Anxieties

 

 

There is such an unease in the air. Unease that is transformed into fatigue, lethargy, and just overall agitation. For the past week or so, I have felt unwell. Initially there were worried that the sore throat and just wish to sleep is a sign that "I got it". But luckily, I still have my sense of smell, taste, and I have no fever. Not that there are sure signs of what it feels like to get corona. From what I read, it is just horrible, and the most excrutiating experience ever. Others report feeling just fine.

Back in 2014 (or 2015? The years over the past decade have just merged into one another... this is what growing older feels like), I caught the H1N1 (Influenza A). Initially, I thought it was just fever, but that fever would not subside for days, no matter what medicine I took. By the fifth day or so, I had to be taken to hospital. I was so weak, I could just barely get to the toilet, and all I wanted was to lie down and sleep. Luckily, by that time, Tamiflu was already available, and a rush to the ER and an IV drip, as well as a whole regiment of pills for 10 days, I was better. Though, for months after that, I felt my lung capacity reduced, and a "normal" walk would leave me heaving for breath.

Luckily, I am still ok. But there is this unease, anxiety and fear that hangs over me, and I imagine over everyone. Sleepnessless and insomia are common signs these days affecting many people I know. And I feel less social, even more so, than I already am as a result. Less social, and somewhat irritable. That is what being confined to your home for an extended period of time does...

But at least I have a home, and also a steady flow of income, which is what many around the world do not. Governments have unleashed billions in stimulus packages and benefits to make sure that those affected by the shutdown and indefinite closure of non-essential businesses do not fall into absolute poverty. It does beg the question of where the money suddenly comes from, and why in "normal" times, ideas like a universal basic income (UBI, popularised by American-Taiwanese former US presidential candidate Andrew Yang) are scoffed at. Why is it that banks and businesses, that make billions in profits year after year after year, are suddenly crying and begging for help within weeks of a shutdown, while the lower income classes are expected to make do with a basic income? Why is it that trillions can be spent on defence and the pharmaseutical lobbies, yet just a fraction of that is hard to come by even just for stockpiling of basic protective gear for the frontline workers?

Who will think of the refugees and homeless in the time of enforced social distancing? Where are they supposed to stay "home" at when they do not have a home? The other day, a friend saw a starving and homeless outside a coffee shop, and offered to buy him a meal. My friend and his wife were sneezed on (not purposely), and are not deadly afraid they may have caught something. And what happened to that man who, after receiving his one free meal, must stay outside ?

This coronacrisis is causing a lot of anxiety, unrest, and thrown the world into disarray.
But in this disarray, perhaps we can see some truths or the realities of how broken our world is, and try to change it for the better?

Rapturing

 

There is a lot of anxiety in the air.
Across the land.
In the world.

With mounting deaths every single day, and the fear of getting infected, that anxiety, fear, higher incidence of lucid dreams all appear to be very natural.

For the last two hours or so, my roommate suddenly felt very unwell. Symptoms of nausea, dizziness, tingling sensations, and added to those, sudden sensations of euphoria that ebbed and flowed, and seeing strange lines, lights and spots over the past couple of days. It is all very puzzling. And worrying.

In times of crisis, there seem to be a spike of anxiety, and also conspiracy theories. About the link of growing installations of 5G towers, the takeover by reptilian overlords, conspiracy that the current coronavirus crisis is linked to an attempt by the medical community to vaccinate, or that Bill Gates' very prophetic TED talk 5yrs ago meant that he is in a conspiracy to depopulate and microchip every single person (he returned to TED to give us an enlightening account of how to respond and proceed).

Back in February, a friend suddenly asked me how I am doing, and whether I felt "strange". I did, at the time, begin to have disturbed sleep and also a general sense of unease (more so than usual), and these feelings have persisted till now.

So it's been going on for around 2 months now, more or less coinciding with the beginning of the coronavirus. In fact, I was in Asia at the end of January, the very week of the lockdown of the epicentre Wuhan, so I watched and followed the news of what was happening there very closely, because I was physically almost right there. So at a time when the rest of the world dismissed the coronavirus as a seasonal flu, I already had a sense that it was something much bigger (...and sure enough, things exploded by the latter half of February, beginning with Italy the week of my birthday). This unease, and the sense of something drastic and lasting began already back at the end of January.

The friend said a lot of things are changing and moving around. Planets retrograding, causing cosmic shifts in energies that will be sure to affect everyone on Earth.  Sure enough, he had two bouts of "attacks" that made him fear for his existence. The closest I could describe it (as it was described to me) was rapturing. Transcending to some higher existence, going beyond life and living. He said he was terrified, and that it tortured his being so.

My roomie's symptoms seemed to have subsided after she lay in bed for some time, and we just talked through things. But the idea that the rapture, or the opening of the chakras or third eye, was in the back of our minds.

What if something more cosmic, beyond-this-world is really happening?
What if, with the increased geopolitical tensions, self-interested actions, and increased xenophobia and racial tensions, are indeed realted to something bigger than the actual pandemic?

We are still unable to make sense of what is happening.
Because what is happening is unprecedented, and on such a global and long-duration scale that we cannot understand or put it into perspective.

A lot of people are lost, feeling aches and pains, feeling the pangs of anxiety and depression setting in.

This is a time for hope, even though hope seems to be in short supply.

Below a beautiful concert, Music for Hope, by Andrea Bocceli. The contrast of the emptied/empty streets of familiar cities that are usually bustling, with the moving music, is such a powerful expression of the times.

Tai-won

A sleepless night. It's past 7 in the morning, and the results are clear. They have been pretty much since the beginning when they began counting at 3 or so.

The Greens have won. It was predicted, but still, in uncertain times like these, you never know what could suddenly happen, what could suddenly turn.

There were moments I felt so sleepy, and I tried to lie down. But my anxiety and excitement prevented me from falling.

They say it's really the young/youth votes. This was a struggle of the generations. It was also a struggle between the pro-democracy forces and the pro-China/pro-authoritarian camp, and fortunately the former won. Democracy would ultimately win in an election, but there are moments like this when democracy wins double, as the revisionist forces threaten to strike back and reign again.

I hope that with 57% of the votes, the incumbent and ruling party would not be too proud, but instead use their renewed confidence from the people and over half of the parliament to do better, to implement the promises and positive changes that would take the country to a better, brighter and more sustainable future.

And I hope the losers, the losing KMT, would accept its defeat, accept that it needs to change and reform and to keep up with the times, shed its old guard and shed its obviously pro-Beijing beliefs to better serve the people and serve as a viable opposition.

Broken are the old party lines, the gangster-politics, the predictabilities and loyalties along geographic lines. Broken are the old guard, broken are the old ideas. In comes the new, modern voting patterns and demands that needs to be listened to and reflected.

Luckily, the Trump-esque and uneducated, crass bumpkin lost. He has yet to concede, but that will come soon. I wonder what he would say, as the things that have come out of his mouth have been so vile and so misogynist and so unworthy of the role of president.

Fortunately, rationality and reason have again triumphed in Taiwan.

God bless this precious island...

Eve of election night

It's that time of 4 year cycle again...
The anxiety and the anticipation till the counting of the votes and grand revealing of results. This time 24hrs from now, results will have begun pouring in.

I will either feel a sense of dread, or elation.
They say the world is watching Taiwan, as it usually is around the time of the presidential elections. It is the only place in the Chinese speaking world where the people can freely determine the leader. But this time, there is more at stake. This election, and Taiwan in general, has become a battle ground between the US and China, liberatarian values vs authoritarianism, disinformation vs struggle for finding and speak truth in an age of fakenews and distorted and divided realities. What happens after the elections could make or break the island nation, and the region. It is a struggle between the incumbent Tsai Ing-Wen, and a real bumpkin 草包  who uses misogny, brass comments, theatrics and slogans to attract and retain die-hard voters who are "pan-blues" who wish nothing but the failure of the greens--even if it means that China will gain the upper hand and prove its interference tactics and attempts to infiltrate Taiwanese politics and society is working.

There is a deep seated fear in me that populism and ignorance will win over the calm and sense of duty and perserverance of the incumbent. People seem more entertained by a clown than someone who is serious and who seems to have the interests of the Taiwanese people at heart. People seem more bitter about the benefits and pensions that have been for too long offered to civil servants that they cannot see that that structure is simply not sustainable. People seem to ignore or choose not to see the painful, bloody struggle of the people of Hong Kong, who are fighting and have been fighting for over six months for greater represenatation and against the encroachment of Beijing in HK society and politics, which is irreversible...

I pray for Taiwan.
I pray that freeom, true freedom and the people who have the best wishes of the island and its people will continue to govern its politics.

I pray that those with ill-gotten gains, ill-intentions and those who are puppets of communists in China will lose and fade.

But we have seen the rise and continued tragedy of Trump and his brand of populism, attacks on the media, and disregard for the fineness and honour of the office of the president.
Can Taiwan be immune?

New Year's Eve

Not quite New Year's Eve, but I did begin this post, or at least the title of it, on New Year's Eve 2020. That was already 10 days ago. 10 days into the new year, and I am feeling anxious, agitated, and out of sync.

It's  certainly been a long time since I last wrote on here. There are many reasons, but I think the main one is just laziness, or perhaps the lack of willingness and inspiration that comes with living life day after day after day. To be honest, life has been good the past year, with relatively little moments that were difficult or that I felt were worth reporting. It does make me wonder whether life is only worth writing about when things tough and life is a struggle...

I had a full year, the seventh year of working at the place I immediately began working at after graduating, which happened to be the same year that mum passed away. Looking back, those years when I was most prolific with writing was when I went through those painful and difficult moments with mum. Those hospital days, those grueling waiting moments, those moments of helplessness and hopelessness. Life gradually became better, especially as grief gave way to smiles, or at least acceptance of the routines of life. Waking, working, eating, emotional stimulation, physical pleasures, the occasional exercise, and moments of sleep when all is shut away till I am again conscious and feeling things to repeat the routine of work, sleep, pooping, and reacting to stimuli.

Of course, in the past year, I have done much more than what I have just captured with a few words. Those words hardly do justice to the moments of fascination, loneliness, or moments of being filled with gratitude or bliss that I experienced. I continue to count myself as lucky--and I must never forget how lucky and fortunate I am, to have a home/roof over my head (to actually own property in an age of unaffordable rents and skyrocketing property prices. How lucky I am to have a job that allows me the freedom to work on things I enjoy, the freedom to occasionally escape and delay in getting back to emails, and the freedom to travel to various parts of the world to speak and share whatever "expertise" or experience I have (even though at time, I feel like an imposter and inadequate...). In the past year, I have been to Finland, Qatar (a personal, and secretive trip to explore career opportinities) , Germany, Belgium, Turkey, Japan, Taiwan, Georgia, US, and NYC, US. Not to mention the side trips I have made to visit my family whenever I am in Europe.

I am very fortunate that I lead a life and have work that allows me such flexibility to travel and fly around (at last count, I flew over 70,000 miles , which is around 3 times around the world). And I am blessed with friends who care about me, and a roommate I get along with very well, as well as cats that are ever so patient and fill me with that warmth and joy whenever I stroke them or just look at them from a distance.

I am indeed very fortunate.

But. And here comes the but.

There is such uncertainty still in my life, and I long for some kind of certainty, stability, or at least a sense of direction.

These past few weeks, since before Christmas, I have been doing very little and purposely ignored messages from work. I have felt unmotivated, and want honestly to leave, but do not really have the courage to tell the people at work that I have "checked out" of work. I mean, I have already expressed my desire to leave a few times, and purposely did not sign to renew my work contract that was sent to me a month ago. I just do not feel it any more. I have searched and found something that potentially interests me, and in a week or so, I should hear about whether that will be moving forward. So there is much anxiety and uncertainty in this regard.

And at the same time, I have met someone. Completely unexpected, but it's coming up to three months that we have known each other, and have been seeing each other. It's all lovely and all, as are these meetings with someone after a long spell of being single (and goodness, it's been a long time since I have been with someone). But even in this relationship (if we can call it that), there is much uncertainty. He would like to be more steady, call each other boyfriends, but there is the caveat that there is some openness, some leeway to have physical experiences with others in the relationship. Im stuck with this choice of whether to move forward, or to call it quits. I'm just confused...

Anyways, a disjoined piece tonight, as it's almost 4am.
I've been going to bed rather late/early this past week. It's just been a cycle of sleeping late, and waking up late, and lying in bed, half asleep, half wishing to sleep the day and hours away so I do not have to get up and do much. Much of this simply to avoid facing my issues or the work and emails that have stacked up since I slipped into "checked-out " mode a month or so ago...

Perhaps I will come back and write more in the coming period. And more will make sense.

Miss them dearly....

It's been a while I  signed into Skype on my phone. When I did, trying to contact the monk in Taiwan, I came across mum's picture.

I used to call her so often. Every single day, sometimes twice a day. I miss her...
And I miss dad as well.

The holidays are never easy. 

Neighbour

I came home after almost three weeks away. My roomie greeted me warmly, and then she said there is something she did not want to say over the phone. Our neighbour passed away last week.

It was a shock. I remember the morning I left, I was just outside her door, and the superintendent of the building was knocking at her door together with a concerned neighbour who had not seen her in a few days. She's all by herself, doesn't really do much except listen to classical music and watch news and religious channels. She likes to frequent a coffee shop around the corner (where she wanted to set me up with a single girl once, shortly after I moved in...). She doesn't really interact much with others, but whenever I did see her, she would be so warm and friendly, and call me "Professor".

It's hard to believe that she's not there anymore. Even today, as I was heading home, I was thinking to myself I should knock on her door and say hello. I tried calling her around three weeks ago, when I saw that the super and another person in the building could not find her. But her mobile phone was off, and nobody picked up at home. Then I asked my roomie to check up on her. Turned out she was in hospital due to her heart condition. And that was what took her eventually...

She had told me about her condition on several conditions. When the temperature drops, she, like many with a heart condition, feel it more. She complained of discomfort, and that she has to take pills to regulate it. We once exchanged for a while over this, as I said I also have something, arythmia that was diagnosed around 3 years ago, but nothing that the doctors said needs to be addressed urgently (though surgery is necessary to correct it, and best done when I'm still young...). She said she's had surgery before, and that she needs to be very careful. Last time we spoke for a while, just out in the corridor, she asked me whether it's good to fly with a heart condition. She said she wanted to go back home, to her native Philippines, where her mother is, and whose health is not that well. She was worried, and asked me how long the flight is. I recommended that she speak to her doctor, and that it's at least 20hrs or so of traveling--easiest probably with Eva via Taiwan, as it's decent and comfortable even in Economy Class. Who could have thought that would be the last conversation we would have...

It's odd... I've seen her at most a dozen or so times since I moved here three years ago. Yet, when I heard the news, it really pained me. Was it the knowledge that she spent her last hours alone, and probably in much distress and pain? Was it perhaps the guilt I feel because I was not more in touch with her... even though I vowed to myself when I left home last time to check up on her more? Was it because I made mental notes to invite her over for a simple meal, but never did? She said to me many times she does not know how to cook, and asked me if I knew how to cook... Why did I never invite her over when I had the chance...?

It pained and pains me to know that I will no longer bump into her in the corridor, or on the way home, or close by the corner cafe. Her and her light blue jacket, her navy blue tuc... or simple t-shirt in the summer. That smile she always wore, that warmth she always greeted me and called me "Professor" with... I have to admit that on occasion, I felt a bit annoyed by the way she would call me, or how she would try to set me up with some girl she knew... but she just wanted to help, and it's expected from someone her age (70s...).

The most memorable interaction with her was around this time last year. Her heating broke down during what must have been the coldest spell for years. She saw me one day and asked if the heating is working, and I recommended her to the repair company. Then a few days later, I saw and overhead her speaking with the super downstairs about the heating issue. It was still not addressed, and she had been without heat for almost two weeks. I was shocked... especially for someone in her condition. I offered to help her call the heating repair company, and made an appointment for her. Then it turns out that they can only take credit cards to make an appointment, which my neighbour does not have... I didn't think twice and said I'm happy for her to use my card, even though I did not know how much it would all cost. My worry was that she would suffer or worse in the persistent cold... nobody should have to suffer like this, even though she told me "It's God's will, and I'm prepared..." I dismissed it, and said there are things that we can fix, simple practical things like getting a repair crew to fix the heater. And within a few days, she had heat again. She was ever so grateful. It was, for me, nothing.

She was a simple lady. Her apartment was filled with Bibles, biblical ornaments, candles, books and things she got from her days when she did the God's work at a convent or on missions. She talked about God and religion a lot, it was her passion, her life. She was ready to be accepted into God's embrace... I gave her a small cross, I remember, from my trip to Bethlehem, and she was overjoyed.

And now she is no more.

I hope she is at ease, and truly with God and no longer so alone or lonely.

RIP, Clementia...
 

Flying home

 

 

Flying home

LH470 FRA-YYZ

Heading back to Canada after around 10 days in Holland with brother and his family. There were, like many trips “home” in Den Haag, many moments that made me miss those days and life in Holland. I don’t know if these moments were triggered by flashbacks of those (more) care-free days of my teenage (and later adolescent) years, or a genuine longing for the quiet life in the city I lived so many years of my life year. Perhaps those nostalgic feelings springs from that sense of romanticism associated with “life is better on the other side”, which in turn comes from the fact that I have reached a point in my life in Canada (after a decade) that I’m settled and beginning to itch.

Certainly, things did appear different, in many a positive weis. Groceries for one is so much cheaper, and fresher… then there’s that ease of getting from place to place, many distances manageable by bike. Again, perhaps part of the “life is better on the other side”, I feel there may be more prospects of finding a partner starting life elsewhere, especially as after all these years, I remain pretty much alone and single. And the biggest lure of it all is of course my family. The joy and amazement of seeing and experiencing the growing up of my nephew and niece, being there at their important milestones of their little lives somehow seems so important, important enough that I can imagine myself moving back and getting a job in Europe again so I can play a greater role in their lives than the occasional visiting uncle from far awei who spends at most a week or two with them every year.

Part of this wish to have a greater role in their lives is perhaps knowing (or imagining) what fragile peace surrounds my nephew and niece due to the volatile relationship between my brother and my sister-in-law. Of course, what goes on in the relationship between two people, what goes on in another household, is none of my concern. And I vowed not to intervene or have too much input in what goes on. But what concerns me a lot is the children.

These past ten days, I saw and felt many moments that triggered flashbacks. In fact, every time I visit, there is a tension in the air, this worry that another outbreak of bickering or toxic tone will break lose. It’s been so long I did not feel that. But growing up, this kind of feeling, and a sense of guilt and hopelessness and helplessness filled me whenever dad and mum would argue. Often it is over such trivial issues. Often, it is simply because dad somehow has anger and mood control issues, and does not seem able to manage how he speaks. It’s not so much what is said (though often what is said is biting and just angry or negative…); it is more how things are said. A hint of condescension… a hint of accusation… a hint of guilt-tripping… a hint of everything-is-wrong-with-the-world. Before, it was dad. Now, it’s my brother, and he is a dad, and a husband. And those angry, ugly patterns of behaviour and mannerism are repeating and manifesting themselves in his family and in his relationship with his wife and his kids.

It saddens me greatly to see and hear this. it still triggers memories of tensions and bickering, angry exchanges of words over such trivial things like money, how much was spent on what. Can you believe that the fact that the inside of the car window being dusty was the source of two incidents of grumbling and anger? Can you imagine that on Christmas day, a  toxic mix of explosion of anger, shouting, accusations and attempts to force and find the truth broke out over how many bottles of shower gel were bought while we were shopping in Germany two days prior? And this was after a lovely dinner and evening of us (the three of us adults) bonding over wine and dessert while the kids played (or watched TV ) in the living room, during which I poured my heart out about what I wanted to say and let my brother know how sad and dangerously he is repeating all those mistakes our dad made that my brother had vowed before never to repeat.

I recounted stories of how dad did not even know where the chopsticks were, and would blame mum for switching them from place to place (…why would anyone do that? It’s not a store trying to get people to buy more stuff…); I recounted the hardship and at times insult that mum endured going out to work for very little money, and how she would come home so late at night (and I would wait for her, and hug her tightly by the legs whenever she came home from work, in the dark, from the cold…). With wine loosening my inhibitions, I bluntly blurted out that brother hated dad—the relationship was beyond repair and so extremely poor—would he want to have a repeat of that with his own son?

I said all this not out of spite, but out of genuine concern…I don’t want the kids to grow up being estranged from their dad, and I don’t wish things to evolve in such a way that my sister-in-law has to endure the kind of lack of appreciation, lack of warmth and compassion that mum put with for decades… kids deserve to grow up in a family, in a household filled with love and kind words; they deserve to grow up learning that the way to speak to and treat one another is kindly and with respect, and not with anger, disdain or lack of any regard for one’s feelings or the greater circumstances of why someone may do or say something in a certain way that may not necessarily be to one’s liking. And a marriage should be based on trust, on dialogue, on respect for one another, on sharing and carrying the burdens of child-rearing and household maintenance together as a couple.

I did what I could do, I said what I wanted to say. Leaving this morning, I left cards for everyone under the little Christmas tree that I bought. Personal messages to everyone… to my niece, reminding her to stay the sweet and good girl she is, and to eat more; to my nephew, wishing him lots of luck in school (as he is struggling a bit with Dutch language since they do not speak it at home), and telling him to be good with his sister, with his parents; to my sister-in-law, thanking her for her patience, and acknowledging and appreciating the frustrations and sense of helplessness she must feel at times (or often…?), and reminding her that if there is anything at all she needs, she must reach out to me… (again, in an echo of the past, the message to my sister-in-law is so similar in tone and in the message itself to the messages I wrote to mum many, many times before. Some of these are contained in letters written on yellowed paper, many of which have been placed in safekeeping in boxes throughout the years; some of which may be in the suitcases that I am carrying back with me). To my brother, I reminded him of what a lovely family he has, reminded him to appreciate all that he has, and how much our parents have given us so we can have a comfortable and less worrisome life; I reminded him that we are family, and we are the only family we have left…

Who knows what effect my words, gestures, and very presence may have had over these past week or so. Who knows whether the words on the greeting cards (peace doves, symbolically, drawn by Dick Bruna) I penned would have any effect or resonate at all…

But all I could do is try. And hope. And wish. And pray that people will change, people will see that love and being there for one another, being peaceful and equal partners in life, whether as husband or father, whether as wife or mother, matters a lot.

Verge of 34

Just took a long bath and started reading a book. Threw in a bath bar called "Karma". How symbolic for this to wash away the last moments and accumulated karma and grime of 33 years in preparation for 34. The book starts with the descriptive longings of a 17yr old boy, a coming-of-age period of exploration, anxiety and fear, a period in adolescence when you feel like you know so much, yet are excluded and dismissed as a child, and simultaneously feel like you know so little, as the world of university, work, life and all in between lies just beyond your reach. 

Was it a coincidence that earlier today, after a dinner alone at a sushi restaurant, as I walked home, somehow I got the urge to listen to some songs that I began listening to when I was 17? American Pie (Don McLean's and Madonna's modern versions), songs from Evita (particularly Another Suitcase in Another Hall), among others. Songs I would listen and sing to at a time when I was living alone in that home in The Hague, when I lived a quiet and solitary life, when school preoccupied me, as did thoughts of and coming to terms with my sexuality and history, when my family of four had been split in three corners of the world. A time when nightmares haunted me, when the "'void" consumed me, when just around the corner the unknowns of university life and the world before me lured and intimidated me at the same time. What a time it was to be alive. Such carefree, innocent days, they appear to be now. Biking to the beach and sitting on the sand at sunset... Bike rides lost in the dark of the night and in the melody of tunes and lyrics emitting from the MP3 (yes, it's a thing of the past...). 

A long long time ago
I can still remember how
That music used to make me smile
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for a while

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver
Bad news on the doorstep
I couldn't take one more step

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride
Something touched me deep inside
The day the music died

Fast forward 17 years, here I am in Toronto. Across the Atlantic in Canada, across time and space, across graduation, funerals, celebrations, highlights, trips and nights spent alone and shivering in tears from the loss of dear, dear loved ones gone too soon. Twice that age from that coming-of-age boy at high school, millions of miles behind me, countless stories that took place in hospital wards, lecture halls, and journeys in far awei lands. "I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck", and now? A "young" professional, a millennial, a teacher on the other side of the podium, a cat-owner (and cat-slave). Single still, but that is just the way it is.

And what of 17 years from now? 34 years from now? It dawned on me as I walked home, past the bright lights of the city, past crowds of faceless, anonymous passerbys, I am perhaps well into half of an "average" human life. Who knows how long I have left, how much longer I can think, feel, write, cry, love and feel pain? And what is it that I want from this life? What is it that this life wants from me?

Looking back at this blog, I realised it's been close to a year since my last blog entry (though there are actually dozens of posts I began writing, mostly on my travels and/or at 37,000ft as I am sitting in a cabin and anonymously journeying somewhere in the world, that I have yet to organise and publish...)  It's not that life has come to a halt. Far from it. I've been fortunate to have been offered opportunities and paths that I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams when I sat alone in that living room back in 2001 when I was 17. But, it's true what they say... as you grow older, you seem to lose that "spark", you begin to feel weighed down by ... perhaps work, perhaps inter-personal relationships, by the noise and state of the world... by life itself (doesn't help that I was diagonosed 3 yrs ago with a heart mumur that doctors say make me feel more lethargic and fatigued than normal people as my heart is beating faster than usual...).

Another ditch in the road
You keep moving
Another stop sign
You keep moving on
And the years go by so fast
Wonder how I ever made it through

And the days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months, quickly a year goes by again, and again, and again, leaving you exasperated and wondering where the time went. I often look in the mirrow and wonder who that person is looking back me... I see traces of my mother, my father... I see the wrinkles of time slowly appear on my forehead. I see the light scars from the period when I had acne on my face (...still get some on occasion). I see someone some call "Professor", though often I feel just as clueless as a freshfaced student new to the field... I see someone some say is kind, compassionate and giving, though I often feel so conflicted and cruel in dismissing the plight and burdens of others. I see someone who often just feels the need to shy away, to hide, to be away from people and crowds, while at the same time longing for intimacy, affecting, and a warm, warm embrace that makes me feel safe and  fall asleep so peacefully.


34 years and counting. How far have I come? And how much further have I got to go?

Visitation

There she lay, in a beautiful,  elegant black dress. Thick makeup,  wig, eyes closed. I stood there before her,  as so many stood before her open casket quietly. Our dearly beloved, a caring,  warm, kind and so loving person, now a cold corpse. It's surreal. It's cruel and hard to get your head around.

I've yet to really shed a tear. Ive gone through , been that stoic,  strong person,  at least on the outside. But I fear it's just a matter of time.

Several came up to me and asked if I'm family , hugged and comforted me as if I were part of the family. I feel like an intruder,  but the real family as really taken me in  as if I were part of their own, even though I've only known them and my late friend for just over two and a half years.  But how I've received such kindness,  such love and care from her... Like an older sister or loving auntie I've never had.

I was asked to help carry the carry tomorrow/in 5 or so hours... A great honour，a solemn walk with the loved ones and our dearly departed till her final resting  place... Perhaps this explains why I cannot sleep, even though it's been such S long and tiring month of hospitals and work, and seeing her gradual decline...

The departed...

My friend passed at 01.58, around two hours ago. I was still awake when I received the text from her husband, just setting the alarm to wake up early in the morning to see her. There's no need anymore.

I feel deep down a sense of guilt... had I stayed longer, spent more time with her! Had I followed that gut feeling I had when I left the hospital this evening and stayed around! But what would have happened would have happened, whether I was there or not. She chose to spend her final moments with her beloved husband, took off the breathing mask that was keeping her alive  after the last of the friends and family had left the hospital.

The last thing I said to her was "Relax... It'll be ok" (放鬆，沒關係...) The past couple of days I kept on saying to her, in between those rare moments of consciousness, "Relax...", in Mandarin, because earlier her husband told me that was what she had said to her father as his time drew near. Somehow, in my mind, speaking to her in Mandarin, perhaps the only person able to do that in these final few weeks and days, was supposed to reassure and calm her. I could only pray that my words, those words, gave her the comfort and soothing effect I intended them to have...

Could I have said more? Done more? Spent more time with her? Now that she has departed, the questions are coming... While others were able to joke and make her laugh, all I could do was hold her hand and be there, fan her and do what she needed to keep her cool. Perhaps I should have asked what she wanted, but I was afraid to broach the subject of death and dying. For she had such hope, such longing to keep on fighting, to battle the cancer till the end. I was afraid to upset her, and her husband, by talking about the possibilities and opening up about acceptance and making peace with the inevitable.

There were signs, I saw them. Was it just instinct, or from experience? Or from the honour of attending that "Conversation" the doctors had with her husband, which I was pulled into for moral support and "just in case" he could not digest what was being said. I somehow had a feeling, but kept quiet. All I could do was visit whenever I could, spend time there to relief the husband so he could go home and rest or run errands. Perhaps I could have done... But all those questions are moot.

Over the past couple of days, friends and her husband's relatives poured in from near and far. We were all united by her ability to touch our lives, by her inate ability to make us laugh. She was a strong, and at time stubborn person, who stood for justice, who would not take nonsense, who cared so deeply, deeply for cats and all the persons she encountered. Whether colleagues, homeless people, loved ones, feral cats... we are all united by the fact that she touched our lives and made our lives all the more richer and warmed with the care and love she showed us.

That love is now gone...
She is no more.

But her suffering, the pain and great discomfort she has had to endure are also no more.

I remember telling her one day to "forebear", a word I used with my own mother.
In many ways, there are similarities between that experience almost 5 years ago and the past two weeks. 
The breathlessness, the loss of appetite, the slipping in and out of consciousness, the need to rest and constant fatgiue and restlessness... There were all these signs. 

I went in and just stood there or sat by her side. That was all I could offer.

On my birthday, I dressed up in a nice shirt and went to see her in the morning. She was perkier that day as the breathing tubes were removed the day earlier and she was much more comfortable. And that day she was scheduled to have her feedbing tube removed. I told her how much I wanted to be with her on my birthday, and how she should not worry about taking my time (or the fact I cancelled a work trip to stay with her). She wanted to listen to stories of my time in Israel, and she was very alert that day as I narrated my experiences... how I encountered questioning upon departure at the airport, how I went into the Palestinian Territories and lit a candle for her at the Nativity Church, how I got her all these goodies (honey and dates and pine nuts) from Israel so she can enjoy them when she goes home...

Later, when she had her feeding tube removed, I  jumped on the occasion to make her something special. She said she wanted congee, so I made congee out of 5 different kinds of grains, steamed an egg and red beets, brought seaweed and olives, sliced up some ginger... and made a pineapple, blackberry and raspberry smoothie. A great big feast.
But it was all devastated by a chat with the oncologist who said despite her perkiness the prognosis has not improved.

And it all went quickly downhill... I did not visit the day after my birthday (21 Feb), but did visit today (23 Feb), when she was obviously struggling for breath and panting profusely. There were so many waiting to see her and spend time with her, so many we were taking turns, and in between sitting in the waiting room reminiscing what a wonderful lady she is and how she, made us laugh with her unique character and personality. Strangers bonded by this lively, jovial and spirited person who touched our lives and touched the lives of so many she did not know, including the dozens of kitty cats she rescued and nursed back to health...

To me, she was like an older sister, perhaps even a mother. When we first met, I remember she said a special (?) person would come into her life, as her tarot card readings had predicted that. Friends joked and asked whether they have adopted me as the son they never had. She often called or texted to ask me how I'm doing, how work is progressing. .She and her husband have been inviting me to all the big holidays, because they know I'm all alone and feeling crappy during these family events. She made me feel less like an orphan, she cared, genuinely cared and loved me... What brief time we knew one another, she made me  heal and feel cared for again more than anyone has been able to since mum left... I may not realise the pain and loss I truly feel until later. I've been able to be strong, but for how much longer...?

Now she joins the countless cancer warriors, like the friend who passed two weeks earlier, joins her beloved parents and uncle whom she cared for till the very end... joins the cats she has cared for till their final moments.

I was not there, but I imagine she had a peaceful passing, and is welcomed in wherever beautiful, loving, caring souls go after leaving the world of pain and suffering and drudgery in the hospital intensive care ward.

Cancer steals from us again, but cannot and can never rob us of our memories and love for the dearly departed...

A day in February 2017

Hospitals... such a hub of activity, sometimes joyful,  but more often than not a place you visit when someone is ill, or when your are yourself ill. The incessant background noise, the code blues, the whirring and wheezing of machinery, beeping of monitors,  the heaving of sick patients, the tears and sobs of loved ones. It's not a place for the faint of heart. It's a place I dreaded stepping into for so long after mums final visit , a place of sickness and death, of pain and suffering... But also a place of love,  and hope. if there were no love,  no hope,  what else is there to life? 

It's coming  up to two weeks since my friend has been admitted to hospital. Much of last week she was heavily sedated and there were talks she would not last long. It's been heavy, for the husband especially,  and for the friends and colleagues who love and care about. She's still in, intubated and unable to speak, reddish fluid, probably toxic and putrid with cancerous cells and growth, keep draining her lungs. There's talk of removing the tubes now that she's more conscious,  and seemingly stronger,  but there's the fear she won't be able to breathe on  her own now that one lung has completely collapsed,  and the other is punctured. All the while,  tumour growth keep multiplying and producing fluids that build up and must be drained,  otherwise it's like the person is drowning on  the inside. 

What cruel, unimaginable twist in the story did some mighty being add to torture such a beautiful soul? Why all this pain,  this suffering, and the constant struggle for life at an age that in today's day and age is still so youthful and the prime of someone's life? 

It's hard to watch her in such a state,  for she's always been a vocal, lively lady,  so full of life,  full of love and always caring about others-- about me, for since we met, she's always had a soft spot for me and seen me as an "orphan". There's really little I, or anyone else,  can do but be there. Wait, watch,  keep her company,  remind her in her waking moments we are waiting and there with her every step of the way. Hold her hand, stroke her arms and legs and let her know again and again we are there. Though we cannot take away the pain,  the anxiety or agony,  we are there with her. 

 

I was supposed to go somewhere far for work, but I cancelled (though after days of struggle, trying to convince myself that work is far less important than life and friendship, even though I knew deep down inside what I wanted all along). My boss told me how he admires me for my humanity, for my strength... but would not everyone do the same for a friend or loved one in need? My only regret js not being able to see roos and koalas again. But they're around and not threatened. My friend may not be for ever. 

It's a beautiful day out today, and I find myself sitting on a park bench writing this, sitting under a column of vines, in a setting that, before sitting down,  gave me a flashback to the park and vines next to the hospital mum (and dad)  was at . Different times,  different people in my life... but all the same,  facing death, confronted by illness, fighting f-ucking cancer and all the nausea,  pain,  suffering and hopelessness and all the rest of it. Am I stronger? Better prepared and collected?  Is that my "gift" to be able to sit there and calmly hold her hand and not (or at least barely...) flinch with every dire diagnosis?

all the while,  the world keeps spinning and turning and life moves on.