunting. I stood on the platform and wondered what I could do or watch later to keep me away from thinking and feeling that I'm the only person left. Since mum died, this feeling has been haunting me occasionally. There's always my cat, but these days she keeps to herself and hides trying to keep cool...

A quarter past eight in the evening. I detoured to the hardware store in the hope of getting some kind of alarm to a attach to my front door. A friend of mine has one. It rings when you open the door. More noise than anything else. But it's a deterrent. I was also hoping to buy some "alarm stickers" to place on my window. Again, more to scare than anything else. anything helps, anything helps when you're paranoid and scared of being alone. 

Standing on the platform, I again have this overwhelming and nauseating feeling of not wanting to go home. A few times I just go bike at night. But that's kind of dangerous and creepy to be biking alone in the dark.  

Ha... Before it was just the loneliness, the unpleasantness of being alone. Now it's being alone at home and the paranoia of someone showing up at my door or trying to break in... 

Never ending. Never any real peace or rest...

Realisation

Every tear shed alone,

I grow stronger. Stronger. Stronger.

Every moment spent by myself, 

Makes me realise the real meaning of life and its illusions and false promises.

When I am speeding on my bike at night,

Nothing, nothing, and no one can touch me.

(Almost) theft

I was shaking, was really shaken by what had happened when I realised how much danger I could have been in.  For the next six hours or so, I stayed home and dared  not leave the house, but also partly to wait for the police to show up (which they never did...)

I was just about to leave the house for work when I saw a guy stand at my front door. Shorter than me, blond short hair and blue eyes, black T-shirt with a Microsoft Windows logo on the front. I'd say around 25-30 years old. I live on the second floor of a duplex, so it is unusual for anyone (other than the postman or someone delivering advertising flyers...) to come up to my door. And I didn't even hear any one walking on the exterior staircase leading to my front door, which I normally would hear for it is quite loud and the stairs creak...

The guy just stood there, and quickly asked me how long I've lived here. I found it bizarre, some stranger at the door early in the morning. Then he said he was thirsty and hoping for a glass of water. I found that even more bizarre, and was actually a bit frightened... I felt suspicious, and should have just ignored him. But I turned and went into the kitchen to get water. By the time I got back to the front door, the guy was gone.  It was then I noticed my bike lock, one I bought recently with a steel cable wire that I used to wrap around the wheel and the railing of my front balcony, had been cut through.

My front door became the scene of a crime (attempt to steal...).  I stood there for like five minutes, shocked and scared before I reached for the phone and dialed 911. I gave the description to the emergency response personnel, and was told to stay home till the police arrive. I waited and waited for almost six hours before I called again, only to be told that I better just head down to the police station myself to file a report. (so much for "emergency"... )

When I told a friend later, my shock was met with a flippant joke. Pretty distasteful really, especially given the fact I  was shaking and felt so insecure and unsafe in my own home! Though nothing happened, my own home, the very place of my security and shelter, felt like it had just been violated...

Sure, I didn't have anything stolen, so I guess it's at the bottom of priorities. When I got to the police station, I was told there was little that could be done. All I could do is file a report and maybe, just maybe they will be able to match the description with another crime committed in the area...

Shaken...

I'm so shaken right now... Shaking and feeling so physically ill from what I just experienced...
I feel so violated in my own home. I feel sick and feel like crying.

Someone just tried to steal m bike. Someone cut the chain of my lock in front of my own door.  The guy was staring at my face, and I was talking to him. He could have broken in had I not been home...
What have I just experienced?

Just when you think things are going alright, being part of  a potential crime just kicks me to rock bottom.

I cannot be alone right now... I need company. Desparately need company...

4.24am

Another dream of mum, the third time in as many days...

We were just riding the metro in Montreal. Not sure where we were going, but she was next to me. It must have been a trip I did with her, because it felt and seemed all so familiar, like it happened before and I was reliving it. 

I think we got to a station called Atwater, where there's a mall. I looked to find her, but mum was gone... Gone... 

I broke down, and began crying. I was inconsolable....

Lonely process

Again I realise how loss is such a lonely, lonely process, one that cannot be shared, one that cannot easily be described or felt by another. And again, like so many times over the past year, I feel like I am bothering another by trying to express how I feel.

And what makes it harder is that people do not understand. Mourning and any show of emotions seems like the great "abnormal". I've experienced this first hand, and have felt like I'm being chastised because I lost someone and am feeling the effects of that loss. People do not want to talk about death. People are scared and uncomfortable talking about or listening to you talk about crying and coping. This is not just my experience, but the experience of everyone I know from my group therapy. Mourners are shunned like outcasts, pariahs. Which hurts more because exactly this is the time we need encouragement and support. Exactly this is the period we need compassion and understanding, and not weird looks and comments as if we have changed so much and become so different. I mean, if you lose someone, you will know. You really will know and understand. 

 How terribly unsettling and unfair on mourners to have to deal with loss and also deal with social ostracisation. While the rest of the world moves on... while people climb up in their careers, while people find partners and get settled down into their cozy little lives, while people fight and argue and get worked up  about petty details and discontents, the mourner's life seems to stand still. The mourner seems to be lost in time, trying to grapple with the past, and so afraid to let go, so afraid to move on. The mourner seems lost in loss, hopelessly longing for some semblance of understanding and human contact.



I don't want to be stuck in the past. I don't want to grow older and more bitter. I don't want to be treated like some irrational fool who is saddened by flashbacks and reminders.

I want to be loved, I need to be loved.
I want to be heard, I want to be understood.

Nephew's hair

Earlier today I sent a picture of my nephew to a close friend, and he commented how peculiar my nephew's hair looked. His hair is indeed quite thin and matted on his head, quite unlike "normal" Asian babies, whose hair often grows "outward".

I hadn't really noticed before. The similarity, the resemblance with dad's hair is uncanny. I tried to describe dad's hair and how it was. But I could not find the words. I just could not find the words. I choked and tears started to fall. I broke and hung up the phone. I could not, simply could not continue the conversation any longer...

My nephew's hair looks and feels like my dad's, like the grandpa he never met.
 Suddenly I have this urge to want to see my nephew... to want to be much closer to him.

Flight 214

The tragic crash landing of Asiana flight 214 at SFO became the source of a racist prank pulled by some intern at the National Transportation Safety Board...

I must admit the made up names of the pilots is a pretty clever pun, but under the circumstances of a traumatic air crash which claimed (amazingly only) three lives is a rather sick joke...

One year on (II)

I spent the day helping a friend and his family move. I was so happy to do it, so happy to be surrounded by people, to be kept busy, to be useful, not to be sad or pensive. I went to his old place around 11. I got home at well past 1 in the morning. 

It was exhausting, but I did not feel tired. There was so much, so much stuff, in boxes, in black bin bags, pieces of furniture, shelves, suitcases and backpacks. So much stuff. But we managed to do it. My friend and his mother kept on thanking me, praising how much I helped them with the move. Deep down, I thanked them for making me feel useful, for keeping me company on a most difficult day.

People may question why I am again, for the third time in a month making things difficult for myself. The first, mum's death according to the lunar calendar, the second, mum's death on the "actual" calendar. The third sad day, her funeral cremation. What a month it was last year. What a painful and traumatic year...

Well, perhaps I never really had the time or right moment to feel sad, to really appreciate or digest what happened a year ago. I lost my dear mother, and soon after sowed the seeds of losing my dearest friend and companion. It was a difficult time. But I just braved it all. Braved it all and didn't think it would break me, didn't think I would be bothered at all.

I don't think I really ever wrote about the day of mum's funeral and cremation. It was too much to write about.  Even today, it is too much to write about. All I can recall are flashbacks. Of people crying... my aunts, uncles, my ex, my brother and his wife... everyone crying. I stayed dry, stoic as ever. I could not, did not, cry, as much as I wanted or needed to. I can recall the slideshow with pictures from different stages of mum's life. How I smiled at those pictures, even though people became emotional seeing mum as the way she was. I want to remember the way she was, long before the cancer ravaged her body, long before hunger, starvation, thinned her to just bone and skin, long before jaundice, bloating and death took over...  I can recall a little speech I made in front of everyone, thanking people for their presence, and then turning to mum to tell her to "go.." Go travel, like she always enjoyed doing, go to Holland, go to Canada, go to the monastery in Puli (Taiwan) where she found such joy and peace... I remember telling her we will be alright...

I can recall accompanying her coffin to the crematorium. I can recall my prayers as I bid my final farewell. I can recall watching her remains being scraped and brushed into the marble urn I had chosen for her. I can recall more tears from relatives, my ex... I can recall sleeping at night and tearing. Did anyone notice? Did anyone care to notice? I can recall shivering and waking up in the middle of the night a few nights later and feeling this deep, deep unfillable void. That would be the first of many nights I would wake up since then till now... sometimes crying, sometimes shuddering like a madman, sometimes sweating from fear...

One year on. I can recall so many images, so many memories, so many things that were said and done... I can recall the tears on people's faces, the smiles and laughter I had when my ex visited and accompanied me through at the end of a tough, tough journey...At the same time, it all feels like ages ago... How many times have I cried since? How many times have I broken down? How many times have people told me to "Get over it!" and move on and hurt me so with their callous words and complete misunderstanding of what it means to lose someone, what it means to grieve loss? How many times  have I swallowed my tears and shed them only when and where nobody sees them? How many times have to told myself I deserve to be loved, I deserve so much more and failed to believe it?

One year on. My friend's mum asked me why I smile so much... why I am so patient and how I can remain so calm after all I have experienced. Because I am trying. Smiling because smiling and joking around and laughing at silly things makes me feel lighter. Smiling because when I am alone by myself, it is harder to smile. I am trying. Trying to be patient and just ride out the rough spell of grief and volatile emotions... Trying to be calm because I know, I have seen, what it really means and is like to lose all control of everything... I am trying.
Trying so very hard to find balance again. Trying so very hard to live up to the promises I made to my parents, to myself, that I will stand up again. I have been trying and struggling to find a "new normal" despite this very deep sense of isolation and loneliness I feel I find myself in ("Nobody likes someone who's unhappy" as I've been very bluntly told by a friend... As if I choose to be unhappy. As if I choose to mourn, because it is so much fun...).

I am trying. Through ceremonies, through commemorations, through two days of charity bike riding, through a three week venture to the Middle Land... All these attempts to be "better", to be alive again after death, to find myself and someone who can see through all that I have had to face, who can see through that hard shell and defensiveness and still see beauty inside. I AM TRYING... One year on. I am trying. And I will be trying even more still.

One year on

One year on...

How am I doing? Still feeling so tired, so sleepy a lot of the time. (Not all the time, so that may be an improvement.) (... then again, the tiredness may be from the long bike ride last weekend, from which I'm still feeling muscle sores and cramps...) 

The other day, after a long day at work, I walked home. And for a split second felt "good". Or was that feeling "normal"? For a split moment, I actually felt and thought  I could do something with my life. I had motivation, had some kind of drive. Thought its still unclear what I would like to do, at least I felt I could get somewhere, be somebody. I don't remember the last time I felt this way, if ever I did...

I am getting stronger. Little by little stronger on my own. But, oh, how much easier it would be if someone could take me by the hand, lie next to me and tell me: "you are doing well. You are doing remarkably well..."

Dream

Another horrible dream that "shocked" me awake... Just shows my psyche is still so traumatised and unable to get over loss. Not the loss of my parent, but a friend, a potential partner in life... 

I was planning a surprise, birthday surprise, for my ex. I woke up so early to prepare, and traveled far to his apartment . I waited and waited till it was a reasonable time to call. 

I called. And the phone was hung up. I called again. And my ex picked up. He was laughing. He was not alone. 

I cried...

Traumatising. 

truth about love

Am I the fool to be waiting and still clinging onto hope? The hopeless romantic who still believes in miracles?

The hopeless fool who lets his youth slip by waiting and waiting because some one once said to me he'd be there for me no matter what? 

I'm a fool, a foolish fool.

A crying fool.

You've been on this ride? Someone leads you on and throws you away?
-  I think i fell in love with the idea of love as much as anything else. It's easy to do. It makes you feel safe. But as much as we wish we could, you can't force someone to love you...           PAN AM

"I'm beginning to think love is a fantasy. One day there. And the next moment, gone."

http://www.purposefairy.com/5311/forgiveness-5-reasons-why-you-should-let-go-of-resentments/

Secret operation

I've been planning something for a while now. Since mum passed away really. The past year, a year of volatility and mourning, wasn't really conducive to making big decisions. But now I think I'm ready. One year on, I think I'm ready to take the first step to make a new start, to build a new home for myself.

I always imagined someone would be next to me while I begin another important era in my life. I always imagined mum would be there to help me and offer me advice. But the reality is I have nobody but myself to rely on, and I can't wait any longer. I'm not getting younger. I need to find a sense of belonging, need to ground myself somewhere so I can find and feel a sense of stability and security again. The past years has been filled with so much loss, uncertainty and disillusionment. What that does to a person, I know best. I can let myself wallow in pity and pain, or I can get up and move on. Didn't I just bike 230+km on my own? Didn't I just prove to myself if I set my mind to something, I can do it?

Where, how or when I'm not sure. But I'm free. Nothing, nobody is tying me down. Nothing, nobody is waiting for me. I am but responsible to myself. 

Time for a new beginning. Time for a move.

Remembering

After the horrible night last night, I called work to tell my colleague I'm still sore from my bike ride. In truth, I've been just dreading to go out the door and face the world. In truth, I just want to be alone. Even the cat is lethargic and been lying around at the same spot the whole day...

I really shouldn't go back to dig up the past... But it draws me with such attraction.
Only I will really remember every detail from the days till mum died to her funeral, only I will really remember every word said, every promise made, everything I have had to quickly pack away...

Only I will really know how it feels like to lose everything and everyone that made my life feel reassuring and meaningful.

4.15AM

Such horrible dreams kept repeating...

Ghosts of girls who died from illness, from cancer. It was as if I were their spokesperson, for they all came to me to bother me, haunt me....

Horrible

2.42AM

I broke out in sweat and woke up scared and alone, close to tears. Just you think you're ok, just you think you're beginning to heal, things are beginning to return to normal, grief comes to haunt you in your sleep... Loneliness crawls into bed at night and lies down next to you...

I was flying... Flying alone to somewhere. The plane descends suddenly, we were about to crash. I call out... But whose name do I call? Whose name can I call in time of need, when I need comfort and consolation? 

Mama? Dead. Papa? Dead. My ex? Too busy with his own life and happily married. My lover, partner? Non existent. A friend I can really trust and confide in? Nobody I could think of. Nobody's name I could call out.

The plane came diving down and I tried to call out a name, but I could not. I am alone in the world. All alone. How scary is that thought? How terrible to die alone and unnoticed, unmissed? How terrible to go through life alone and crying out and nobody will answer you... 

I woke up heaving and felt my heart thump and my throat so dry. 

Grief and loneliness has not gone yet, not  quite. They have just been on leave but are returning. And like on the plane in that dream I just had, who do I call? Whose name do I call out? Who will listen and understand...?

The finish line

I fell asleep, was out cold almost as soon as I got on the return shuttle home. An hour or so later, and the effects of the painkiller had worn off. 

My knees and calves and ankles hurt terrible. I began to feel it this morning, and have been applying ice at regular pit stops. Before the final 16km leg, I asked medical staff for some meds, something I never do. I was given Tylenol for the pain and Advil to prevent inflammation. 

Sure enough, the pain subsided, and I could make that final push, even reaching speeds of 35km at one point. I rolled to the finish line. I was one of the last ones, the crowds were more or less gone, or perhaps too tired of cheering. I heard my name called on the loudspeakers, a few sporadic applauses. I biked slowly, and came to a halt in the middle of a gravel field. 

The end was not what I expected. Nobody greeted me, nobody hugged me or congratulated me personally. I was sweaty and perhaps smelly, and I just went to drop off my bike for transport back to Montreal and went to change my clothes before grabbing a quick bite. 

The end was not what I expected. What did I expect? I looked away, at all these family and friends, colleagues and fellow bikers from various teams laughing, jumping up and down, posing in for group pictures. The end felt empty. The end was not as invigorating as the ride itself.

I did it. I "conquered cancer", to borrow the event's slogan. I rode 237+km from start to finish, ride every kilometer of it with my two tired feet and with the strength and determination of my now exhausted body. It was a personal achievement. I felt like giving up so many times during this ride. I felt I could not do it, and doubted my own abilities. When my leg starting acting up (the last time, it was after 140+km or so, last year when I attempted to bike around Taiwan... And failed) I seriously considered stoping and asking for a ride in one of those "sweeper" vehicles that went up and down the road sweeping for riders who have broken down (physically or had a problem with their bike). 

But I persevered. I thought of all those times at the hospital... I remembered all the pain and suffering mum endured, all the discomfort dad swallowed and did not let us know... And around the world, even around me, are so many brave cancer warriors who fight for every breath, for every moment to continue fighting, to continue living. My physical pain is nothing compared to what cancer patients have to go through, nothing.

I pushed on. Bore the pain, gritted my teeth, an pushed on. Slowly, slowly, the sped toward the finish line. I passed a number of riders with a yellow flag. They are cancer survivors. I saw how the they pedaled on, how undeterred by the fatigue and distance they were. When they take off their helmets, you can see the effects of chemo. When you look at their thin frail frames and limbs, their pale skin, you realise again how ruthless cancer is. But they continued to bike. Continued to try. How could I not?

There was another man who had some kind of motor neuron disease. I noticed him yesterday, how he moved forward in a snake-like manner, how he wobbled on his bike and struggled to balance himself. He too was an inspiration, for he continued on and on.  These people are true heroes, true heroines, who truly deserve the fanfare and police escort till the ends. 

What kept me going was that empowering humming sound of my wheels against the road. What kept me going was looking at teddy bear that my mum gave me two years ago (I also had with me  a teddy my ex insisted I take along, whose smile is tirelessly infectious and beautiful). I also carried a picture of mum and dad together, mum holding dad's arm posing at a professional photo shop. A beautiful portrait, one that urged me on and reminded me why I am biking. What kept me going in part was my promise to all those who sponsored me to finish this ride, and the "likes" of people whenever I shared a picture of my progress online. What kept me going was that sense of accomplishment waiting for me at the finish line.

I didn't really feel much at the end. Got off my bike and got my gear and soon was on board the shuttle. Should I be proud? Should I be of this little "achievement"? At the finish line, I admired those who were greeted with family members and friends, those who were cheered on by loved ones. I felt empty, so strangely empty. This was not the welcome surprise I expected, not at all the feeling I expected from doing this.

This ride was partly for me, and perhaps that in itself is a reward more valuable than a cheering party or "mission accomplished" banner. I needs to prove to myself I can do something I set out to do, that I can overcome physical and mental challenges, and that I can do it on my own. I needed a long and physical bike ride to see the world (and what beauty there is to behold in La Belle Province), to help dispel feelings of grief and loneliness, abandonment and distrust I have faced and struggled with over the past year. I am not sure what the immediate effect of this bike ride is, just as I am not sure how flying all the way home two weeks ago helped (or did not help) in the long and difficult and extremely personal process to overcome grief. But perhaps one day, every thing will come together. Perhaps one day, I will realise why I did what I did, and how it helped me heal, helped me be a "better", stronger me. 

I am extremely grateful though... For all the people who sponsored and believed in me (especially my ex...)... For all those volunteers who have me food and drinks at the pit stops, who made my tent, who kept the event running flawlessly... For all those strangers who came out on the streets to cheer and encourage us, for all the cars who drove by us and honked in support or slowed down for us... And for my bike, who did not have an mechanical problem at all (except for a punctured tire, which was almost immediately sealed with liquid sealant, a true godsend!)... And I am grateful to my parents, who gave me life, who gave me this healthy body that allowed me to embark on a dream, to do something useful or and give back to society.

This bike ride was for them.

Ride to conquer cancer

It's wet, my back is aching from sleeping on the ground, a thin separating me from the damp and cold grass. But I'm alive. I'm well. I'm fit (I think...)

I've seen so many weakened by and die from cancer. So many. Those lying in bed next for mum at the hospital, those lying in the hospice. My own father, my own mother, my dear friends Carmen and Tehwei, my uncle... Did they complain? Did they lament life and te discomforts of their illness and pain? 

Last night, I cried when this grail lady with shaven head came on stage. I saw her bike air her daughter (I think). They were slow, but going at a steady pace. They took pictures at scenic spots. It was beautiful to see. She came on stage and revealed she had just competed her latest round of three weeks ago. And here she is, biking with so many thousands of bikers for the same cause.  It was beautiful....

This is why I am here. To ride to "conquer" cancer. 

Of course people are goin to die from cancer while we embark on this ride, of course millions will be diagnosed with cancer still. But we are staying the course, we are doing our bit to help. Raise money is what we can do. Show compassion and empathy is how we can help best. Being aware and taking preventive steps is how we can help ourselves. 

With every pedal, we are getting closet to our goal, our destination: one day we will conquer cancer. One day...

Crying

The tears just fell, and I could not stop them. Could it be all that physical strain and tension after biking over 110km today? Could it be being surrounded by all these people who are making a stand against cancer? Could it be seeing cancer survivors, some very pale looking and with only a few strands of hair on their heads, pedal on so courageously? Or simply, I miss mum... Miss mum and dad, whose picture I am carrying with me on this epic voyage to "conquer cancer" and conquer my own grief and sorrows.

"Every single day

Every word you say

Every game you play

Every night you stay

I'll be watching you

Oh can't you see

You belong to me

How my poor heart aches

With every step you take

Every move you make

Every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I'll be watching you

Since you've gone I've been lost without a trace

I dream at night, I can only see your face

Every move you make

Every vow you break

Every smile you fake

Every claim you stake

I'll be watching you"

The live band played that song just now. If you have ever lost someone, you will understand the depth of meaning behind the lyrics and truly appreciate the song. 

I'm sitting here alone surrounded by so many people, crying quietly. The song is yet another reminded of all I have lost over the past year. No doubt, people around me have experienced similar and perhaps more devastating losses. But it's a bitter reality that as I am embarking on one of the greatest physical challenges to date, I am all alone here. How I wish I could share my thoughts... How I wish I could share my feelings of pride! How I wish I could share that joy biking through the beautiful countryside at 30+km/hr and temporarily having not a worry in the world! How I wish someone I know could be here as I am crying now...

I am here, in the middle of a challenge. Can they see me now? Will they be proud of me and my little moment of glory? If they could see me now. 

Are you happy now?

I don't know when I set myself this reminder. But yesterday, suddenly I saw this email in my inbox. A reminder to myself.

Did I set it last year, a week or so after mum passed away after the several years of struggle with her illness? Did I set myself to remind myself that whatever happens, happiness is not what you are experiencing or facing, but to be found within? 

Am I happy now? 

I'm ok. I'm ok. Not happy, and no longer so terribly sad (though there are moments when reminders and memories  of the people I have lost catch up with me...). Just empty inside, empty because there is such a void that I cannot even begin to describe. 

I am ok. Just ok. Just ok. 

eve of the ride...

This is it. The eve before my first really long bike ride for charity. Cancer research of all the causes I  hold dear to my heart.

I'm a bit anxious, as its over 110km for two days straight. The last time I did something similar I injured my knee and could not walk without pain for weeks. I felt like a failure, and that's not a pleasant feeling, especially as I'm already very down these day. 

The weather is another factor that is stressful. It's been cool and breezy since summer began. And f all weekends, this one will be the hottest and most humid to date...

It'll be a challenge. I get emotional just thinking about it. This is a ride for my mum, for my parents who were both take away by cancer. 

I'm supposed to raise $2500, but so far have around $2000. Over half of that is my own donation (sponsoring myself to bike...), and much is from my ex who's worked tirelessly to raise money (in the most unusual and indirect way... Through credit card referrals!) I've gotten support from the usual people I know from work and from my little circle of friends. I know I should be grateful for every little donation, but it baffles me that those who have the most to spare give the most sparingly... Whereas those who struggle financially have been most generous. It's strange how people can splash out on trips and concerts, and yet seem to struggle to donate to a good cause... As I wrote in my last ditch attempt to solicit donations on Facebook, why can we spend trillions on waging war and the entertainment industry, and yet the global amount for cancer research is merely $6billion or so?

--

My ex just sent me a touching video wishing me, wishing me this journey is a first step towards greater happiness in my life. It was very touching. But it was also painful to watch. It seemed like the kind of message you sent someone you once loved but can only care about secretly from a distance. Instinctively I wanted to write back and ask why. Why is he not here? Why and how we have become so distant and I so greatly troubled when one year ago we made sweet love on the floor of mum's apartment and he whispered so many promised in my ears? Are those not just empty empty words now? Meaningless words spoken at a time of high emotions and high hopes but which in the end, one year on,  mean so little now... I must be and sound so ungrateful. 

And I must make do with that. Make do with the fact I can only be loved and cared about from a distance, make do with the fact I must undertake another significant and challenging step alone when in fact I need and so long for someone by my side. 

--

This is going to be a long and difficult journey. One I don't think I've really prepared for mentally or physically. This is not just a ride to raise money for cancer research. It is a journey to shake away the depression and grief that has so plagued me over the past year. 

I am biking for mum... And to dispel the grief and pain of the various kinds of loss that I have experienced over the past year. I may have been disillusioned, depressed and so downtrodden, I may have been so left behind and abandoned, but when I am on a bike, i know I can go places. I know I can be strong and determined. I need this spur of energy, this rush of andrenaline to carry me, to push me, to drag me out of the negativity and pain that has surrounded my thoughts and life for far too long...

Nightmare at 1.45

I saw my brother's face. He came into my bedroom. I was in bed, covered by my duvet. He climbed onto my bed. In one swift action he reached into my duvet and attempted to grab my genitalia... In his eyes there was such a look of lust and ugliness...

I shock awake and found myself so close to tears...