'Bright Lights, Big City'

A lonely traveller in a big city, filled with blinding, bright lights.
Can he find his way?

I sat on the banks of the Shuangxi Creek. Cars, motorcycles and buses rushed back and forth in the background, as the MRT hovered on the sound of grinding steel over head. Their lights, streetlights, and a glimmer of moonlight reflected on the moving mirror in front of me. Who would have guessed that this creek, once a foul-smelling, rubbish-filled sewage canal, would today be my refuge for those few quietmoments to reflect on the events of this evening. The creek no longer smells, and instead of plastic bottles and bags, cranes and other fowl rested and played along its banks. How times change.

It drizzled as I left the house. The wind was chilling, like a harsh Autumn day in Europe, except this is Taiwan, a place I never thought could be so, so cold. I made my way to meet dad.

It all began the usual way: small talk over dinner, about this and that, a little walk thereafter, and soon it was time to go home again. To go our separate ways, to part. But this time it was different.

I said I needed to borrow the toilet, so we went upstairs to his dormitory. We sat down and chatted a bit more. Throughout the evening I had wondered whether 'now' was the right moment to talk to him, to really talk to him. And the opportunity presented itself as we sat in and discussed about how to move all these things out before year's end. A mess surrounded us. So I began...

"Before I leave I would like to talk about something. Now that you're retiring and seem to be planning to move back home, there are some things that we need to discuss. I hope we can talk about them, face them. You suddenly left without a reason, and now you want to move back suddenly, also without reason. Nobody knows or understands what you are doing, what you are thinking. I would like to know, I would like to undertand."

Silence

"Many things have changed since you suddenly left the house. You hurt many people, mum, brother, and me, but never did we have a chance to talk about any of this. And now you want to move back home, as if nothing ever happened. But many things did happen, many things have changed. We cannot simply pretend that things are the way as they used to be, we cannot pretend that this family is the same as they used to be. It is my hope we can talk about this all, discuss it, share together what has happened to us in the past few years. All the letters I wrote to you, you must have received and read them. You know, each letter takes me more than 10 hours to write, and I wrote in Mandarin so that you could understand them better. They express what I truly feel and would like to say. Nobody influenced me or forced me to write, I wrote them because that's what I want to tell. "

An awkward silence continued for many moments, to be only broken by dad showing me a pair of shoes and asking whether I could fit into them. I flatly said no. And he stood there, as I sat and fidgeted with my hands.

"You don't need to respond now, but I hope you will before you move back, because it is important. I don't want to blame, I don't want to accuse, for whatever you do or say, you are my dad. But I would like to know why, and I would like to hear from you. Think about it, you've not spoken or seen brother for over two years, you've alienated and blamed mum for everything that went wrong for the last couple of years...so who else have you got in this family to talk to besides me? Who else have you got in this world to talk about this all, but me?"

Silence.

Dad went into the bathroom. I thought I would cry from the bottled up emotions and the untimely release. I imagined that he may have retreated to the bathroom to collect himself, for he sure was in there a long time before he came out, and stood where he stood before, in the same frail-looking posture.

"You don't have anything to say? You don't want to talk about it all? Whatever you do, whatever you say, you are dad. But I hope we can have a peaceful resolution to all these problems, that perhaps you and me, or you , mum and me can sit together to talk, to really talk and settle somethings before you move back home. It's been over three years."

Silence.

We made our way downstairs, slowly towards the bus stop. As we took the lift, he turned away from me. I looked at him, looked at his reflection in the mirrored lift interior. For probably the first time yet, I noticed I've grown taller than him, I noticed that I'm 'one head' taller in height. I looked at the back of his head...still the same haircut as I remember from before, but this time some white hairs exposed themselves and the signs of aging. We walked towards the bus stop, slowly, as cars, motorcycles and taxis sped past us. The streetlights cast a yellow glow on everything. The night air was cold and dry.

We stood by the bus stop. Though around us the traffic growled and sped us by, there was silence. Dad stood next to me, I could just about reach him, if I reached out I could really touch him. Touch him.

A rubbish-filled tricycle suddenly apeared in front of us and labourously crawled before our eyes and then disappeared again. How symbolic! A remnant of the past, going past. I stole a peek at my dad's face... a dark, dry face, masked by so many things unsaid, so many emotions unexpressed, and overshadowed by the years of misery and pain he's be toiling in. The arguments with mum I've grown up with, the years of bottled up frustrations and binge-gmbling in Holland, the slow but sure alienation fom the rest of the family from the day he moved back to Taiwan to work and live alone, the many things he did behind our backs and lies he told to cover them up, the many more arguments, accusations, and then suddenly leaving the house... etcetra, etcetra, etcetra...

Suddenly he blurted out: ' What goes on between me and mum shouldn't affect you...'

"But it does. You think this is just between you two, but it's not. Brother probably does not care anymore, but I do. I want all of us to be happy, to be free from all this burden that's been troubling us because nobody wants to face and deal with it all. All that's been going on the past few years is not just hurting me, but hurting especially mum, brother, Big Aunt, relatives, friends.... How can we face..."

I trailed off before I could muster any more words, or perhaps the courage, to finish the sentence. Tears wallowed. I swallowed deeply. And the silence continued.

Silence, this time broken by dad asking me about what I'm going to study for my Masters. I flatly replied to his questions, knowingly aware that he is trying to divert attention from the topic. Just then, the bus I needed sped past. 'Shame, now we have to wait a long time', dad said.

"Waiting already for three years, what is a few minutes ?"

Silence.
Silence.
Silence.

"You don't need to say anything now, but I hope before you come back home, you will. We all more or less have an idea what happened and what you've been up to. Even Big Aunt confirmed this. I don't want to blame, I don't want to accuse, for whatever you do or say, you are my dad, like I've repeated so many times in the past. And I am grateful for all that you have done since the day I was born till now to provide for me, to provide for my education and more. But I would like to know why, and I would like to hear from you."

More tears wallowed in my eyes. I sniffed. By this time, he seemed to have been shaken by the fact that I was alluding to his highly-likely affair. He folded his arms, but his faced still showed this blank and hurt expression. Ironically, a mother and a girl of around five walked past us. I noticed dad looking at them, as if he had just seem people he knows from somewhere.

'So does mum not want me back?', dad asked

"That's not the point . Whether you come back or not, if things continue the way they are, nobody will be happy. You will not be happy, mum will not be happy, and there will be this awkward mood at home. You placed all this blame and accused her of this and that fault, but not everything is caused by just one person alone. And now you want to return just like that, as if nothing happened. What matters is that there are undealt problems, and we simply cannot allow them to continue like this. Ignoring them will not make them go away. Instead they will rot and be even more difficult to deal with."

Silence.
Silence.

In the distance, I saw the bus come again. It stopped in front of a traffic light. This gave me the opportunity to speak again, to conclude with a few final words...

"The bus is coming, and I am going. I hope you will think about what I've said to you tonight, and I hope we can soon talk about it. Please take care of yourself."

At that moment, I looked into his yellowish eyes... he stared blankly into the silence, into nothing. On the rims of his eyes, I seemed to see moisture forming. I swallowed more tears deep inside. As I boarded the bus, I looked back.

"Do take good care of yourself."

Dad stood there, eyes down. I waved goodbye, and he looked up, acknowledged my wave, and perhaps, also the words that express how very much I care about him and his wellbeing and happiness. As the bus doors closed, I looked beyond the tainted windows, to see the same frail man I was standing next to, the same man I stood so close to, close enough I could almost touch. And did I touch him? Dad stood there, even as the bus pulled away, and looked down.

I quickly sat down, closed my eyes.... closed the flood within...
My eye lashes were watered once again.
The world outside became a watery show about to fade.
My hands shook, and my teeth clattered for a while as the bus drove further and further away.

Then, with one hand buried in my hair, I thought about what had just happened.
Why cry?
Why be sad?
I've just dealt with something I've been wanting for many sleepless nights, and for many moments as I wandered the streets of big cities like a soulless ghost. And I did so without blame, without a grain of grudge. Sad I no longer was, neither was I rejoicing my little victory over my fears and worries. Instead, I felt a calm, a strange sensation of peace at last.

At last...

--

"Dus droog je tranen ook al heb je veel verdriet
Je kan treuren net als ik maar 't helpt ons niet
Droog je tranen ook al heb je veel verdriet
Het leven gaat door, je begint weer van voor
Er ligt vast wel iets moois in 't verschiet."
'Passie', Clouseau

[So dry your tears, even if you have much sorrow,
You can grief just like me, but it helps us not.
Dry your tears, even if you have much sorrow,
Life goes on, you begin once more,
There certainly is something beautiful in the past.]