Posts in category "Daily Life"

Amnesiac Weekends

My throat has devel­oped some­thing of a raspy tinge from talk­ing all week­end. I’ve nev­er had par­tic­u­lar­ly strong vocal chords. I told myself I’d speak as lit­tle as pos­si­ble today; we’ll see how long that lasts. Maybe I can drink some hon­ey tea instead.

It was­n’t so much that I over­booked myself as plans going on for much longer than expect­ed. Which pret­ty much means I did­n’t get any work done, so I won’t be going to Toronto next week­end so I can catch up. Not that I real­ly want to any­more, as the last two days have left me feel­ing over­stim­u­lat­ed and sat­is­fied. Anyway, Dan took a quick look at my chart for this month (on his own ini­tia­tive) and told me not to do any­thing big on the 15th and 16th because it’s “risky”. I nev­er let my horo­scope deter­mine what I do, but maybe this is the way the uni­verse tells me to stay home.

I did­n’t even have time to do my week­ly gro­cery shop­ping. I’m eat­ing stale bread and canned soups today.

The best part of the week­end was hav­ing an excuse to use the Numi Dancing Leaves teabuds and teapot that Louise bought me last Christmas, some­thing I’d been sav­ing for spe­cial occa­sions. Amazingly, I got three full steeps — which trans­lates into six cups — out of one Golden Jasmine bud.

Those things I had been try­ing to for­get got lost some­where in the before I even real­ized it. Isn’t that what for­get­ting is about?

Sometimes I need these week­ends. They recharge me, they give me hope, when hope is so fleet­ing.

I’m try­ing to ride that feel­ing, and let it car­ry me for­ward.

Leaving Grandma

Grandma’s kids are lined up to vis­it over the next few months, each stay­ing with her a few weeks at a time. An uncle flew in a few days before my dad and I left, and anoth­er aunt has arrived since.

Grandma says the house will be emp­ty when my uncle leaves, com­plete­ly for­get­ting that my aunt who’s already there has giv­en up her life to be with her indef­i­nite­ly. We joke that she’s just anoth­er maid to grand­ma now. Her mem­o­ry remains patchy; some­times she’s lucid, some­times she’s lost.

I won­der if she’ll even remem­ber if I was here.

Leaving was hard. My aunt hugged me long, told me she’d miss me through the lump in her throat, and prompt­ly went to the bed­room to com­pose her­self. Knowing it was the last time I was going to see her, I hugged and kissed my grand­ma as much as I could. It was an effort not to cry. Even the maid wiped a tear from her eye with the back of her hand, but none of the oth­er men did, and I won­der if they would have, had they not been in the pres­ence of oth­er men.

As we were leav­ing, she hand­ed me a red enve­lope, and told us to vis­it her again soon. It was a relief to know that she’s still uncon­scious of her ter­mi­nal con­di­tion, but the reminder that I would nev­er see her again broke my heart.

What a strange feel­ing it is to know that she’s still alive on the oth­er side of the world, while I’m here, unable to be with her. For now, I’m hap­py and relieved that I had the chance to express myself to her, and film her, and cap­ture her image.

Here, Scared

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.