I was vacuuming my dad's place the other day.  He sleeps in my old bedroom.  As I vacuumed the carpet, I remembered the day it was installed.  It wasn't a new carpet - it was actually from my dad's workplace.  They were getting rid of it and part of it was still in decent shape.  So my dad took the discarded carpet home and found someone to install it.  As I vacuumed the room, I made a mental list of things that needed attention.  The list grew longer and longer by the time I got to the living room.

The light bulb on one lamp needed to be replaced.  There is paint peeling in the bathroom.  A curtain needed to be dry cleaned.  The blinds needed to be replaced.  The windows should be cleaned.  There's a hole in the screen door.   The kitchen could use a good scrubbing.  The carpet probably could be replaced.  The fibers in the carpet don't even stand up anymore when I vacuum them. 

This house has served my family very well.  But it's getting old.  The garage has a crack in the wall. The plumbing and electrical systems are outdated.  Yet it is still hanging in there waging a good fight.  He keeps everyone dry and warm in the winter time.  The floors creak and groan with age now.  I watch my dad slowly puttering around as I drag the vacuum cleaner.  His posture is hunched over and his fingers are gnarled with age.  He too is waging a good fight.  He told me today that as he ages, every thing in his body feels as if they are slowly falling apart.   I nod sympathetically

The old house and my old man.  They are still holding on, each playing the role of the protector.  I love those two dearly.  

There's a lot of hurt and pain out there.  Life isn't fair.  Sometimes the valleys seem to outnumber the hills. It's easy to be weighed down by the heavy chains of despair and hopelessness.   The sunny days with the deep blue skies and fluffy white clouds chased away by angry storm clouds.   The sounds of laughter replaced by anger.  You've forgotten how to smile.  Deep frowns of worry soon cover your weary eyes.  You don't even make eye contact anymore.

Your voice that had giggled, laughed, chuckle and gave life to so many endless conversations start to become strained.  Lucid sentences that were filled with life now slowed to a trickle of grunts and mono syllable words.  Tears of laughter simply become tears of pain. 

Don't give up.  Keep smiling and keep believing in yourself.  Get help if you need to.  There's no shame in doing that.  Pray if your spiritual.  You might be spending time in pity city but don't stay there too long.  Remember all your skills, experiences, attributes, all those good things you did - you're still the same person.  Figure out what you might want to change. 

Look up.
Look ahead.
Sing a song.
Read a book.
Watch a movie.
Run around just for fun.
Look at yourself in the mirror and make a funny face. 
Write a bit. 
Take some pics. 
Dance a jig. 
Play the air guitar.
Cook up a feast. 
Explore your city.
Explore yourself.

Just don't give up. 

I had dinner with dad and as we were driving, he told me that my brother took him to see a new doctor.  I was trying to figure out what new doctor he was talking about.  We have a list of all his appointments and either I take him or my brother takes him.  I thought it might be his eye doctor as those appointments keep changing.  He said no.  I tossed out a few more names but he said he didn't remember this doctor's name.  It was a new one.  I listened as he described the visit and soon realized it was an appointment my brother and I took him to a few days ago.

It was a bit surprising and I tried not to look shocked or upset.  I just casually repeated a few things his doctor found.  I didn't tell him I was there as well.  I was hoping he would slowly realize it.  On the way there, we passed by the airport.  It was just like old times.  He used to point out planes taking off or landing.  This time, I was the one pointing them out.  He keeps looking out for that new Airbus A380. 

At the restaurant, his appetite was remarkably healthy.  The only time he paused was to look at other elderly customers.   The elderly lady hunched over a walker slowly walked by.  Sometimes he would look at them as they eat.  I sometimes wonder what is on his mind. 

Once we got home, I put the leftovers in the fridge.  I go through his mail and pick out the bills to be paid.  As I head out the door, he gives me a tap on the shoulder and smile.  I return the gesture. 
I wish time would slow down.

A bit of this and a bit of that....

1.  I looked at myself in the mirror the other day and saw the big bags under my eyes.  It looked as if I took my cheeks (the big smelly ones) and put them underneath my eyes.   There isn't a day in the week where I can truly rest and do nothing.  I did sleep in till 8:30 today though.  These small luxuries in life are what I'm grateful for.    I sometimes feel like the pacman being pursued by those 4 ghosts (the 4 horsemen?)

2.  When I was driving home today, I asked my dad what illness his mom died from.  Little by little, I want to document some of the illnesses in my family.  Dad mentioned her kidneys.  He paused for some time and finally said "Yes, it was mainly the kidneys."  I quickly realized he misheard me and thought I was asking about my mom.  While he was right, he forgotten about the cancer.  I didn't remind him though and changed the subject.  He also seems to have forgotten the anniversary of her death.  I suppose it's better this way.  

3.  Brian had an interesting observation with a recent entry.  After a long absence from Xanga, he noticed that a lot of folks had left.  It's true.  A lot of my old favorite bloggers have departed.   But I've found a lot of new ones as well.  The community is changing and I hope it's reinvigorating itself.  For those of you who've been around for say 5 years, would you agree that the community is constantly rejuvenating?  Do you feel optimistic about Xanga?

4.  I am thankful for my cousin who checks up on me whenever he gets a chance.  I do the same on him.  We try to keep an eye on each other.   He lives out in the west coast and is busy with school right now.  But whenever we're both online, we chat up a storm.  I told him he's more than a cousin.  He's a very good friend.  He reads me just as well as J. 

5.  I really need to set aside more time for writing.  With so many other priorities and work constantly overflowing into my own time, this won't be easy.  I guess the old adage about working smarter and being ruthless with one's time are true.  That old song about trapping time in a bottle is so true. 

Have a great week everyone! 

I know now how easy it is to simply stop blogging and simply move on.   Writing was something I really enjoyed.  I need to rekindle my love for writing.  I wish I had more time to do all the things I really enjoy doing.  A long time ago, I made a list of things I wanted to do.  I don't even know where that list is anymore.  Life and responsibilities sort of just got in the way.   I'm living but I don't feel I'm alive. 

One dream that I've let go is becoming a father.  I know I won't be one now.  It's too late for me.  It won't be fair to the child and I can't do this alone.  I was at a wedding recently and saw a father holding his 4 year old son.  The son was a mirror image of his dad.  I jokingly asked the father (who loves cars) if his son likes cars.  His eyes lit up and he smiled.  He said his son even watches NASCAR racing on TV and just adores that Disney movie about racing cars.  I watched how the father was carefully holding his son who was busy with a Nintendo game.  The father would lean in every so often and watch how his son was doing on the game.  He would quietly give him a gentle kiss on the cheek and whisper something.  I tried not to stare but I couldn't help it. 

I guess dad will not have a grandson at all.  The other day, I was driving my dad home and he mentioned "We all thought you don't want to get married because of what happened to your brother.  We figured that must have scared you off."  (my younger brother's first marriage ended in a bitter divorce).  I wasn't sure how to respond to that.  Then he moved on to another subject before I could compose an answer. 

How are your dreams coming along? 

I took dad down for a couple of medical appointments the other day.  The first appointment was uneventful.  There was a 3 hour wait between them so we found our way to a coffee shop.  I had cautioned dad about the long wait and told him to bring a book or magazine to read.  He brought along a section of the New York Times instead.  I had a magazine.  He didn't feel like reading.  I wondered how patient he'll be today. 

So we chatted and the conversation twisted and turned through his memory lanes.  We spent most of the time at prewar talking about his relatives.  I learned a bit more about my great-grandfather and also my grandfather.  I knew my great grandfather was an entrepreneur who started the family business despite being illiterate.  He went on to make lots of money (none of which got passed down to my grandfather - a long sad story in itself).  

Dad showed an early interest in business and commerce.  He wanted to go to the US to study even though that was prohibitively expensive.  I asked him which university he wanted to go to.  He replied "Wharton... did you know it's part of University of Pennsylvania?"  I said I didn't.  He proceeded to tell me that he had already corresponded with the registrar.  They assured him that his marks were good enough to get in.  Dad was also taking a night class at the local university as well.   But my grandfather told my dad that he was too young.  He asked my dad to work at the family business for 2 years before going to university.

"After those 2 years, my dad promised me I can go to the US to study.  But he never got a chance to make good on his promise."  Dad started to look away and became silent.  I knew his life would have been completely different if he was in the US at that time.  He started to talk again about the war breaking out.  It killed his dreams and changed his life forever. 

After I got home, I looked up Wharton and read a bit about the school.  I don't know why I did that.  Maybe it was just a chance to connect with one of his dreams. 

I tell myself - "It's just work, don't let it get to you."  But it does.  I lose sleep over it.  I'm losing my hair.  I'm practically losing my mind.  It's getting very difficult to maintain any form of work life balance.  Management knows that - but everyone toes the line.  We fake it like we fake an orgasm.  All the right sounds, the quick breathes... but not the mess. 

Maybe I can hang in there a bit longer.  But I'm not sure what the rewards are.   I remember my parents working long hours at jobs they don't like simply to put food on the table, clothes on our backs and a roof over our heads.  And so I must endure a bit longer and "eat bitter". 

One of my first cooking lessons from mom was simply handing her things (spoons, chopsticks, bowls) and stirring sauces.  We've been using this brand of oyster sauce since I was a little brat.
 

For the longest time, I've always thought people would row out to the some lake
and grab these large plant like things called oysters.  These oysters would simply
float on the water (like the one on the left side of the label).  I also liked the idea of
rowing on a boat with my mom and getting oysters just like those characters in the label.

But being the gay little kid that I was, I noticed the boy in the boat.  Of course back then I didn't
know what all that was about.  It was sort of like an innocent little crush. 

Years later, I was shopping with J and I told him this story.  He laughed at me of course and
jokingly said he knew I always liked young boys.  (pls be assured, I'm not a pedophile).  I recently got 4 bottles of this oyster sauce because it was on sale.  This caused more laughter with J ... "you really like the oyster boy don't you."  (it was actually him that told me it was on sale).   So now, we just call him the oyster boy. 

But don't confuse my oyster boy with the restaurant Oyster Boy.  It's not a big place and it's
always busy and popular.  I haven't been there in awhile though.  But I doubt they will have my
oyster boy in the kitchen. 

I visited someone at the hospital the other night.   It was clear that she wasn't going to make it out.  Her eyes were sunken in.   Her mouth was dry and her lips were chapped.  Despite the oxygen tubes, her breathing was very laboured and fast.  I chatted briefly with her and other members of her family.  The machine that dispenses the IV buzzed quietly and regularly. 

Her daughter watched anxiously and gently rubbed her mother's foot.   She began to fall asleep but would wake up suddenly and look around at all the people by her bed.  She did this a couple of times but eventually fell into an exhausted sleep.  Her breathing remained quick and shallow.  I felt for the family. 

When I drove home that night, the rain was pouring hard.  I gave J a quick call, showered and tried to sleep.  I thought about my mom from a few years ago.  I remember watching my aunt die even earlier.  I remember saying goodbye to my grandmother as a young child not understanding what was going on.  I thought about dad, my family &  J.  I wonder about my future.  I worry about dying alone.  I said a silent prayer and closed my eyes. 

I took my dad for another of his medical appointments.  The wait was excruciatingly long.  I gave myself lots of time and got there almost an hour earlier than the appointment.  It would be another hour and 15 minutes past the appointed time before the doctor saw him.  Waiting rooms in hospitals are usually overflowing with people and emotions. 

While it made for fascinating people watching, my primary goal was simply to keep my dad, who is not a patient man, calm.  I noticed another Chinese guy, probably around my age and accompanying his dad.  He had a laptop with him.  He looked like he was taking notes in between appointments.  Every so often, he would chat with his father and point to a few things on his laptop.  Another couple was very anxious, the stress in the woman's voice was noticeable.  She was waiting for her brother to show up by ambulance.  I could hear the front desk letting them know her brother is on the way.  I overheard a woman checking when her chemo will start.  There's no privacy here - everyone understands this.

A gentleman, in his sixties, came out of the examination rooms and made his way to a waiting friend who was sitting beside us.  They speak in hush tones about the upcoming treatments.  Another woman also came out.   Her doctor came out shortly to chat.  She can't resume her medication until she's stronger.   A small child runs around exuding innocence and playfulness.  She gets a few smiles but is mostly ignored.  She stares at some of the patients in wheelchair who don't react at all to her.  She's just another bit player in this theater.  One doctor came out to talk to her patient in mandarin. Her tone seemed a bit off but the patient seemed to understand her. 

Dad, ever the impatient person, railed against hospital bureaucracy and inefficiencies during this long wait.  He's probably wondering why I'm so patient and understanding.  But I have to be his foil today.  I'll adjust to his character.  Will he be angry, nervous or indifferent today?  My role is determined by his behaviour.  We eventually exit stage left from this theater.  I gently hold on to him while he slowly punctuates his steps with his cane. 

There's no applause, no acknowledgment of our contributions to today's drama.  As we leave, there's another batch of new patients coming in.   I hope at least one of them will smile when they leave.