Vivid dream

 

I saw mum lying on her side on dad's pillow, and the cat was right next to her. Both were sound asleep, napping, and the scene looked so serene. 

Dad has been gone for a long time, yet mum still makes his side of the bed, and sometimes she would sleep there. Like she was doing before me. It's clear she missed him, missed his scent, his smile, his memories. I saved the pillow case he last slept on before he was rushed to hospital. I placed it, and some strands of his hair, inside the box container of a tie that he never used. Folded up, the pillow case fit right in. 

Even after so many years, she missed him. 

I stared at them for a moment, taking in that beautiful scene, and committing it to memory.

Then it hit me. This is not real.

Sadness came flooding through my body, and I felt myself shaking from sobs.

This is not real. For mum herself has been long gone.

Both mum and dad have been long, long gone.

Homeward bound

 

BR 315, 11.27 TPE time, somewhere above Okinawa in the Western Pacific. The end of a two week trip to Seoul, and then Taiwan. The first few days were spent exploring a bit of Seoul, which I must admit I enjoyed much more than I thought I would. Lots of biking around, and explored the old royal palace by foot. There are many things that reminded me of Taipei, especially the cityscape, and were it not for the different Korean written script, I swear I could feel like I was in Taipei.

What brought me to Seoul was a two day workshop on exploring the nexus between space and nuclear escalation. Poignant topic, especially given the heightened tensions on the Korean Peninsula, but also some attention was directed at the Taiwan Strait. I was invited as a legal expert, and it is really thanks to a former student of mine that I had this opportunity to travel and speak. It really was a prestigious opportunity, especially as it was in part hosted by the UN. It also gave me the opportunity to meet up with two former students from six years ago. It’s heartening to know and hear from them how much of a positive impact, and dare I say influence, I had on their studies. As I told them, I really didn’t do much else, and I was happy to make a little difference.

Honestly, when I was invited over a month ago,  I was quite nervous. Why me, I thought to myself. What do I have to say or contribute to the discussions amongst these other experts and government officials? I remember waking up in Elliston next to B. that day just after the new year, and being delighted initially at the prospects of an expenses paid trip to South Korea (…and our inside terrible running joke about ttsongul). But then what crossed my mind was whether I was capable. It took me another 10 days or so before I had the courage to write back and accept the offer to speak.

And it went very well. I was prepared, articulate, and could chime in the discussions and provide (I think) good input and ideas that stimulated discussions. My former student, who was part of the organising panel told me they really enjoyed my company and presence. It was encouraging to hear that.

The day the workshop ended, I headed to Taiwan. It was always my plan, as the very next day was my birthday. The big four zero. A few months ago, I was just dreading what I would be doing, the stars somehow aligned and this trip came, which allowed me to plan a trip back to Taiwan. I really wanted to see my parents on the day of my birthday, and that’s what I did, which was really unplanned and seemed that it was meant to be.

It was not as emotional a visit to Jinshan as I imagined it to be. Two of my cousins took a day off from their work, and drove /accompanied me to the mountains. I think their presence was calming and was a big help as normally I would have been frantically running up and down, trying to wash fruits, lay out goodies and getting ready for the offering ceremony. My cousins accompanied me to see both mum and dad, and I stood there quietly, silently wishing, as I always do, that they are well, and that they will watch over and bless my brother, his family, and all our relatives… that always makes my eyes water. Even after 16 (dad) and 12 (mum) years, the emotions are still very raw. Little memories, little moments in my mind still make the dam of my eyes break, and this intense feeling of longing well up from deep inside.

This has been an emotional trip. After seeing my parents, I went to stay in Tainan overnight and biked around a bit around Anping before heading to Chiayi. What followed was several days of nostalgia and memories.

I don’t know what overcame me. I was so emotional and overwhelmed that everyday, I would well up and cry. The main trigger was seeing “small” uncle on dad’s side. I knew he was confined to a home and a wheelchair for some time, as  the last time I was in Taiwan (in November/December 2022, for “big” uncle’s funeral), small uncle was already in a home. I wanted to go see him, but I could not as there was a COVID outbreak on his floor, and so he was confined (this was just after Taiwan fully cleared mandatory COVID restrictions, being one of the later countries to do so). So I videochatted with him through LINE. He seemed aloof, not fully there.

Then throughout the past year or so, in the family group chat, other relatives would post pictures of his in a wheelchair, sometimes scratchy the lottery, sometimes out somewhere (never really far), as he is now fully dependent on others for his mobility. He gaze always looked like he was absent, not really looking into the camera (but then again, he never really smiled or looked happy. This is worse).

When I saw him finally, I think that broke me. I had not been in touch, or responded much to family chats, not even reacting to photos. Seeing him, being confronted with the reality of his situation moved me so.

He is always the uncle I visited whenenver I want to Chiayi. The uncle who, when I was a child, would take me out, take me to go to the train station to go train spotting, and later, when I could ride a bike, we had a regular route of YuanFu Temple (where grandma’s remains are put to rest), the park for 10NTD per song karaoke (later, the Senior’s Centre, where karaoke is free). It was a regular, predictable routine. On certain days, “big aunt” or my cousin would suggest going somewhere further, like Beigang or the mountains for a drive or to eat something. Little things, but over the years, they added up and are memories in my mind.

He has always been the uncle who lived at the same address as the former ramshackle two storied shack where grandma and grandpa raised six kids (though the house has been built up and modernised). He was the uncle who ate almost the same things, and lived his own life, and known for his temperaments. But he is the same uncle who somehow of all the relatives, is close to me, and even helped me financially to purchase furniture for my first home in Toronto.

On the first visit, big aunt, cousin and  I wheeled uncle out to the nearby plaza of the new Chiayi Art Museum, and then we went to have turkey rice. When we sat down and waited for our food, he took out a red envelop with quite a bit of money. I just welled up and cried. I just couldn’t control it. Later on, as I was saying goodbye, big aunt would also take out a red envelop and stuff it in my hand. Making me cry again.

I don’t know what it is. It’s love. It’s the affinity you feel with relatives, a bond that you cannot describe but can only feel at these moments. My aunt told me later that small uncle also has the beginnings of Parkinson’s, which explains why he is twitching involuntarily at times (though he’s still able to hold utensils and feed himself). She also said that a cousin, the one who comes after me, whose father’s funeral I attended just over a year ago, apparently tried to take advantage of our uncle’s state and steal money. Apparently, some 2mNTD is missing, as far as they know. That adds to the pain and sadness I feel. That cousin even tried to get our uncle to adopt him, a mere three months after his own father passed.

What would possess a person to do that, to just see and covet money at all costs? I thought I found an ally, as he too is gay (and last time, I even stayed at his house, where he lives with his partner. I don’t know if they are still together). Now he has been, obviously, ostracised and relations have soured bitterly. Worse thing, he is a policeman. An enforcer of the law, a public servant, yet one that can engage in such despicable acts of malice and greed. I don’t know if my relatives, particularly my uncle, would want to pursue this legally, as certainly as soon as this gets out, our cousin will lose his career and face prosecution.

I did think, a few years ago, how nice that he seemed to be spending more time with our uncle.  And back in 2019, when uncle was still able to walk and travel, that cousin took uncle to the US and Europe. He later tried to use photos from that trip as evidence of how close he and our uncle is. Perhaps he does not know that my relationship, my history with our uncle goes back much further. And that we are much closer (even though I have been more distant, especially in those years of the pandemic, when I was unable to travel much).

I spent more time with my uncle, the last time, I took him to the train station, where we watched trains. It was as if it was meant to be, as just as we walked in, the Alishan rail was just about to depart, and a commuter train with the “Love Taiwan 2024” aboriginal livery (that got criticised for looking like beetle nut spit) was parked there. We just stood (he sat in his wheelchair) on the platform a while, and a push-pull Tse-Tsiang Express headed to Qidu pulled up, and slowly pulled away. Neither of us said anything. But I captured that moment on video, and I remembered something dad had said to mum, and mum later told me, when they once went to Jinshan. As mum and dad were getting off the bus, dad said, “When it’s time, we all have to get off”. I sent the video to big aunt, recounting what dad had once said. Dad got off far too early.

I must have cried more silently as I biked from relative to relative, listening to stories being recounted, listening to how things were with dad and mum. Stories I cherish, for for those little moments again alive in our minds and memories. Those stories make me learn more about them, things that I no longer have a chance to learn about or know. And that is truly beautiful.

While in Chiayi, I stayed with ‘small’ aunt’s place, like I usually would when I am back, and always I’m overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity shown to me. I also visited mum’s step mum in a home, and she seems to be much better, even though her mind is slowly slipping. She is after all 92, and has the beginnings of dementia. She now sometimes says the strangest things, such as the fact that she had to fly on a place from the 5^th to the 3^rd floor to sleep one night, and that she couldn’t sleep as her bed was full of ants.

 

 Also there with grandma, despite the smiles and laughs, I deep down feel a tinge of sadness about how quickly they have deteriorated, and perhaps soon she too will leave this world.

These things are inevitable, of course. I know it. I know it through experience, as mum and dad have already departed, and it has already been over a decade since. I cannot fathom that it has been so long, and that I have also been growing older. I think part of being so overwhelmed and triggered by the sight of  my uncle, grandma and other relatives, is the fact that I am too reminded of my own fragility and mortality. And I do wonder sometimes, what am I doing? Is it enough what I am doing in my life?

It came to my mind that perhaps I would like to spend a few months in Taiwan this year. Not that I can do much. But perhaps (if my university allows it), I could be around at least to see my uncle in particular, and just spend a bit of time with him. Before it’s too late. Not for personal gain or because I want anything. As I told big aunt and my cousin, I haven’t done much or spent much time with dad, but perhaps I could do something for my uncle, as we are all relatives. He has always been so kind to me, so generous as well, not asking for anything. What is spending some time with him, when he is not in a good state and deteriorating?

I know, I have my own life to lead, my own future to plan. But if I could combine working on my PhD and being there, just making a little difference to the quality of life of someone dear,  why not?

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way home

     11 Oct 2023

Somewhere above the seas between Malaysia and Australia, somewhat turbulent shaking on board an Air Asia red-eye heading back to the Gold Coast. Probably another 5 hrs or so to go. I tried to close my eyes to get some rest, but my mind is active, and I cannot sleep.

Next to me is a lovely old Chinese Malaysian lady from Ipoh, who said she’s going to visit her sister in Brisbane. Traveling with her son, who is a few rows behind us. She’s quite gentle, soft-spoken, and hard of hearing. I noticed she was struggling with opening a bottle of water, so I offered to help. That’s how we connected. Such a small gesture, but she was ever so grateful. Later she would also ask me to help with filling in the landing form, as she said she has trouble reading and seeing where to fill in the form.

I gladly obliged. Again, such a simple task, which is so effortless for me. Yet, it seemed to fill her with joy and gratitude.

Earlier today, I walked around downtown close to where I was staying overday during my 15hr layover in Kuala Lumpur. It’s a busy city, and the heat and humidity, even now in October, is quite oppressive. I enjoy the city, and generally visiting Malaysia. There is a s certain charm about the country and its people. That, and the fact that I can easily get by with English, and if necessary revert to Mandarin.

I was hungry so went to a mall to have some chicken rice. I would have liked to try some of the more local establishments, ones that are rated highly, but then at the same time, I’m a bit concerned about hygiene, so ended up at the mall and some generic Hainan chicken rice chain restaurant. It was decent, and efficient. Just what you’d expect from an eatery at the mall.

A few months earlier, back in June, I had been in Malaysia, where I had a three-day stopover on my way to Europe. Back then, I had the opportunity to try a local night market next to the hotel I was staying at (the same one that I was overdaying earlier). I had the opportunity to try some amazing kwuay tiaw (stir-fried thick rice noodles, my favourite), and also some satay.

I remember the satay place the most. It was this smiley Muslim lady, probably in her late twenties or early thirties. She just somehow stood out in the midst of the busy night market. She sold just a few things, of which most prominent were her beef and chicken satays. I ordered a few, as I wanted to support her. She immediately got to work, smoking the eight skewers that I had ordered. They were quite delicious. Yet the process of grilling them over the charcoal sent a lot of smoke into the air.

She just stood there patiently, smoke occasionally wafting into her face, beads of sweat accumulating on her forehead, as she worked hard to prepare my meal. It was a beautiful sight of toil, hard work, and trying to make a living. In the middle of it all, a man, who I can only imagine is her partner dropped by on his motorbike. He had a young child with him, and they got off and crowded around the lady smoking my satay. it warmed my heart, for it was already close to ten at night, and she was still there, working hard to make a living, and her child had come to visit.

It’s the kind of story that is repeated countless times throughout Asia and around the world. Parents who have little other than a spirit of toiling and working hard to provide for their families and children. Street vendors, hawkers, night market stall owners peddling their goods, foods and drinks for a little money, with which they must raise a family and feed children. It’s a heart-warming sight.

Perhaps that is the reason why Malaysia seems to have a place in my heart. It’s similar, in some ways to the humanness and warmth that I identify with growing up in Taiwan (but in many other respects, also very, very different—especially the Muslim culture and foreign language). It’s an interest mix of cultures, of modernity and tradition that is fascinating and feels so real. In contrast to Singapore, which is far too modern, and the people far too proud, Malaysia has a certain charm, a charm that reminds me always of that tourism slogan in the early 2000s, “Malaysia, Truly Asia“.

 

---- 

 

It’s hard to believe that it’s been almost four months since I left Australia. In the intervening period, I’ve been to Kuala Lumpur, the Hague, Berlin, Bremen, Baku, Istanbul, and spent time in Montreal, Toronto, and most of my time in Newfoundland.

It’s been a lot of traveling, a lot of staying in different places, bed hopping from one bed to another. I must say, it’s been a mixture of feelings, and towards the end of this four month journey, I feel tired and longing to go home (home, in Australia, where at least I have a stable place, my own place, albeit in my landlord’s semi-basement).

The most troubling of all would have to be time spent at my brother’s. It is simply awkward, for he doesn’t engage with me, and we hardly engaged in conversation. Sadly, he makes no effort to talk, and I’d really have to make conversations, which don’t last as he seems to show very little interest or care what I have to say.

It’s the reason why I flipped the last day before I was leaving. Together with all the complaints and tears of my nephew I’ve been seeing, I asked my brother outright why he has so little to say to his own family… why almost forty years of my life, there is such distance, and what just now feels like cold silence which is unbearable. I don’t know how my sister-in-law puts up with it. I don’t know how my niece and nephew cope with this…

It's just frustrating, and so very, very sad. Just after the death of our mum, for the first year or so, there seemed to be some hope. My brother was warmer, he seemed closer. Then, I guess tedium, mundanity, and just life set in, and to him, it’s all just the same. It’s as if he has given up on life, just repeats the same routine of work, gaming on his phone, and watching movies/series at night. Most time spent alone, even though his family is around him. Imagine, my nephew feeling happy whenever he hears the door close and his own dad leaving. And quickly stopping whatever he’s doing whenever he hears his dad returning.

Imagine that that is the way that people, your own blood and kin, react around you. It’s sad, because I remember a time when I felt like that living with my brother. I remember a time when mum visited, and she too would feel this constraint, this invisible pressure or heaviness whenever my brother is around. It’s as if his very presence just chills and makes everything feel heavy, oppressive, and as if you need to be on eggshells, because you never know what can trigger him, what may offend or annoy him.

Imagine that you are so deeply unhappy and discontented with life, that you make others feel distant and unwilling to engage with you.

What a sad, sad existence that is…

I don’t know what he thinks of me, or what he thinks of all that I’ve said to him. All I can speculate is that he thinks I treat his place like a hotel and come and go as I please. In reality, I’m trying to visit whenever I can so that I can, hopefully, bring a little light to his kids and perhaps his own life. But perhaps he just sees me as a disturbance and burden (even though every time I visit, I bring tonnes of things, and try to cover expenses of food or even take them all out for a nice meal)…

I’ve been thinking a lot of what I said to him. Was I unkind? Was I too harsh, too absorbed in the misery of my broken relationship with him that the words came out wrong and hurtful? I just hoped there to be some change, a little change, mainly for his own sake, and for the sake of the wellbeing and happiness of his own children… but in that interaction we had, he mostly just sat there, his expression half hidden under his hoodie, sighing and saying nothing, or not knowing what to say. (…I’ve noticed he seems to do that a lot. Hide under his hoodie, even during dinner time, the brief moments he would actually sit down at the dinning table with the rest of the family, he’s eating on his own, quietly, not interacting, not engaging. Quite tellingly…)

I can only hope I was not too harsh, and that he somehow can absorb just a bit of what I was trying to get across. It was out of kindness, out of my concern for his own well-being, and his relationship with his own children (let’s not even begin about his relationship with his estranged wife).

Because I can see he is deeply troubled, deeply depressed, and deeply weighed down by something that I cannot figure out what. The need to keep up a facade? The need to maintain this image of being the stern, angry, tough person that he somehow feels he needs to be? The need to replay that role that our own father played when he was still alive?

Does he not know better that stereotypes, that mould of family trauma, unhappiness and misery does not need to be repeated? Does he not realise that the longer this goes on, he will end up all alone, and abandoned and estranged from his own children who feel very little but mostly fear and alienation toward him?

I can see that especially his own son is deeply troubled and distraught. In the past few months, I’ve had several opportunities to see him (…first in January, when I was there almost a month, when his mum went back home for the lunar new year). Then in April, and then in June, and the most recent time in September. All these times, the complaints are the same: he deeply detests his father, says he wishes his father dead, or that he can move out and take his mum with him. Says that when he is old enough, he will leave and never visit his father, and that his father is not welcome. My nephew cries and laments about why his father is never proud of him. Why his father does not love him, and cares much more about his sister.

My nephew can be a very, very difficult child. I experienced several times, for he can be demanding, insistent, and pesters me for material things, that he seems to attach so much meaning to (…much like his father, the father he so much detests and does not want to be). Several times, I’ve been tested to my limit, and shouted back at him. A few years ago, I was so pushed to my limit, I pushed him when he complained about my food and kept telling me how wrong I was. Back in June, I left him screaming and throwing a tantrum when I shout the door in his face (I had told him an hour before that we needed to leave to pick up his sister, and yet, he was not ready and blamed me for not having socks or clothes to wear…)

I do wonder sometimes, when I calm down and think about my interactions with him, how much of it is personality (he is just a very particular person, very much his way or the high way, much like the father he so despises), and how much of it is due to him acting out from the circumstances of his upbringing. I do wonder sometimes, if the relationship between him and his father were better, if his parents were more loving, would my nephew be so difficult sometimes? Would he still have these tics and make these noises (that he does not seem to be aware of…)? Perhaps he sometimes makes these sounds and involuntary eye twitches because he is repressed, because he is feeling insecure and those tics are ways for the body to “act out”.

For sometimes, when I look at him, when I reach out and hug him (when he is lying there and asking me to hug him), I see a child. An innocent child, who still has a lot of maturing, who needs a lot of nurture and care and love, but is sadly perhaps not receiving enough from both his parents.

I’m not a parent, and I’m certainly not his parent. Even if I were, I am tested often by him and his temperaments, by him acting out and throwing tantrums (which according to my sister-in-law only happens when I am around, or at least happens with great frequency when I am around, because my nephew seems to “pick” on people to act out with).

I just want him to have a stable and safe environment to grow up in, to receive the love and affection that every child needs and craves.

Is that too much to ask?

 

Stay in Ipswich

 

Mary was such a gracious and lovely host, as I left, I asked if I could hug her. We spent a fair bit of time chatting, and she had such a rich life and colourful stories to share.

76 soon, she's still quite fit, though she mentioned that she's suffering from arthritis all over, and her upper thigh is afflicted by some form of cancer. "I'm happy here," she said as she sat in a lounge chair on the veranda. "I want for nothing really". 

She moved to Ipswich around 12 years ago, having had a life of moving around a lot and doing various jobs. Operated a lighthouse for some time, then an estate agent. Raised a family of 3 (she confided in me that one committed suicide at 21 when I asked who the photos of some beautiful ladies on the wall of her bedroom, the room I slept in, were). 

She's one of those ladies you'd like to have as your grandma, as she'll just dote on you and share the wisdom of the world with you.

Born and grew up in isolation (that's what she called it. I imagine that means remote areas where you don't see anyone for tens of kilometers , and remote from the closest Outback town. 

Life was hard, she said, but people tried to make things work. This is the land, and somehow you Just live with it. 

Anniversary

 

I rode along the Gold Coast coastline, the air was filled with the scent of salt as well as light fragrance of flowers. It was cool, not cold, just right after another warm, humid day in the Summer heat.

Yes, it's February, and for the first time in my 39yrs of life, I am spending my birthday in the Summer.
I feel  relatively at ease, and today has been a decent day. Went to uni to attend a class (the last compulsory class before I am eligible to go through the confirmation process, something I'm hoping I can do in the next half a year or so, and be fully an PhD student). I booked myself to catch my first ever movie at the HOTA (mind you, I also treated myself to Beethoven's 9th on Saturday), and had a quick dinner at the best Chinese/Malaysian Chinese restaurant I have had since I got here.

The movie was something that seemed to attract me, called The Son. After the tumultuous two weeks with my brother's family in Holland, where there were many tough conversations about his son (my nephew), I somehow felt this may be a fitting movie to watch. I admit, I went there with the intention of perhaps telling my brother how he should also watch the movie so that perhaps he can learn something about fatherhood and be a "better"  parent. The image of his son/my nephew crying and telling me how much he hates his father or wishes that he were not living there pains me greatly... The image of my niece crying and telling her own dad to be kinder to her brother tore at my heart strings.

The movie was not exactly as I imagined it. It was well done, and the acting quite fine. But it addressed mental health issues and trauma, and there were moments that were hard to watch because you could foresee what would happen...

There is certainly a lot centred on the theme of regret. Regret of not being a better father. Regret of turning into the kind of father one vowed never to become. Regret of not being there. Regret of the pain inflicted by absence and by longing that never was filled. So much trauma, so much deep pain that caused a teenager to experience such angst and void that he wants to hurt himself (and worse)...

There were moments that were very touching. But still, nothing really pushed me over the edge to actually shed a tear.

Perhaps the story is a bit too remote from my own experience of being a son. Perhaps as I am not a father, hence I cannot know what it feels like to be one, to realise that you inadvertently become who you vow never to be.

But I can imagine (or am I superimposing my own feelings and thoughts?) how my brother may feel like. I have known for some time he is such a deeply unhappy person, and sadly that is manifesting in his relationship with his own family... his own wife, and to some extent, his own kids.

How broken, or perhaps unwell, one must be inside that you feel such distance (or perhaps disdain?) for the people who are your closest kin...) It saddens me greatly. Really, I cannot describe the sorrow I feel/felt when I was there. It's one thing to treat me poorly (with silence, not responding when I make a comment, or simply saying nothing), but it's another to speak in such a hard tone to your own child.

I fear that the children will grow up feeling alienated and feel so distanced from their own father.
What trauma will they experience? How will that impact their self-esteem, confidence, their growth and upbringing? And what will my brother wake up one day to? An empty home and no - one who will put up with his  moods and temperament. I can just see it. He will just end up all alone. Even now, especially the last visit, I have said very little to him and just spend time with the kids (pretty much all the cooking, grocery shopping, making sure the kids have food and pack their lunches were on me...). Would I even go see him if the kids were not living there anymore? 

And they are growing up fast. One day, perhaps sooner than later, the kids will leave home. And then what? 

I feel such sadness... Our parents are no longer around. Perhaps if mum were still around, she could talk some sense into him. But she's been gone over a decade now.
Is my brother still reeling from the void and has not been able to process that? Or is something deep down just deeply wrong and unwell?

My sister-in-law and I have not spoken about this on the recent trip (perhaps I will be there again in two months, so there will be an opportunity). But I wonder how she feels about all this, living with someone who is so estranged and whom she has not spoken to for (I believe) close to two years...  My nephew, 11yr old, said it best when one day he blurted out "They don't love each other..."Kids can see. Kids are sensitive. 

My sister-in-law surprised me with a lovely chocolate cake the day before I left... 

My nephew lit the candles, and they all sang songs before I made a wish.

I did not wish anything for myself, for I feel already quite blessed with opportunities and buoyed with such good people in my life, blessed that I am well, healthy and fit, and on the whole feel contented .

I made a wish. Just a small wish.
I hope it comes true.

Leaving Canada

 

26 Sept 02.51hrs YYZ time

BR35 has been in the air for just over an hour, another 14hrs or so to go till Taipei. This is the moment that in the past few weeks of being and feeling so overwhelmed, I have been looking forward to. Yet I am far too tired, far too numb to even feel, really feel how I am feeling.

What a rush the past 24hrs have been. Watching the latest Downton movie with my friend, something we have long said we would do together, to frantically packing and cleaning everything until the very last minute (really, I had probably 15 minutes to spare and to actually breathe, as friends have been telling me to repeatedly over the past few weeks).

Now I am on my wei. Now I am finally embarking on my journey to an unknown future, to a foreign land where I do not know many people, where the animals and creatures all seem to want to keep you…

What have I just left behind? Again, I am too tired to really realise what it is that I have said goodbye to. Though that is exactly it, as it does not feel like a goodbye, at least not a final goodbye, for I am scheduled to return in around 2 months from now. This flight feels just like all those flights I have taken for work or leisure, with the exception that I have brought 2 large suitcases, as well as my new bike case, together with two carry ons with cash and essential paper that will grant me entry into a new continent and a new country.

These past few weeks have been so excruciatingly painful. Were it not for the kindness and support of dear friends and my ex, I would not have made it. There were so many moments I felt like breaking down, like giving up and crying, for it was just too much.

Sorting, throwing things away, packing, and closing lids to plastic tote bins I have bought to store the many, many mementoes and pieces of paper that mean so much to me now, but perhaps a couple of years down the line are just  yellowing pages or faded words that look lika any other that have endured through time.

It has been especially painful, as all the resistance I had to organising things springs from my fear (very real fear) of again being triggered by memories of past I cannot longer change, a past that is so bitter sweat with the memories of those dear loved ones who have passed on. That, plus the pain of breaking up, of trying to juggle the demands of work and uncertainties of what awaits me in the days, months and years ahead.

All through the past few weeks, I have slept poorly and restlessly, for I am easily stirred by the worry of what is to come, of the many, many things that have been undone or unsaid. True, I have accomplished a lot, yet, like my usual self, I do not recognise what I have managed to do in such a brief time, and mostly on my own, even though there are so many people who are willing to lend a hand. Finally, as things were getting too much, I let people in, and am filled with such pangs of guilt and “being a burden” that I keep apologising for being such an imposition that I am sure I sound so insincere…

My neighbour and ex came by just hours before I was headed to the airport. They kept their cool, they were standing by to help, while I frantically ran around trying to make sense or put some order between packing my bags, throwing all the little objects and items into tote boxes destined for the basement storage locker, and making the place semblance of normality that is ready to be rented out. I spent pretty much the whole of the last day in a van going from one person to another to deliver the leftover furnishing of my first ever apartment. What an ordeal, really what an ordeal it has been, not just the grueling roughness and pain of moving, but also due to the incessant rain that kept pounding everything around us as we tried to criss-cross town.

But I made it. There is no turning back. What has been done, has been done. What has been left undone cannot be done for I have already left Canada.

What am I leaving behind? Dear friends and lovers who have texted to say how much they wish me luck, and how they wish me every bit of happiness and discovery in the new country.

I think it has not yet dawned on me what is really happening, what I have packed up and am leaving behind...