No Calls

I woke up this morning and I wondered why my mom hasn't called recently to ask me why I haven't called recently.

Cleaning Up

When do you start cleaning up someone's stuff after they've passed on?
Logically, that stuff isn't needed anymore. It's just taking up space.

Some of it's very sentimental, of course, and you should never get rid of it.
Some of it's stuff that really isn't, and eventually, you'll throw it out, but when is the right time to handle that?
Is doing it too soon just considered cold?
Is doing it too late just considered lamenting in the sorrow, and not giving yourself closure?

After the Service

Nah, not crying a lot anymore, but it always feels like it's right under the surface and ready to burst out at any time.

Unfortunate News about March 19, 2008

A lot of you have probably heard this (or figured it out) already, but I have some rather sad news to bear.

With extremely deep regret, I'm very sorry to announce that my mom passed away very suddenly on Wednesday night (March 19, 2008, Pacific time) of a brain aneurism. She was in her peak health: medical and blood tests from a few days prior came back showing near-optimum levels for everything from cholesterol to blood pressure to body alkalinity to everything. But even so, from the first signs of a headache to irreversible brain damage, it was only 30 or 45 minutes. She spent her last moments at home and at Vancouver General Hospital, with my father always by her side, but likely unaware of anything happening around her. It was four hours later when the decision was made to pull the lung support machine, after which it was clear her body was only a body: the spirit had long left on its own.

Thank you all graciously for your support in this emotional time. I can really only muster up two words: too early. The family is obviously very shocked at what's happened -- I was actually at another funeral service in Taiwan when I received the call.

I hope that those of you who have met her and gotten to know her will remember her as the happy, active, loving, and playful person she was. She's a wonderful mother, a loving wife, and a caring friend, a warm person all around who shone positivity wherever she went. At 57, she still had so much love to give, and so much to look forward to with us. It's really just too early. She was very much looking forward to our upcoming events and occasions, and we hope to make her proud by continuing in the spirit of her wishes. (It's strange to refer to her in past tense.)

I didn't really have much to say for days after it happened. All her children returned to Vancouver in early April and will stay through late May, after which further plans will become more definite. There was a service in Vancouver on April 12, and over 300 people came to pay their respects -- we filled up the 220-seat chapel and people had to stand outside to peer in through the open windows.

While still in the shock of this news, I implore you to cherish the relationships with your loved ones. Our time here is short, sometimes much too short. Here's wishing you love and good health.

Sharing and Gratitude

When I think of Mom’s life, it's filled with happy memories, fun times, laughs, and above all, an abundance of love and cheer. I feel sadness in that she has left our world to join another. But it's when I think about the future, about all the things we worked towards that she will miss, that I feel a greater sadness. I feel sorrow for the loved ones in our lives who never had the chance to meet her, for our children, her grandchildren yet unborn, to whom she could have brought her love and happiness.

In good times, she was a cheery friend. In bad times, she was a comforting confidante. And through all, she was a loving wife and mother. She provided the guidance we needed and the advice we sought.

When we were kids, Mom did her grocery shopping in Chinatown, with kids in tow. Our job was to carry the groceries, but we absorbed her shopping habits too. After I moved away, I used to call her whenever I stepped into a Chinese supermarket. Each and every time, I felt like I was growing up all over again. I filled with pride at having purchased the same foods she used to, the same brands she used to.

Just like Mom.

I’m 33 now, and I still feel her with me everytime I shop for groceries.

Mom is often described as always happy, but her happiness was directly tied to that of her family and friends. We are extensions of her: when we were happy, she glowed for us; when we hurt, she felt our pain even more. And she sacrificed so much for us.

In 1973, Mom married Dad and joined him in America. Together, they would boldly forge a new life in a foreign land, barely speaking the language. To help pay the bills, Mom worked tirelessly in a Chinese restaurant waiting tables. Come Christmas that year, a season to be with family, she was incredibly homesick. She put on a brave face in front of everyone, finishing her shift serving a Christmas party, and then hid in a back corner crying to herself.

It wasn't until the children had grown up, that she and my father had began to afford themselves the attention and comforts they'd given us all those previous years.

Throughout our childhoods, she taught us Chinese at home, after having worked long hours in the office and coming home to cook for a hungry family. She spent all her free time nurturing our Mandarin. When we entered into Chinese public speaking contests, she practiced with us night in and night out, with the conviction of an Olympic trainer. We always placed in the top three. That we all speak Mandarin fluently and have careers in Asia today is a direct reflection of her work.

In her short 57 years, Mom lived her days to the fullest she knew how. She was full of life, full of love, full of curiosity. She was active, playful, colourful. She really had that zest for life. Though the cause, the sudden timing, and the utter unfairness of her passing has shocked all of us, we should take solace in knowing that she passed peacefully and painlessly.

A week ago, I had a dream. Though most of it was blurred as I awoke, certain parts remain clear. My family was in some kind of darkness or peril, and a gorgeous butterfly appeared and led us to safety, to light, to beauty, to happiness. As she flittered along her merry way in my dream, we realized it was dying. It had sacrificed its own short, short lifespan and spent it instead bringing us to the light.

A man – a counselor of sorts – simply advised us to let her go peacefully, and that though her time was shortlived, it was beautiful, happy, and full. I started weeping uncontrollably, thankful to this act of selfless sacrifice, and I cried as I awoke that morning. It was clear to me: that butterfly symbolized our mom.

Her life was short, much too short, but in it, she did the most meaningful things for others. She cared for those around her and showed us all the beauty of life.

Throughout her life, she basked in the sunlight that shone upon us, instead of cowering in the shadows cast by the fear and uncertainty that we so often are distracted with. She encouraged us to go out into the world, to experience what it had to offer, to provide back what we had to offer it in return.

Mom spent a lot of time worrying too. Worrying for her husband, her children, worrying about the well-being of her siblings and her friends. She really cared for and took care of those around her, and it was very much appreciated.

Mom was someone who appreciated everything she had. Part of her appreciation for life was for those who took care of the people close to her.She was constantly thanking those around us – our classmates, colleagues, friends – for taking care of her loved ones.

And today, she's smiling upon you all for taking the time to pay your respects, and thanking you for supporting us in this time, in our past and in our futures. On her behalf, we give you our deepest, most heartfelt gratitude. Thank you.

Mom will be remembered for the joy she brought us, the love she shared with us, the world she made a brighter, better place. We will no doubt carry on living in her spirit.

I urge you too to remember the positive influences she had on your every day in your life, to remember the bright aura she radiated. I urge you even more to to go forth into the world and pay it forward.

Mom does know best. If we all took Mom's advice, this world would be a wondrous place indeed.

Going Home

So here's the deal: I'm heading back to Vancouver for 6 weeks or so to take care of a number of arrangements and events. It's bittersweet, really. Stressful. Time will take care of all this sooner or later, but it's the process that's painful.

One day, I'll be less cryptic. (But not today.)

Constant Thoughts

It's been like this since Thursday.

When I wake in the morning, it's her. The last thoughts before I sleep are about her. I just can't stop thinking about her.

I have a pounding headache that just won't away. We all do. It's starting to create a permanent furrowed brow on my face.

I walk around with a dark cloud hanging over me. Even when I'm smiling, there's a somber tone to it. I'm almost sure people can see it pretty obviously, but in certain ways, I don't give a sh!t.

I'm more inclined to pick fights and feel justified for it, as if I will be able to redeem everything by making sure someone else suffers too.

And yet, this all pales in comparison when I think about how he must be doing with all of this going on.

Sudden

Four hours, beginning to end, is all it took.
I'm shocked, utterly shocked to my core.
Tons of random thoughts and memories running through my head.
None that I want to share with you at this point.
And yet, strangely, a feeling of peace has taken over me.

33 is a Prime Number

I used to be gym regular back in college, but I hadn't yet learned how to work out properly, so there was a lot of wasted effort. It wasn't until about 2002 or 2003 that I started really doing it right, eating properly, beefing up a bit, all that crap. Man, I can't believe how far (backwards) I've come since those lofty fitness goals!

But now that I'm in Taiwan, and all that has gone out the window! If it's not one thing, it's another: it's frustrating that I can't get to the gym nowadays. That, plus all the cold weather fueling my craving for carbs and sweets and those hot, stick-to-your-ribs foods. That's bad news.

That said, this is a good age to be.
This is the primetime, baby!

I think men in their 30's start to have a clue of what's what. Before that, in their early- to mid-20's, they're still young, full of energy, but without the necessary guidance or direction. And almost definitely without really knowing what they want. (I'd argue that although being firmly planted in my thirties, I still don't truly know what I want, but I'm getting closer to having all the pieces of that puzzle.)

So really, I don't actually miss being younger.

What I miss about being younger is the carefree days of not giving a sh!t about anything with boundless energy! That, and being able to go clubbing all night without feeling bedridden the whole next day.

Snowy City Zen

Vancouver seems to have gotten its fair share of snowfall this winter, and it's a pity I missed out on it.

It used to be, all the snow meant hours shoveling the driveway, dangerous driving conditions, miserable cold, all that stuff. I remember when my dad would see the snowfall forecast and immediately start preparing for it with the salts, the shovel, just to make sure we could get to work/school the next morning.

I called him about a month ago, and I brought up all the snow and how much of a hassle it must be.

Only, he didn't agree with me. He told me that he likes the snow and how nice it is. He likes how much snow there is, blanketing the city. And it really is pretty, Vancouver in white.

My dad is becoming more zen. Good for him.

Damaged

I caught a glimpse of a crazy-sexy music video by Shayne Ward's song No U Hang Up (from his Breathless album). The next morning, I had the album in my iTunes. And this morning, while at work, I'm boppin' along to his album when I come across this gem: Damaged.

It's amazing how a simple song can throw me back seven years to a previous life.

How it can immediately put me back in the living room of the Emeryville apartment, having just uprooted my life in Vancouver and moved myself to the United States for a poor-paying job to ensure that I was closer to my girlfriend of seven years.

Images flash back in rapid succession from the moment I walked in the apartment that day after flying down, to the "it's not working" conversation.

Then there's the grainy mental film of me, curled up in the blanket on that sofa bed that chilly October morning, crying uncontrollably to myself and wondering how someone could do that to me (or to anyone, for that matter).

That's how I spent my first weekend as a resident of the USA: feeling damaged and cast aside.

But anyway, that was a previous life. Damaged, but now fixed, and all shiny and renewed. Here's to growth and to moving on!

The Power of Words

Two nights ago, I was re-organizing all my cards -- I have a ton of credit cards and membership cards to this and that in various countries -- when I came across some stuff in one of my old wallets.

There was a laminated photo of me and my family on vacation in Mexico during Christmas one year (this was many, many moons ago). I took it out to put in another card holder, and flipped it over as I did. On the other side, I had forgotten that my mom had put a photo studio portrait of herself.

Under the picture, she wrote (in Chinese):

"Ben, Mom will forever love you."

Even though it's something I've always known and I'll always know, it's amazing what the power of words can incite in your emotions, even years later. Tears welled up in my eyes as I sat there on the couch.

I'll always love you too, Mom.

Nerves

I'm rather nervous this morning.

Haven't been this nervous since ... my Grade 9 piano exam for the RCoM. The night before that, I dreamt that my eyes went almost blind and I couldn't see, and then my fingers were paralyzed and I couldn't play anything, despite wanting to. The next morning, it was pretty much like that too.

Wish me luck.

Music to My Years

You ever notice that sometimes a particular album or track takes your mind back to a certain year or time in your life, or reminds you of an event? Or maybe it just shows that I still listen to old music. (Though with some of the garbage coming out these days, who can blame me?)

Shy Guy

I was counting the other day, and I've MC'd (or co-MC'd) some 4 weddings to date. That in itself is quite a feat for me, considering the extremely humble public speaking beginnings I had.

There are two probably most major changes that I underwent in terms of speaking publicly.

The first was in grade 7, when each of the students was asked to select a short passage from our reading book and then take the mic and podium and do a reading to the class. Apart from being unfamiliar with the microphone in general, I was rather surprised that I took to it rather well. Of course, it helped that I actually enjoyed reading the passage I picked.

The second was in the summer of that same year, when I enrolled in a public speaking summer school class where the whole course was about how to enunciate, how to handle speaking in front of groups, and how not to lose it when you're doing that. (More precisely, I was enrolled in this class by my father who had wisdom to see this was good for me.)

But this post is about neither of those experiences.
It's about before I was able to speak up in class.
It's about before I would even dare to raise my hand.

There was a time -- very early on in elementary school, like grade 1 or 2 -- where I was so shy, I was afraid of the attention I would get just from raising my hand. I feared those eyes upon me when I raised my fingers towards the ceiling. I feared the teacher judging me for interrupting her lesson. And I was deathly afraid of having all the classmates' attention on me when the teacher would ask what I wanted ...

... and all I wanted was to go to the bathroom.

Added to that, I would be waiting for some kind of lull in her lesson, like a pause where she was going to start a new idea or something. But I guess she was good at what she did, never leaving enough time so that kids would get bored, restless, or otherwise lose their attention span and turn to other things. And all this time, I'd be holding my pee waiting for this fabled golden opportunity to request a bathroom break.

Dammit, there was never a lull. There just never seemed to be a good time where I could raise my hand without interrupting the teacher and suddenly having the spotlight on me.

Those were days I was so fearful, so shy, so low-key, that I would rather have just gone in my pants than to bring that attention onto me.

And some days, I did.

I've come a long ways from then.

Ancient Chinese Secret

I remember when my grandmother was living with us, she used to collect orange peels after we had oranges/tangerines. She would keep them, carefully wrap them in tissue paper, and dry them out in her room. Then, weeks or even months later, she would use them to make some kind of dark, sludgy and pungent herbal remedy. (All ancient Chinese remedies seem to be dark and sludgy and pungent, don't they?)

Being born and raised in a western world, I always took those recipes with a grain of salt, a dose of skepticism, and a dash of "science didn't prove it so i find it doubtful" attitude. But it turns out, as it always does, that our grandmothers were right: tangerine peels have healing powers.

It's nice to see that western science is finally starting to catch up to thousands of years of Asian medicinal knowledge.

Dog Days

It's days like this -- sun bearing down on a hot summer's day -- that I most miss having an outdoor pool just to swim around in.

But things like a pirates-vs-ninja presentation cheer me up considerably.

In Season

Was just sitting here, staring at the crazy summer heat outside, wishing I had some pineapple to savour, when I recalled a conversation from a few months ago.

The spring air was getting warmer and I was looking forward to mango ice in the summertime, but felt like we had somehow missed the pineapple season ... and yet, I couldn't be exactly sure, because I had no idea when they were supposed to be in season anyhow.

Turning to M, I asked,

"Say, when are pineapples in season?"

She was quiet for a second, presumably pondering the answer and formulating it in small and simple words so that I could understand it. And then, matter-of-factly, forth came her response:

"When they have lots of them for cheap at the supermarket."

I sometimes wonder why I bother.

Don't Wake the Dragon

If someone needs to be brought out of their happy little dream state of sleep, I would postulate that there are right ways and wrong ways to do so.*

My dad is an expert in the latter; he used to have a number of tactics for waking me up for school in the mornings. He would yell at the top of his lungs in the general direction of my bedroom. He would burst into my room and talk at outside voice levels. He would sit quietly at the side of the bed, lift the covers off my feet, and patiently tickle the soles of my feet.

Any of these methods was sure to basically irritate me until I got out of bed. And all of them put me in a crappy mood for at least an hour or two afterwards.

I beg of you guys, when you have kids, don't do that to them.
Happy Father's Day in advance.

---
* I don't mean, for example, being woken up if you've fallen asleep at the wheel or while piloting a plane or something like that. In those cases, a slap in the head and a big scream is about as appropriate as any method.