Second day of the new year

It's been over a year, perhaps even close to two , since I had more than two people at my place.  For the longest time, I felt closed off and felt it difficult to accept people into my own personal space.

Until tonight, and we ended up having a lovely evening at night playing board games and catching up. It's been so long, too long.

Earlier in the evening, a dinnner was organised by a friend who wanted to take a mutual friend's mum to dinner. This auntie has always been kind to me and every so often calls me up to ask me to drop by her place becasue she's got soup or cooked food for me. Taking her out to dinner is something we try to do on every holiday occassion.

It was a sumptuous feast, and in the end close to ten people sat around a round dinner table at a Chinese restaurant downtown. We ate and chatted, smiled and exchanged polite conversation. More often I, together with another friend, would be talking to auntie or trying to translate so she doesn't feel left out.

At the end of the, together with a smaller and more closely knit group, I headed back home. I found the joy of hosting again, the joy of making sure everyone's glass/cup (stomach!) is filled. Joy of trying to give everyone a place where we can bond and share plesant company and be merry. It is a special feeling that it is at my own home. And in many ways, my sweet little cat made the gathering even more lively with her curoiousity and endless exhibition of cuteness.

Hours went by, and before we knew it, it was past one. For most of the day, the home of  a friend and his daughter has been plagued with a blackout, one that the electricity company kept on saying will be fixed. Four hours turned into eight, turned into twelve, and as of this moment, is going into the eighteenth hour.

I told my friend to just stay, as I have two spare rooms. He wanted to go back, as he felt like he was intruding. But we tried to tell him how dangerous it is to go back to a home that is unheated.

Five years I have been in Canada, and never have I experienced temperatures as frigid as what we ha've been experiencing. Tonight , it was -26C, but with the wind chill, of deels like -38C. Last night, it felt like -42C. It is simply freezing. Freezing to the extent you don't want to do anything, and I've been struggling to keep awake because the body really feels like its hibernating (being depressed is not helping either...).

These temperatures are extreme, especially so early on in winter. But elsewhere in Canada, its even worse, for in Winnipeg apparently they experienced temperatures colder than the surface of Mars... This is not human....

Eventually my friend and his daughter stayed, and I quickly made their beds and made sure everyone could get ready for some sleep before I lay down.

I provably slept an hour or so before I woke up and could not sleep any longer I lay awake twisting and turning. Next to my was the ex, fast asleep and slightly snoring. In the room across the hallway was the friend who was definitely knocked out. His snore was like a storm or a factory machine hard at work.

I twisted and turned, and felt hemmed in by two people snoring. How could they sleep so soundly (literally...) whereas I'm so easily woken and disturbed by noise? Ironic that I, the one who normally lives here, is the one who cannot sleep while the others Im sheltering for the night are soundly sleeping.

An hour or so and it is morning.... Time for them to wake up. Time for me to sleep!

Happy 2014...

New years came and went...  No fanfare, no celebrations, no festivities. I prefer not to, I chose not to. Instead, perhaps more symbolic than anything else (but I certainly hope not...) I studied from the eve of 2013 through to the first hour of 2014. It is a resolution, of sorts, to study and finally finish once and for all, the law exams that have been taking much too long. Exams that I began as mum;s health waned, one of which I tried to study so hard for the month or so she passed away, and that I have been struggling, really terribly struggling to complete one by one.

What do I wish for in 2014 ? I was told it will be the most difficult year, especially seen from the Chinese zodiac point of view. Perhaps the worst year in a cycle of 12 years. After 2012, the year of losing my mother, after 2013 the year I've so struggled to overcome loss and to move on, while at the same time losing the two stuffed animals dearest to me (and my very first pet...) all I want is some semblance of peace and sanity, and love...

I wish for peace and tranquility, wish that I can weather whatever difficulties are to come my way. Do I not deserve  a break? Do I not deserve some lightness, some kind of joy, real joy, real contagious joy that will endure and lift the burdens of loss and mourning?

And I wish for love, and that my heart is open to love. Love to infuse me with energy, encouragement, support and intimacy... Love that is needed to relight that flame of passion and drive that I know I harbour within, that undying flame of dedication and care I demonstrated in caring for loved ones till the very end. I know I have it in me, but the flame has for over a year now become so dim and almost dying. I need love to remind myself that I am a valuable person who is loving and deserves to be loved.

And as always, as every year and every day when I sit and meditate, I wish peace, warmth, love and compassion to my friends (especially this one person...), to my family and relatives, and to the world.

May it be a happy year for all.
May all be free and free from suffering.

New year's eve

Eight hours or so till the new year. What are I going to be doing, where will I be when the clock strikes midnight? I dont know. I just want a quiet moment by myself , or with closely knit friends.

I don't know why I am so tired, so wary of celebrations and merrymaking. Just exhausted when I think about being surrounded by people and having to pretend all is well and happy. It takes so much effort, so much energy.

But it seems wanting to be by yourself makes you a social outcast, makes you strange and unwieldy.

Mama

We were crowded in a small space, and there were bare furnishings and bare walls. Mum and dad were there, as were brother and his wife. Somehow there was tension in the room, as of tbere had been an argument...

Dad sat and sulked and ignored the rest of us. Mum sat on a bench and looked down and sad. I paced around, tiptoeing around but inside I was thinking of ways to bring everyone together again... I don't know why I had flowers with me, white cornations with pink rims. There were for mothers day, I knew this much.

I plucked a stem and held it in my hand. I walked around with it. I was nervous and cautious. I didndt want to upset anyone with anything, not with all the tensions in the room.

I offered it to mum. The one thing I heard myself say out loud before I woke myself was "Mama..." It was a sound of longing and mellow pain. It was the sound of a child calling for his mother yet knowing the call will not be answered. 

"We make our own magic..."

The Office

What's been keeping me sane these past few weeks is discovering the beauty and laughter in the hit-comedy series, The Office. It's touching, romantic, and the characters are so very real. 
Ten years the show ran for, and only ended earlier this year. A classic quote...

"No matter what happens, you got forget about all the other stuff. You got to forget about logic, and fear and doubt. You just got to do everything you can to get to the one [person] who's gonna  make all this worth it. At the end of the day, you gotta jump..."
The Office

Seeing mum and dad again

Mum was next to me, smiling, laughing...
Dad stood by my side, and he too smiled...

We were together again, together, like we used to be. Traveling together like a family again, like they never ever left.

Anything is possible in a dream. Anything.

The dead become alive again, the long lost lover lies by your side again, the lonely becomes loved and comforted.

Anything is possible in a dream.

When you wake up from the dream, the pain of reality is unbearable.

Maybe this Christmas

http://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtube_gdata_player&v=JITHqWLhj3M&desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DJITHqWLhj3M%26feature%3Dyoutube_gdata_player

Watching the Polar Express , one of my favourite Christmas movies of all times. It's a riveting, sweeting, loving and fantastical tale about children, toys and dreams come true.

A friend invited me to his place, saved me from Christmas eve spent alone at home, something I felt I could face. This season is not easy, but lucky I have dear friends who take me in.

There were moments I felt this pain... This is such a family-oriented holiday, such a holiday filled with the symbolism of love and spirit of giving. And i miss nu parents dearly. (For some reason my brother has not called, even though I sent them such an expensive package of goodies...)

Sitting next to the tree that I helped decorate a few weeks back, I am filled with this longing again. Longing for family, for finding this signifisnt other I can fully care and cherish, and who can fill me with the courage and strength to pick myself up and move forward. Life is a constant struggle on your own. Life feels so heavy and so meaningless at times when you are on you own and trying to figure things out without much parental guidance or emotional support...

Yes, I am very fortunate to have food, friends and warmth on this cold cold day.
But do we all have a right to dream, to believe in miracles on this most magical day of the year?

Maybe this Christmas...
Maybe this Christmas...

Isa

I never met the girl, but I cried when my friend told me that she passed away.

For over a year, she's been battling brain tumour. How beautiful she is, how brave. I rmember the shock to my friend when he said to me a classmate of his sudden was diagnosed. Stage IV , I believe, last year. She went through surgery, treatments, and her family and friends rallied around her. My friend even shaved his head to stand in solidarity with her, in a campaign called "you save, I shave". It was touching.

Last year, when I went to India on my little pilgrimage, I prayed for her and got her a bracelet from the Middle Land. And anynomously, I donated some money to the campaign to provide her better treatment and allow her to enjoy herself and laugh and forget that she's fighting this terrible illness.

My friend said she passed away. My heart sunk, and felt how the family, how her newlywed husband must be paining. It is extremely sad, and I know very well the pain.

I know very well the void and the horrible longing and missing. How tired they must be after this long struggle, how very tired.

Now she is gone. No more illness, no more pain... Free now, free from suffering. Left on earth, are the loved ones who must now hurt and learn to move forward.

And what a long, long and difficult process it is.

Fallen Phone

I cleared the balcony of my second floor duplex apartment before heading out. Lots of snow has accumulated, and over the course of the weekend, I've had to clear snow three times. 

Some snow had clumped, like cat litter, with the ice storm that's been wreaking havoc throughout most of southern Ontario and Quebec. So the clumped bits of ice were hard to clear, and I had to strain and use more weight of my body to get rid of them. If I don't, I'm always afraid my neighbour below may get injured from unexpected falling ice.

I leaned on the broom and scrubbed as hard as I could. Clumps of ice fell to the little yard below and punctured the metre or so of snow and ice. Then something long and silver came hurtling out of my jacket pocket. It flew downward like a frisbee and sliced through the snow mound below. There was a visible thin slit cut through.

"Oh, God!" I thought to myself. I'm not a materialistic one. Goodness no. I've lost so many dear things in the past year or so, I know loss is just part of it all. But it was my new HTC  phone, one I'm so proud to own (it was voted phone and gadet of the year, contrary to neighsayers like my brother...). And it wasn't cheap, especially as I had it shipped in from overseas. 

I ran down the flight of stairs (thank goodness I'd cleared the snow the night before...) And wanted to climb over my neighbour fence. I felt uneasy, and it crossed my mind to first ring theit door first. But I was worried about the phone getting wet or too iced abd about "cold" damage. So I just spread my legs and crossed into the snow mound. My legs sunk right in. Close to my waist, whixh is almost a meter. I felt my jeans and boots get damp. I dug into the snow, following the place where my phone made its mark. I dug and felt my fingers turn cold and quickly numb. I felt around. Nothing. I felt a bit more. Sheets of ice I felt and grabbed onto which crumbled in my fingers. Then suddenly something solid. How relieved I was to feel something metallic. 

I quickly hauled it out. My phone. It was moist and felt cold. I quickly wiped it as best I could. I turned on the lock screen. It was working. Someone had called but I missed it (turned out to be my ex...). 

I put the phone in the pocket next to my chest. To warm it up, lest it get hypothermia.

You have to be able to laugh at the mishaps in life. You have to appreicate how life makes fun of you and holes with you. 

Betweeb Mum and dad

We were walking up this hill together, mum, dad and I. At one point, even hand in hand. They appeared to be older, at least older than they ever became before in real life.

It seemed to be some kind of temple we were heading for, some kind of sacred temple or burial ground. I walked slowly with them, at points helping them up the steep hill. They smiled at me and we exchanged glances.

We came to this memorial of sorts. There were picture of different people, some really happy looking, other at the end of their life, looking frail and ill. I walked ahead a few steps and stopped in front of a picture of mum.

She sat on the edge of the bed, dressed up beautifully and wrapped with a large grey shawl. She looked so elegant, so delightful. I turned back to see my parents approach. I smiled at them, and gestured for them to look at the picture.

They smiled...

They smiled.

I woke up crying again.

Signing in...

 

I had to sign in to skype today, something I do only once or twice a month these days. Before, I would sign in once a day, at the very least to call  mum.  

I went through a list of my contacts, as a relative asked if I have the details of a family friend. And then I saw mum's profile. Mum's still on my list. I clicked on her profile and enlarged her picture. It's one she took of herself using the video camera I installed for her when I taught her how to use skype three, four years ago. Her status? "Trying the new pad", a reference to when I got her a new pad days before  my birthday (literally, her "birth-date", date of giving birth...) in 2012. Mum would use that pad for four months or so before she left...

I could not stop crying.

I miss talking to mum so much.
I miss her care, her love. 

I miss having a human touch and compassion that is boundless.

It's bad enough that Christmas is coming in two days. I could not cope with the pain of loss and the loneliness of not having family close by. The continuing cold spell is making things even worse, so much that for two weekends in a row, I've just slept and slept and hid under the covers most of the time. It's not healthy, I know...

Awash with grief, I don't know what to do.

I really am dreading the coming few days, and I can't wait till the holidays are over so I can go back to work again.

I really wish I had a place I could go to and be where I do not feel judged or  self-conscious, where I can leave whenever I want to, where I can cry if I want to.

Travelling

I saw mum, and dad, and thety were so happy. We were walking around in a large department store, and it was so beautiful. We chatted we smiled, we laughed and joked...

Another scene... On the way to the airport. Mum is leaving somewhere on the plane. I was in that mood, that pre-departure mood. I went online to make sure she got an upgrade, and it went through without a problem. My ex appeared, together with a female friend. They were on the same flight. Somehow I wasn't going with them (to Canada).

I kept telling them to take care of mum, to watch over her and keep her safe.

When they finally left, I broke down and cried so hard...

Long distance friend

For close to a year we lost touch,  but she suddenly wrote to me yesterday and we connnected again.

Two weeks apart our birthdays are and we share so many feelings and experiences, the most intense of which is the loss of our mothers through cancer.

It is so comforting to hear from her and to write to her, because she will and can understand. Because she will not look at my words and expressions and call me socially inept or antisocial. She knows what it means to lose someone, she knows what it feels like to lose all ambition and to break down, even two years on (she lost her mum a year or so before mine.... I remember that day well when she wrote to me. She was distraught, and I was with my mum that time. I cried for her loss, even though I only met her twice in my life. I cried because I know her pain will be my pain. And perhaps better than anyone else, I can share and feel that pain, and she can feel that pain of mine...)

How comforting to hear from her thats I'm doing the best I can, even though I break down and my mood dives. Nobody can understandd why I at times choose to shut down and shut everyone away. Do i not have that right? She said she dors that too, even to her fiancee, just to cry, just to be alone , just to try to find some semblance of sanity and normality again.

Death robs you not only of your loved one, but also of your ability to make sense of things and of the world. Death makes you see so clearly the futility of so many things we get so upset about.... Death makes you wunder how people can spend hours discussing such trivial things. Losing some one you love makes you special, it's a rite of passage not everyone has experienced (but everyone will experience one day, one day...)

Loss isolates you from people who cannot understand, from people who have no patience or who are afraid to talk about it.

But, as my friend said, experiencing loss and death can also be so empowering. It charges you with this sense of "I can achieve and face anything", for better or worse . It doesn't make you superior to everyone else, just makes you more sensitive and sensible about life and how much time we waste by taking each moment for granted.

She wrote to me and empathised with me about how lonely I am. She encouraged me to seek out someone, a significant other who can feel me, who can see through the sadness and see the potential and the warmth in me. Nonesense that I must learn stand on my own now. How can I even stand when everything and everyone I've known and cared about fell apart and disappeared? 

Now more than ever I need love. I've heard this before, even (and surprisingly) from the monk I occasionally talk to in times of desperation and need. Love does heal all wounds, love and the touch of another who has a special place in your heart can do so many wonders...

My friend said her fiancee has saved her so many times from giving up and losing it all. She expressed concern that I am facing all these emotions alone and lack support to fully make me heal.

But go on I must, day by day by day, even though there are so many moments I don't want to go on anymore and choose to drown out emotions and anxiety and pain with sleep (or drink...). I must go on, even if I feel such emotions that just exhausts me deeply and that I cannot share at all except on this blog?

One day, I will be stronger.

One day.

One day.

Ian Kelly Take Me Home

gratitude

I dragged myself out of the house and into the yoga studio. Today's afternoon session is a special "karma" session, where students pay a minimum of  $5 for the usual class. I emptied a bunch of coins which I gave to the designated donation jar along with a twenty dollar bill. The money would go to a charity called "Share the Warmth", which provides food and warmth and tutoring to underprivileged children in my area of the city.

The yoga session, 90 minutes of it, was intense and I had difficulty concentrating. There was one pose, ironically called the "awkward" pose where you have to half squat and stand on you heels and stretch your arms out, pretending you are sitting on an invisible chair with your back straight, which was extremely intense. But the yoga teachers encouraged us, and said whoever can hold the position like that for a minute, they would donate extra money to the charity. I strained to stay in the pose, strained and strained and felt my arms and feet breaking, felt sweat beads flow down my cheeks and chest... But I did it. I conquered the time, conquered the strain and stiffness, the muscle aches and sweating, conquered my own willpower and succeed. And it felt wonderful. Wonderful.

The rest of the session, I struggled through, tried the best I could to strike the poses and hold them for thirty seconds. Focusing on the breath helped. Focusing on one point n my body or one point on the wall in front of me, helped. And I pulled through the ninety minutes, and was so relieved to do so.

The last pose was the relaxing pose. Everyone lay on the floor as the teacher told us to relax. She read out a poem. A beautiful, beautiful poem about gratitude...

Gratitude that I am breathing...
gratitude that I can see the birds flex their wings...
Gratitude for the arms and legs that I have, gratitude that I can practise yoga and have this time (and the means...) to develop my spiritual self and connect with my mind and my body...
Gratitude for family, for the season of warmth and sharing with loved ones...

At that point, I closed my eyes and cringed.
It was a raw nerve that was struck. I felt heavy and could burst out crying. Perhaps the intensity of the heated yoga room got to my brain and emotions... I could hardly bear it.

I feel gratitude that once I had family, once I had my mother and my father... I saw my mum's loving face, saw dad's smile and felt the way he used to pat me on my head growing up... I saw mum's eyes, face, felt the way she used to grab my arm when we used to walk side by side... Gone now. All gone now. Lost forever. All's gone now, all but memories that will fade, and fade and fade... All experiences and emotions that can never be replaced.

How do you go on, how do you face the music, face the world, without love...? How do you go through it all alone?

I feel gratitude that I have a nephew, have my brother and sister-in-law. But they are far away. Far away, and I cannot feel the joy, simply cannot feel the warmth of the holidays.

I simply cannot.

Collapse

 I slept.
Slept.
Just slept.
Woke up to use the washroom, watch tv, fill my growling stomach, and climbed back into bed again. 

Damned be all the work I need to to do, damned be the books I need to read and study.
I just want to escape, hide under my blankets, hide under my closed eye lids.


It's freezing out there, and the snow keeps on falling. I cannot find any semblance of warmth. I turn inwards, turn to pornography, turn to my writings, my words, by they desert me.

This most festive and family-oriented season of all is the most painful and difficult experience of all. How do so many people go through this season alone? How do they shut away the lights and colours, shut away reminders of pretty little shop windows and pretty pictures of mum, dad and the kids sitting in front of a fire place?  How do you tune out of christmas music about love and togetherness , warmth and family?

I dread the coming of the holidays, dread the reminders of get-togethers and having to pretend that everything is well and dandy.

I miss my parents so very dearly and so painfully...
I miss the soul mate and one true friend I thought I had...

if only for a second...

I came home and watched a video a friend had shared online. I clicked on it, and it made me cry.

What can you do in a second? Make someone laugh. Make someone forget. Make someone realise how wonderful it is to be alive.

In the video, twenty cancer patients are taken to a studio and asked to close  their eyes while they are made up. The reaction the moment they open their eyes again is immemorable, a moment of joy and surprise (pleasant one for a change...) they will not easily forget. But at that very moment, they also forget they are ill, they are terminal, they are dieing

I cried because it reminded me so vividly of those moments I tried to make mum laugh in those tense and difficult, difficult moments battling cancer. The moments I tried to make a joke, tried to massage her and stroke her, tried to give her her favourite food or drink or showed her all these places we had been to before... Moments when my little nephew walked into the room and spoke babble, moments when my nephew smiled and giggled at any little thing... These were moments that made mum forget that she was leaving this world. These were moments that made mum feel fortunate, and made us feel grateful, for every precious moment we had together.

If only for a second.

Christmas tree!

I sat by the Christmas tree that I had just decorated for a friend and his daughter. the lights were spectacular and mesmerising. I admired my own creation, and thougtht to myself how creative and beautiful I made the tree. My friend sat for a while and thanked me repeatedly for surprising his daughter with the spirit of Christmas.

I was pleased to help give them something special to celebrate and remember by, for it will be the girl's first Christmas in Canada, and most of all, first Christmas away from her mum. I wanted to give her a reason to smile and give her a greater sense of belonging here, for I can only imagine what she must be feeling now being away from her mother for the first time in her life. 

The tree and decorations were given to me by the ex. But I felt someone else could make much better use of the tree. And seeing my friend and his daughter happy made me smile and glad I did something grand. Christmas (In fact, most of December to January, the ending of a year and beginning of a new one..) is for me a muted event. It has been for years, perhaps beginning with the year mum left me to live alone with my brother. I was fourteen. When I was thirteen, it was the one and only time we had a Christmas tree, a real one that filled the living room with the sweetness of pine. Dad had sent over boxes of decorations abd lights from clients of his to beautify the tree. It was a magical year... One I can harldy remember now...

.the  most recent memory of Christmas was an awkward dinner with friends, and the sudden call from my cousub saying num had been admitted to hospital for emergency surgery. The Christmas of 2011 will forever be etched as one of the darkest of my life to date. It was the Christmas to mark the end of everything I knew was familiar and beautiful. It was the Christmas that marked the beginning of the end of my dear mother and the bond I had with her.

I sat by the tree and these thoughts crossed my mind. Earlier, as I searched the cupboard for the tree and decorations, I came across a box. A box like one from the post office in my home country. And on it, the distinguished handwritting and signature of my mother. She sent the box to me in the Autumn of 2011. A little package from her filled with goodies like my favourite  plums and moon cakes. Earlier that summer she visited me in canada and met my friends and colleagues. She was touched by the way I have been cared for, and the moon cakes and assorted pastries was her way of thanking these friends that at the time surrounded me and were such frequent visitors to my home.

The box is empty now, but her pen marks abd signature remains. The box is empty now, and the emptiness reflects much of my emotions deep inside. I have so much I want to empty from deep within, but no one who can really listen... The box is empty now, but the sentiments and emotions triggered by the sight of the embodiment of mum's unending love and care filled me with pain and this dread of the coming few weeks when the whole world seems to pretend everything is fine and we are so nice and kind...

I smiled at the tree, and at my friend who Sat in the half darkness with his face illuminated by the colourful lights of the festive tree. He looked deep in thought. Perhaps thinking of his wife, of his other children, perhaps replaying scenes of Christmas as a child with the parents. There was a pensive quiet that wafted around the room, and the beautiful atmosphere of warmth and togetherness...

For a moment, we were bound together by this unspeakable loneliness. 

Right to feel, right to get better...

Damn the criticisms, disparaging remarks, name calling...

I need, more than ever, warmth and love, care and encouragements.I need a little grip of my hand to tel me "You are doing remarkably well on your own. Go on like this!"

I need recognition of what I am feeling. I need the ability to express my feelings without fearing that someone will become upset or angry or even bored. I need the ability to empty my grief without having the impression that I am talking about the same old things again and again. I need patient and understand.

When when everything I say is labelled as a complaint or dismissed as negativity, then I cannot speak. When you cannot speak, I would rather keep silent. It is a shame that in friend of someone you thought you could trust and completely confide in you must keep silent and pretend everything is fine and dandy.

And when I keep silent, the suppressed emotions and tears will turn to bitterness and rage, will with time develop into physical manifestations like ulcers or tumours.

Remember when....

緣盡時要懂得放下...
Remember yuan.

Grand unveiling

The setting was grand, with wooden staircases, carpeted walls, stone fireplaces, and a tall lit Christmas tree. We could not have asked for a more beautiful setting, the set for various movies including the Aviator, for the institute's annual Christmas reception.

This year, as in the past, it was held in conjunction with the 100th birthday of a well respected member of the air/space community. And it was this evening that the publication I have been preoccupied with and under pressure to publish was publicly unveiled...

Alumni and students and professors and professionals gathered around the professor. Though he looked so well for his age, he also looked very dazed, as for several years he has been suffering from the onset dementia. He was surrounded by his family members, even though flying in from overseas, and his grandchildren. Three generations all gathered to celebrate a milestone of a great scholar, philanthropist and who had such care and passion for the development of air/space affairs as well as for students who come to learn at the institute.

A lot of the time, his daughter knelt next to the great man and held his hand, "translating" what was happening around him, summarising the speeches and words of congratulations into language the professor could understand. It was extremely touching. I also took the opportunity to introduce myself and shake his hand. It was such a great honour, it truly was, to be the editor in charge of a publication that is (partly) dedicated to this renowned and respected man whose life and work coincided with the beginnings and thriving development of aerospace as an activity and as a study.

My boss gave me some credit and there was a round of applause for my achievement. I smiled and nodded, and felt embarrassed. Should I feel proud? What should I be feeling? I smiled, but inside was this hollowness, this void. It has been a tough struggle, countless hours of work night and day to pull it off and get the publication to press in time. I cannot complain, because as I was told "this is what working life feels like". I stood there, saw the crowd of a hundred or so gather and applaud, and I felt so empty.

Later the moment I walked through the door of my apartment, I would be overwhelmed with sadness and aching. Why do I feel so much? Why do I associate events so much with the past? This night, a night I should be proud of myself, a night my parents would be proud of me perhaps, felt so empty.

I cried.

It felt like the moment I received a standing ovation and recognition for the work I did organising a competition in the Great Hall of Justice of the Peace Palace. The grandeur of the surroundings, the people cheering and applauding did not, could not, take away the ache I felt at the painful absence of my dad. And tonight, I felt doubly that loneliness, that emptiness because of the absence of both my mum and dad...

Earlier in the evening, I had a long heart to heart conversation with the wife of my professor. She shared with me the pain she felt from the loss of her mum some thirty years ago. As she spoke, even thirty years on, she could not hide her tears. For ten years, she dared not visit her old family home. In fact, for ten years, she could not bear to return to her country of origin. It was too painful, too much to handle... It took her ten years for her to muster the courage to visit, and by that time it was with her child. But even then it was difficult... She patted me on the arm and said to me "I understand, I understand..." and urged me to find friends who can understand and be supportive.  "Loss is so very difficult," she said, "Even after so long."

Mum, dad... if you are out there looking at me frantically typing alone on the floor of my bedroom.
I hope I have done you proud.

How I wished I could tell you both in person what happened tonight, how they applauded and congratulated me on my achievement.

How without you this achievement feels so empty and meaningless...

I am sorry I am crying...

another dream

Another dream left me crying and longing for mum... There was something with flying, and at some point someone said the line "reason to live, reason to go on living..."

 The details have disappeared now after waking up and sobbing and hiding under the covers that eventually made me fall asleep again. It seems sleep is my escape these days, my escape from the world and escape from thinking and anxieties... But sleeping makes me dream, makes my longings and fears appear that torture me in my waking moments. This is such an unhealthy vicious cycle I cannot get out of.

must get out of bed and try to make myself smile.

ex's birthday...

Just wrote a message to the ex. It's his birthday today. There was a time when he would be here with me at the stroke of midnight... when he would fall asleep and wake up next to me. But it is all so quiet here. Same bed, same apartment, some old stuffed animals lying around. Same me, filled with the same old undying sentiments... where is he now? Does he still remember? Would anyone still remember the old days when you are in the embrace and showered by the affection of a new someone?

Probably not. why would anyone torture themselves with sadness and the past after moving on? Why would anyone look back at the unpleasantries and shouting when they have made a choice?

And what am I doing? Still dreaming, still getting worked up about someone who is history... I wrote him a message wishing him all the best of happiness and joy, hoping that someone else can give him more than I was ever able to give him. That is the greatest gift I can give an ex. The only gift I can give someone is my blessings.

It does not matter I am still languishing with feelings, fighting bitter, bitter loneliness and still trying to mend.

I need to drink something or take some sleeping aid so I can be knocked out and fall asleep. I dread this will be a long, long and torturous night. Another long and painful night in bed.

Hugging mum...

I burst out in tears the moment I woke up...

In m dreams, I was with mum. I was hugging mum so tired and crying on her shoulder. It was such a tight and warm embrace, like I have not felt in such a long , long time. I miss mum so much, so much... especially now in this holiday season when people are coming together with loved ones... Winter, and the month of December and beginning of January, has to be the most painful, most upsetting and lonely season of all... I dread this coming month. Dread the festivities and holiday music, the shopping crowd and the families and gatherings and scenes of Christmas trees and fireplaces...

Hence this dream. Because deep down inside, I miss all this, and have nothing, no family, no good friends I can call family, nobody I feel close enough to that can make me feel the care and affection I so long for...

In the dream, mum and I were traveling. I seemed to be some kind of indoor amusement park, and we separated so she could have her fun, I would go my own things. We agreed to meet together again at 8pm. But as soon as I went into the section of the park I went into, I lost myself... the lights, the enticing arcade games, the thrill, the boyish pleasures... I lost track of time, and the last thing that really amused me were these toilets that were completely automatic and put on a wonderful display the moment you're done with your business.

I must have spent over two hours there, and then suddenly I remembered mum was waiting outside. How guilty and anxious I felt! How horrible...!

I ran outside, my heart raced so, I felt like crying already...

And then I saw mum standing there under a clock. The hand showed close to nine fifty...I was almost two hours late. She looked worried. She lost agitated and lost.... but as soon as mum saw me run up to her, her face changed and became a smile...

I hugged her and burried my face in her body. And I started to cry. "I'm sorry mum, I'm so sorry," I said...

"It's ok, it's ok... You were enjoying yourself and forgot the time. It's ok..." she patted the back of my head. She comfort me  with soothing words. She hugged me tighter to tell me it's alright.

But I could not stop crying. All I could think of was I let her down and kept her waiting for me... all i could think of was that I was selfish and didn't think of her, maybe even disapponted her...

And how lucky I was (in the dream...) to be in her warm embrace, to feel and touch her, to hear her, to be in her embrace and feel her body hear her motherly voice. How lucky I was in the dream to feel the protection of her arms, to feel the strength of a mother protecting her young, to feel the forgiveness and understand of a mother...

I could not stop crying in the dream...
And I cannot stop crying now in bed.

Drifting

Two days into my new life in Canada, and I have been bogged by such heavy feelings. I lie in bed and close my eyes, and just sleep... I just want to sleep, close my eyes and pretend that nothing matters. I am so tired. So tired. And so dreading the month of December, supposedly the most festive month of all, which is also the coldest and most lonely month of all.

I tired to make known to someone how I have been feeling since my return from my trip, but it did not seem to echo. I have become very cautious nowadays voicing my emotions and feelings, because a number of attempts at voicing my feelings to people were just met with remarks along the lines of "everyone is going through the same thing..." or "there's nothing new here". I need encouragement from people I can talk to and trust, not disparaging remarks that make me feel like I am a whinging lazy layabout who cannot bear to work 14 hour days for over a month...

No, my feelings are more fundamental than just griping about life and discontents... There's simply a lack of true friendship and care, true affection and human contact that makes life beautiful and worth living at the moment. I put myself out there to be seen and recognised, to try to connect with people on different levels, to forge new friendships or other relationships, but nothing... nothing.

So I got on the phone with the monk back in Taiwan tonight and we spoke for almost an hour. Something he told me touched me. It's been four years since he lost a loved, in fact, it's coming up to the four year anniversary. And yet he feels this void, this bitter sweet memory. It will never go away. It is a void that cannot be filled with work or passage of time (though the numbness and pain will fade...). It is not a void that people who have not lost anyone can understand or care to really understand.

He said at the weekly meeting between him and some disciples, they happened to talk about mum, talk about how brave she was, how she struggled and was such an inspiration to us all. I could hardly contain my tears...

That was my mother... my dear, brave mother who braved it all and lost her fight. She is at peace now, she is at rest. and yet what tattered and traumatised state am I still in? How hopeless and lonely have I become? How fragile have I become that even seeing her phone number could unleash tears?
And do I dare tell this to anyone? Can I tell anyone who can take my hand and say "It's alright... I will be with you till you no longer feel this way..."? Can I describe how I feel without feeling like I am a fool, without having my emotions thrown back at me and my grieving dismissed as my desire to unnecessarily linger and dwell? Nobody, not even my brother, can listen to me and just let me speak, just let me empty my emotions, let alone acknowledge my emotions without judgment, without criticism...

"One day at a time," the monk reminded me, "All we can do is live one day at a time..." One day, one moment at a time. Face the lonliness, face the pain, face the void and face that seemingly deep sense of betrayal and loss of friendships and relationships because people simply do not understand and you simply cannot muster the energy any more to explain yourself... "It's only been so long, and not long enough..."

It's been almost eighteen months, eighteen months, since the last significant loss, but it feels at times so much longer, at times as if it were only yesterday that I was kissing mum's forehead and cheeks for the last time ever. And ever since there's been losses, of my favourite monkey and bear, of my dear cat, of friends who have grown distant... Eighteen months may be a long time, but eighteen months may as well be simply a portion of the length of a long and painful struggle against depression and solitude. Depression and solitude that will get worse as the winter months and "festive" month of December sink in...

What else can you do but take one day at a time and tell yourself things will turn out better?
What else can you do but tell yourself, even falsely, that change and hope is just around the bend?
You can only take it one day at a time, and hope for the best.

Landing

The hall filled with the sound of sobbing of the girl. She was in her late teens, perhaps early twenties, and not in control of her emotions. A little boy, most likely her younger brother went up to her at the immigration desk. They hugged. The girl sobbed even more as she buried her face in the boy's shoulder.

The border agent directly opposite me (who later would be the first official to welcome to Canada) watched with a sweet smile and quite bemusement. The parents sat on the bench next to me. It was a family of south Asian origin. Next to them, laden on three carts that look like they were about to tip over from the weight, were old fashioned leather suitcases and an assortment of bags of all shapes and sizes. How do you pack u a life, or indeed a lives of ap family members, and replant your roots in a foreign country? The girl's little sister was dressed in a colourful

I watched the scene and was deeply moved to tears.

Approaching Yul

221113.1331

Plane is descending slowly. Overcast skies, 4C. 22 November 2013. The day I land in Canada (pending approval by the border agent...). 

I do not know how to describe my Feelings at this very moment. The other that, while I was packing to go on this trip, I picked up mum and dad's picture. I felt this pain. I have dreamed of this day, the day I can bring my mum here and for her to live the rest of her life in relative peace and beauty. It was something I wanted, the real reason why I rented a two bedroom apartment. But she has gone already. Just me now, only me landing by myself.

At the same time, there is this joy. Two years of waiting and finally it is going to happen. finally, I get the official endorsement that I belong, that I am welcome.

IAD

At Dulles Airport, Washington DC. I slept the entire way from Miami. Exhausted, as  only managed to sleep four hours or so last night. Woke up at the moment I descended third floor of the motel To the parking lot, the shuttle bus pulled in. Perfect timing.  

It was pouring, pouring with rain. The Kind of downpour I've seen in typhoons (or hurricanes, as this was Florida...) The driver, a seasoned trucker of over twenty years drove and chatted. Whether any of the passengers were listening is another story, but he seemed keen to tell his. Even at five in the morning. 

Check-in and the flight was uneventful. I sat and walked around. I went to the bookstore and bought two books. it's been while since I read something, and I mean a physical book. One was on happiness, how to reach and live a happier and more appreciative life in a year. The blurb appealed me to greatly. A lawyer, who once clerked for a US supreme court justice sat in the bus and realised her life is passing her by and that she wants to be a writer. she has all she could ever want: living relationship, two children, a great home, but she's not happy... Do I have all I want? maybe not. but still I am not content and yearn for so much. Is it due to the general temperament of depression brought on by loss and grief? Is it my defence mechanism to shut down emotions and feelings activated by the years of abuse? Or is it something more fundamental? I have been accused (wrongly or rightly...) Of not being appreciative enough, of showing so little emotion in the face of joyous events. It pains me to hear that. because I do not and did not ever choose to be underwhelmed or unappreciative of life and all around me. 

The second book, by acclaimed author Mitch Albom who wrote Tuesdays with Morrie, seems go be a grilling tale about loss and finding life again. I love his simple yet profound style of writing and use of words. And the first twenty pages moved me almost yo tears already.  What if one day you receive a call from heaven and it's your mother, lover, cchild valling to  dat everything is alright? Is that bot the ultimate closure? Is that not the closest one will ever get to the lost lived ones after the final goodbye? Is that not a sure sign to you  that it is alright to move on, it is alright and you should not be afraid or guilty to smile, to laugh, to live again?  

And I did need the ability to be happy, to laugh and smile again... A whole new beginning awaits me. 

In Canada.

Paddling at John Peenekamp

At a local artists' fair once, some three years back, I bought three little canoes... Two had two people inside, something I thought was very symbolic of two Leopold paddling in the river of life together. I sent one to my brother and sister-in-law, who in the September of 2010, became engaged and would wed in January. The other one, I gave to my ex, as a symbol of our relationship, and with the strong and beautiful hope that we too would paddle through life together, paddle through thick and thin, through difficulties and happiness... It was a gift to remind him of how beautiful we are, and what potential we have together..

I bought three, and the last canoe was a solo kayak. A gift to myself, from myself. Whatever happens in life, are we not alone at the end of the day? Do we not go through much of life alone, unable to fully share our thoughts abd experiences? However strong and beautiful any relationship, it must fade and die. and so it is with all things in life, as the principles of Buddhism teach us. Did I buy that gift for myself, from myself as a potent reminder of this life lesson ?

I'm not sure. but today, as I paddled solo in my kayak I certainly felt it. I alone chose and charted my course, I alone controlled the speed and direction (though at times challenged and almost overturned due to hidden (or perhaps deliberate?) mangrove roots and branches. I got lost at times, a little frightened even as these waters were known for sightings of crocs (not the plastic sandals...). 

But when you just stop moving, when you lut down the paddle and let yourself drift, just drift with the waves, everything becomes so still, and you are one with it all...

I was afraid I would not make it, for my arms were sore and I was perpetually afraid of tipping over and ruining everyithing (most worried, very materalistic of me... Of my new HTC one phone...). And the heat, even though it was afternoon, was searing and the air was so humid.

But I paddled and paddled, followed the buoys and signs in the water, and navigated the little streams that eventually opened up to open water. Seabirds, floating like pleasure boats, greeted me. The horizon was so vast, and the waves become an choppy, making the kayak produce sucking sounds with every up and down motion. I sat still for s while, admired the blue sky and open sea, admired the rocks that have for eons had the furor and gentleness of the sea and wind slap and soothe its faces...

This is life... Steady on... You are on your own, paddling through the unknown and chartering unvisited territory every single day.