(Just like old times, eh?)

Tyler licks his lips until they’re gleaming wet. He takes Jack’s hands and KISSES the back of it.

I figured it out.

I had too much want.

The saliva shines in the shape of the kiss. Tyler pours a bit of the flaked lye onto Jack’s hand.

I started out selflessly — doing without expecting, giving not to receive, working not for reward¹ — because all I wanted was to live in the moment, to experience as much as I could while it lasted. Eventually, that turned into a desire, a belief that I couldn’t live without what (or whom) I wanted.

One could call it love.

The old me would have blamed myself for falling into that trap, but I’ve since recognized that I’m human. That I’m prone to falling, especially when I’m so amorously intoxicated.

Jack’s whole body JERKS. Tyler holds tight to Jack’s hand and arm. Tears well in Jack’s eyes; his face tightens.

Now that I’m able to stand back and recognize my longing, and I can also see how much that longing that was starting to tear me down.

It’s like in Fight Club, when Tyler Durden is about to pour lye on Jack’s hand. Jack already knows he’s going to die; it’s an undeniable reality we all come to realize as we grow out of childhood, yet are rarely forced to deal with (or even embrace). For Jack, that reality doesn’t truly sink in until he’s faced with the chemical burn on his body.

Jack, snapping back, tries to jerk his hand away. Tyler keeps hold of it and their arms KNOCK UTENSILS off the table.

I was told it was over before it started, but that reality didn’t sink in until recently. It’s taken this long because I dared to dream of something greater, and a large part of me didn’t want to give up the wonderful memories. Unfortunately, those memories are mixed and inseparable from everything else that’s been holding me back. The fact that I think too much doesn’t help either.

At some point, I realized that I simply had to let go. Truly let go.

Tyler finally says to Jack:

Listen, you can run water over your hand and make it worse or, look at me, or you can use vinegar and neutralize the burn. First you have to give up, first you have to know — not fear — know — that someday you’re gonna die.

I used to think I had lost something special, but now I have no desires and nothing left to lose. It’s like I’m starting back where I was two years ago, which really wasn’t a bad place to be. The world is finally lucid and clear.

Now I know, and it feels like happiness.

Congratulations. You’re a step closer to hitting bottom.

1. Readers of the Tao Te Ching will recognize this language. There’s so much of this Taoist idea of paradox and contradiction in Fight Club. [↑]

The doctor told us she has another 5–6 months. Her colon is so enlarged from the tumor that it’s thicker than her spine, and the procedure was just a temporary solution to prevent further blockages.

How strange it is to “know” how much time there is left. I guess that’s why they call it a deadline. I had already assumed that this would going to be the last time I could see her, but that won’t make it any easier when I have to leave.

I’m grateful to the people who have been sending me their regards. It’s a nice comfort. One of the best pieces of advice came from Charlotte, who told me to “not leave anything at all unsaid to her…leave no questions unanswered, and to not withhold any affection you feel for her”.

I had come to Hong Kong with the intention of telling my grandma how important she was to me. Finding the right words in Chinese to express exactly what I wanted to say.

But trying to speak with her has made me realize that she doesn’t care about any of that. She’s a very practical woman, almost to the point of tactlessness. For almost her entire life, married at 14 and as a single parent of seven kids, she’s had no time for words or feelings.

I’m here, and that’s how she understands how I feel.

Grandma’s at the hospital. She woke up this morning with pain all over her body, but more severely in her lower abdomen. They quickly drove her to the doctor, and it turns out there’s been a blockage in her colon. This afternoon they performed a procedure to expand the colon, and it went through without any complications. She’s resting at the hospital for the night, and my family is taking shifts to stay with her.

I’ve been stuck at home all day. Everyone else has been at the hospital and they decided to leave me behind. I’m on immune suppressing medications and the hospital is full of germs; getting sick myself is the last thing I need, especially when it means that I wouldn’t be able to see my grandma, as her immune system is even lower than mine right now. I would only be in the way if I was there anyway.

I’m scared. I’ve never dealt with any kind of sickness like this before. The only people in my family who have passed away were always far away in Hong Kong.

And now I’m here.

My aunt tells me that my grandmother is a very still sleeper. Sometimes she gets scared when they’re lying in bed together, because my grandma doesn’t seem to breathe or move at all. I find myself hoping that she goes this way, painlessly and peacefully in her sleep.

But every morning, when she slowly walks out from her bedroom, I’m relieved and happy that she’s with us another day.

For some reason, I’m always seated by the wings of planes. It suits me fine, as I like to watch the dance of flaps as the pilots check their instruments and controls. It makes me think of how beautiful flight is, of what an accomplishment of humanity it is to get this giant contraption off the ground.

The captain issues a word of caution over the loudspeaker in his generic voice about cinching up our seat belts because it’s going to be bumpy until we reach 20000 feet. Leaving at 1pm and arriving at five in the afternoon, it remains daylight for the entire flight, as we’re chasing the sun around the hemisphere.

Flight information flashes in pairs on the TV screens:

Ground speed: 857k/h. Time to destination: 14h 12m.
Altitude: 8000km. Distance to destination: 15289km.

The man next to me reads People magazine to take his mind off the sudden drops in altitude. He clutches his sternum every time the plane dips suddenly, and fumbles around for the vomit bag. Eventually, he settles his head on the upright tray.

I used to be scared of turbulence. Now I can’t tell if I’m used to it, or the fact that I’m going to die some day.

Many years ago, I received an e-mail from a reader named Winston Rand, looking for some blogging advice:

Jeff,

I have been to your equivocality site numerous times over the last couple of months and always come away impressed. Having visited many other “blogs” – God how I’ve come to hate that term – I keep coming back to yours as my gold standard. Been thinking of starting my own, even have 2 domain names paid for, but being an engineer and an IT pro, I’m too hesitant to start until most of the answers are quite clear. That is a strength as well as a failing…

In my quest, I’ve looked at many different blogging tools, hosting sites, etc., and am still not sure which route to take. My temptation is to say to hell with all of them and just post my stuff using static html pages (Dreamweaver) since I’m not really interested in feedback or comments that much. But I do like the ability to easily integrate calendar, archives, and other features that most of the blog packages seem to include by default. And who knows, one of these days I may care what other people think of my work.

Among the popular packages, I’ve got it narrowed down to WordPress, Moveable Type, and SquareSpace, but I’m wide open to suggestions and recommendations.

Could you share your thoughts on what you use and recommend? Any advice will be greatly appreciated.

Keep up your excellent work! I look forward to seeing more of it.

I steered Winston towards Wordpress, and soon after, he started his own blog at nobodyasked.com. Over time, he developed a significant readership, as he would write quite lucidly about politics, humour, and the occassional geek talk.

Although our blogs covered different things in a different style (Winston called it “[spinning] in a slightly offset parallel universe” when describing my blog in his one-year anniversary post), we would check up on each other now and then.

During one of my last visits, I found out that Winston has died after a 38-hour illness and 3 surgeries. While I never really knew him in person, I still feel like someone close is gone.

And I wish I could explain why.

• I still know the words to the Lord’s Prayer and Amazing Grace, thanks to my years at Catholic School and UCC
• It’s not the words of the speaker that make us cry, it’s their own emotion. Therefore, humans are born with an innate sense of empathy.
• Old people like to pick at their faces
• The pastor may go on longer about their religion, than the person who passed away and their faith. This is more to comfort those in mourning, than about honouring the memory of the dead.
• Knowing someone for only a month before getting married can lead to over sixty years of marital bliss

I met her a few times. She was nice. Quiet. I was one of the more junior students and she would occasionally give me words of encouragement.

But what endeared her to me was the way she interacted with him. A comfortable familiarity, an unspoken bond they never overtly displayed in public but kept hidden between them, a secret they shared as if to reveal it was to spoil it.

Sometimes, they’d talk about their kids. They were getting older. Getting married. Moving out.

When they found the cancer in her body, he suspended classes immediately. He told us we could find new teachers with his blessing. I looked up their address and sent a basket filled with pâté and dipping oils. That was over a year ago.

And as much as I’d like to do something, anything to make him feel better — offer my condolences, tell him he has an ear — there isn’t anything I can do. Nothing will make up for his loss.

Our bond will remain unspoken too.

When I die, let there be no obituaries or announcements, for the ones who should know, would know.

Let there be a gathering instead of a funeral, where my friends can relax and speak what they wish.

Let the dress be casual, for no one should be anything but themselves around me.

Let there be mention of my flaws, for there would be no truth or humanity without them.

Let there be humour and laughter, for I love these things in my life.

Let there be no religious service, for my life has been devoid of religion.

Let there be as much celebration of my life as there is mourning that it has ended.

Let everyone have a copy of Turn On The Bright Lights by which to remember me.

Let my ashes be scattered, for I hope to carve my name on hearts, not marble.

I wake up every day looking at Death, and you know what? He ain’t half bad.

—Doc Holliday, Wyatt Earp

Its not until you lose everything that you are free to do anything.

—Tyler Durden, Fight Club

I used to take pride in the fact that I felt like I could die satisfied any day. I was at a place in my life where I couldn’t ask for more, and there was a tremendous sense of overall satisfaction. I had everything that I deserved. After that, all I had left to experience, every fall morning caught or tear shed, was a bonus. Of course, the closest I had ever come to death was a minor case of pneumothorax, which I imagine is as fatal as pinching one’s skin between two Lego pieces while building the Death Star, so this feeling was never actually put to the test. I’m sure I’d feel differently if I ever came frighteningly close to the end of my life, although just how much remains a mystery.

Perhaps this grew from a cogent sense of frailty, perpetuated by all the stories of freak accidents echoed throughout the media. The student who impaled his heart on a number 2 pencil while trying to catch a football in the middle of class. The general who drowned in a pool of his own blood from a nosebleed on his wedding night. Even the president of the United States almost choked to death on a pretzel. To distance myself was the only way I could deal with it.

The problem, I’ve only recently discovered, was that this left me alienated and unattached. I have no dreams, nothing to live for. Not even a goal to work towards. During high-school, the goal was to get into a university. After university, the goal was to get a fulfilling job. After the job was the house. Now that I own a house, it feels like the rest of my life has been laid out in front of me. No risks, no surprises. I appreciate everything that I’ve been given, but it feels like it’s been a little too easy. Even my most significant goal was rather suddenly accomplished this year. As Logan Pearsall Smith once wrote in his book Afterthoughts, “How many of our daydreams would darken into nightmares if there seemed any danger of their coming true!”. A simultaneous fulfillment and dissatisfaction.

I presented this problem to Pat, and from his infinite wisdom (at 24, no less) I realized that one should never live for what might happen. Otherwise, a person would go crazy. Of course, to truly live this way, it doesn’t hurt to be a bit of a fatalist. Having this belief means that one can only do the best that they can, and to go means that it was meant to be.

For now, I’ve been keeping myself occupied, until I can figure out what I want in the last rest of my life. Blessed is the person who is too busy to worry in the daytime and too sleepy to worry at night. It’s only now that I’ve discovered that I need a few dreams to survive.

And I can only hope to never reach them.

The Awakening Series

1. Introduction
2. Cause
3. The Reborn Dreamer