Taking a Break

October 27, 2024

             My body and mind are recovering from a violent gastric virus. It started with my spouse getting it two Fridays ago, and two days later I followed. I’m not going to describe it for even thinking about it makes my head reel. Too close to it yet.

He recovered faster though still feels drained at times. I am taking longer.

It disturbed my balance, and what I thought the rest of the year, or at least October would look and feel like. I had thought I might slip into finally doing the things I felt I had missed out on during this turbulent and windy year that pulled my inner boat off any courses I had set for myself. Currents pulling away and out, which I fought hard for a while to get back on course.

The illness further added to the feeling of being blown off course by winds and currents and now it seems the better course is to go with the winds and currents. 

And I feel a blankness, an inability to reclaim the structures from my life anyway. They feel meaningless, alien. Which makes me wonder that perhaps they are no longer the ones I need. Nothing makes sense — the things I hate or the things I love or the things that help relax. Nothing makes sense.

Sunk deeper into the darkness. 

And the reason I write this blog are no longer clear. I have felt my writing unauthentic for a while, but I thought I would find the genuine voice and self again. Perhaps, or of course, I will but not anytime soon I am sure. 

So, taking a break from blogging. Doing it while not knowing why I do it, does not make sense. Thank you to some of you who have read and responded. It always feels nice to know you have been heard. 

But the forces I sense are telling me to be quiet and 'unheard', for a bit. I’m sure you know times in your own life when you’ve felt this. It feels a bit sad. A bit scary. A bit isolating but the ‘world’ is really never far away. 

Back to the Before…

October 16, 2024

            Two days after I returned to Singapore the helper we had found for my mother quit. My sister didn’t tell me until the weekend was over, so I spent the weekend trying to recover from the sense of not knowing who I was and trying to find my way back to my life and dreams.

            I walked in the hill park, trained, sketched, read, though I couldn’t find myself back into the writing space yet. That is still all a jumble, and I guess it requires a slowing down or a change in the way I do and view things.

On Monday when my sister told me the helper quit any sense of feeling that this trip had been worthwhile disappeared, and I fell down a rabbit hole of anger and fear that shook apart any wholeness I had achieved over the weekend of doing things I thought would return me to myself. 

You think things will go one way but they have their own agenda. I know in writing this sentence I reveal a lack of control or agency. 

            For two days my sister reverted to the person she had been before I had gone, the one I would constantly be in a war with. Our calls ended with a sense of tension. But I think the trip had shifted something for me —I could step back from my own thoughts and reactions and try to step into her shoes, and through the day I found myself calling her back at odd times to say this or that and it made such a difference. 

            I am in limbo. But where else would I be?

            I dreamt of being on a boat between places. I didn’t know where I had embarked and where I would be getting off. It is what I call a transition dream but normally I am on airplanes or at airports, or on trains and train stations, in these dreams. Being on a boat is different. 

            It has the sense of slowness, the sense of luxury, as also a sense of intense fear — after all slaves were transported in the holds of boats in the most disgusting conditions from Africa to America and there was nothing slow, luxurious, or enjoyable about that. People died or were blinded or permanently maimed on these journeys. 

            Part of me thinks that I should go back to Bombay. My mind is there anyway and no amount of trying to relax here is working anymore. At least I’ll be useful there. 

            There is another part though that still feels I need to be here. Not sure why. That this is not the time to be there. Not sure why. 

I do need to plan a longer trip to settle things in Bombay but first I need to settle things within me. Things that have felt unsettled since the year began. These are not material things, or visible events, but things internal that when so off true north put me in a state of unbearable unease. 

            This self-examination, this seeing who I am in this world where I disagree with more things than I agree with is intensely needed. I need to have a map of myself again.

            If what I am writing is not making sense, then it simply means that I haven’t been able to explain it to myself well enough and so cannot express it well on paper. Maybe understanding and expression will evolve as time moves on.

Towards the End of the Trip

October 7, 2024

I’m reaching the end of my trip. On most trips here on the last days I am sad to leave and wish I had a few more days. On my February trip though I couldn’t leave fast enough and even the last day felt too much. This time I am sad to leave but not desperate to leave, and I have no desire to stay. 

            Until yesterday I felt the trip was a waste but suddenly all three of us felt something shift at teatime yesterday, something very heavy and dense lifted and our moods were lighter and hopeful, even though mom’s left ankle and calves, and knee had swollen up. There was a sense of accomplishment or completion though not much has been accomplished or completed. At the most I can say that the point we have reached is that of lowered confusion; we have a good ortho, and are able to figure out what might help her. 

            I can’t yet see the path that got us here — from the apprehension I felt while flying in, to the cheer between us all; from the pained, shrunken, person, I saw on the first day to the Mom who pushes herself up from her bed without help and walks more steps on her good days. 

            Mom and I fought a lot. Even yesterday morning we had a bitter fight in which I huffed off. I felt her language was that of victimhood and of ‘dis-ease’. She felt no agency but would say things like her health condition prevented this or that. As I tried to shift it, she got more stubborn about it and stuck to identifying with being unwell — and yesterday wasn’t even one of her bad days. I had to meditate and then walk around until noon, when I go help her stretch and put on a cold pack after, to feel calmer. I also watched the garden — crows were chasing the kite who was waddling and looking for twigs on the ground but when it turned around the crows scattered. A cat appeared once the sun was higher and the birds and hidden away. It groomed itself lying partially in the shade of large yellow-orange flowers. Each garden vision made me smile. 

I guess on this trip I learnt to communicate in ways Mom would listen — humour and even at times mimicking her actually helped. My sister and I fought less than ever. She began enjoying the exercises I used to try to get her to do in the past but never had succeeded. I understood Mom has good days, medium days, and really bad days — and sometimes all of them on the same day. On bad days she can barely raise her left arm and is super cranky, on good days she feels hopeful of getting back to the old normal though she can’t do most things that she could do just in February. On bad days I would never force her to exercise, though I did force on her a very light massage, and gentlest of movement and stretching. As the days passed, she agreed that it didn’t increase the pain and helped loosen some of the stiffness.

            In some ways my presence was essential in getting here. I too, like them both, was a lazy person until my karate dream got me involved on this journey where I understood my body and its limits better. I understood more about the bone and musculature supports of the body when I trained vigorously. I learnt self-massage on points of pain, and this helped me to massage out her knots. I know how muscular pain goes up and down and I know the difference between the pain of pinched nerves, a fracture, or just sore muscles after weight training.

            All this is unknown to them.

            I am weary though and I think it comes through in this writing. I feel bereft and very far from my own life and dreams and unsure how I will find my way back. I am scared that I might never because the effort might be too exhausting. I guess I have to go the way of doing without doing and waiting without trying. That’s something I have forgotten how to do.

            I know though that the counting of days until I leave wasn’t about desperation to leave but about the feeling that I need to be elsewhere. That feels like a ‘truth’ for my Self.

Storms and the Calm After

October 2, 2024

            It’s a Saturday and I am sitting in my bedroom, which used to be my dad’s study and mom’s bedroom after he passed on. I like that it is mine now. The paneling is peeling and so is the green paint, but it is the coziest room in the house. It is the smallest and I have placed lamps all over the room and at night the room is lit in a gentle light from the lamps which relaxes me.

            It’s noisy this morning — traffic, construction, and a kite that may or may not be old squealer. S/he exhibits the same behaviors and squealing as squealer from my Jan visit. I still don’t know why I am so obsessed with him/her and why I project a personality into him/her. It does bring lightness into the days here.

            Yesterday mom refused to eat her protein biscuits at tea. They are thin biscuits, and she only has to have four a day. After two days of eating them, she exclaimed, ‘Biscuit holiday,’ and ate another snack. I asked my sis for support and she sided with mom. I yelled, both said something in a condescending tone, and I said, whatever, and left the room.

            I sat in my bedroom and drew and made notes. I drew two pages on different sides on a page in my A6 and wrote my sister’s name on one and me on another. I then drew a page in the centre with both our names and a question mark. I drew scales with the words empathy and compassion on one side, and pushing through and discipline on the other. I said I tilt towards the latter and called myself stern. I said my sister tilts towards the former and called her coddler. 

            My sister came into my room to try to patch things up. A first for her. Normally she waits until I make a move. My anger was huge and I couldn’t re-concile. 

Earlier that day we had fought. I was helping mom wear a belt-harness. She had asked me to pull out her older ones and air them so we could see if they might help her stay straight while walking. My sis had walked in on this scene and begun yelling, ‘Stop it. She can’t do it. Look at her face.’

            I had said, ‘I am just trying. You talk as if I torture her. She asked me to see if I would help, but do it your way.’

            That argument had ended when we had held up mom and taken her for her first round of the day and then helped settle her in bed. I felt remorseful as I could see that attempt had increased her pain considerably. 

            So, there was tension and difference already building up since noon and yesterday evening I told my sis I would handle talking to mom when I was less annoyed. ‘Let us both cool off,’ I said, and she went off to do some chores.

After a bit more drawing, I went to my mom and told her gently about the biscuits and what the doc had said. She said what she ate had the same nutrients. I got angry walked out, walked back in and said, ‘I challenge you to say that to the doctor.’

            She went silent, then stuck her head out and waved her hand and said, ‘I challenge you…’ and we both began laughing. 

            But of course it didn’t end there. I asked her when she will do her round of walking — we had decided she’s start with a few and slowly build up, three times a day. She said, no to the walk and added, ‘Once the new meds work, I will be able to exercise.’

 There was a difficult conversation to be had as I felt a need to remind her that the doc had said clearly that only the meds will do nothing, she must exercise, walk, and eat right too. She sulked. 

            I left the room and went back to mine, muttering under my breath. Then went out to look for my sis. I found her with mom. I pulled her aside and told her that mom was back to expecting the meds to create a miracle. She frowned and asked mom when she would do her next walk. 

            Mom, huffed off, feeling persecuted I am guessing. While my sis and I were chatting softly about her, she suddenly passed us with her walker. Normally she needs help to get it out as it is wedged in a corner. She ignored us and took a half round down the long corridor. 

            I guess that storm passed and for a bit my sis and I were on the same page.

            But I couldn’t let it go. I didn’t understand my anger. I know it partially came from worry, now as I was more than half way through my trip, but I had been gentle and allowed her to drop out some exercises when she said she was in pain. Why had ‘biscuit holiday’ bugged me so much?

            Only late at night when everyone was asleep, and I was dropping off after reading a few pages of Maya Angelou, I realized that while I was willing to understand days when pain would keep her from exercising, I couldn’t understand her lack of commitment to her healing when it came to consuming four thin biscuits.

            There is probably more beneath this simple explanation but right now I am not sure what. I am wondering if my time here is useful in the way my sis wanted it to be. I worry how she will cope once I leave. 

Before this entire experience I used to think that I was probably a selfish person and would not be able to dedicate my days to taking care of someone. I am glad to see I was wrong about myself. Yet a lot of growth is needed in the direction of selfless care for another, or is it also true that being aware of the needs of me as a care-giver will in fact make long term care easier? 

            Again, I guess each one finds, their own path.  

            Squealer 2 is making a racket outside, even more than squealer used to make. I don't know what his/her problem is.

Bombay —Day Four

October 2, 2024

             There is a blankness I often feel when I am in Bombay, though sometimes sitting in the green balcony with the pale coral pink sofa and chairs, and the plants, often counters it. When we were younger, my sister and me, and my brother I guess, used to spend Sunday lunch here chomping down fried potatoe toasts and a cheesy crumb salad with dark green lettuce. I don’t remember what dessert we had after. 

I arrived here late Saturday. Our flight had to detour over Sri Lanka to avoid some turbulent weather and it added one hour to the flying time. Before I boarded, I went into a bit of a frenzy looking for an A6 book to chronicle my journey here and back. The frenzy had begun Friday and I felt desperate — like the book would save me from the anxiety I was feeling about the journey. By sketching and doodling I would survive the trip. I found a Midori blank book at WH Smith and added two juice-up pilot gel pens and felt content. Not sure why I couldn’t chronicle my journey in my regular journal. 

But it’s been nice to have this little book always by my side, to draw and write impressions and feelings and look through. 

As also usual it feels like so much has happened, and nothing has happened. 

As so many of us do, we send messages to each other while travelling, like — landed, through immi, got luggage, got cab, etc. Our text messages, my sister’s and mine, this time didn’t have the usual exuberances. The normal yay’s were replaced by ok’s and this continued all the way until I reached my Bombay home. My apprehension grew, but now that I was in the moment and the anxiety was a pained memory, there was relief too. That’s how it is when the thing I fear gets right in my face, and I am living it rather than worrying about it. 

And as soon as we sat for a short chat before I showered and settled, the closed faces and language shifted — to the normal pleasant feeling of being together. We spoke mostly of mom and over the next days of other things that needed addressing. 

Mom looked frail when I saw her at breakfast the next day but her arm was less bony than the picture my sister had sent me a few weeks ago. I could tell she had brain fog, that her normally sharp mind was dull and somewhere else. Pain does that to me, and I recognized it and named it and she was happy that someone had. She was in severe pain that day and she drifted through the day with several naps which scared me. I almost wondered if mom was slipping away in some way, depressed and hopeless. 

Perhaps she is but I see sudden spikes of joy and hope and her silly humour. 

I always eat a lot on my first day in Bombay and I had a severe gastric attack Sunday night, and my own brain fog on Monday, but I began my exercises with mom that morning and she could actually do more than I had imagined though less than she should be able to do. That evening I sat with her session with the physio and there too she pushed herself and both the physio and I were pleased. 

My sister had also requested help to get her into an exercise routine and that one was a disaster! She was unfit, stiff, and un-coordinated. After that first session we haven’t done another, and I am internally arguing about whether I should push her or let her take responsibility for herself. 

I push mom but the age makes that a necessity. 

Luckily our, my sister’s and my, relating has not been a disaster but a slow unravelling of many misunderstandings and projections and me realizing how frightened and overwhelmed she’s been. My mom plays her, which doesn’t work with me, and my sister saw that too exclaiming that, ‘Mom, makes a fool of me.’

Yesterday the orthopedic doc made a first visit. I pushed them to get in touch. He came in a jazzy red and black BMW, wearing pants the shade of purple with a blue striped shirt and a multi-colored tie. At first I wasn’t sure I liked him as he didn’t speak to mom but asked my sister and me about her. But he was very competent, he supported every single viewpoint I had over the things my sister and I were arguing about. I mean I didn’t bring them up; he just observed and said the things I had been saying. About walking more, about pushing the stiff joints beyond the pain, about some tests, about some special protein biscuits. He also read the family dynamics well, observed my sister was soft on mom while I pushed her and ticked off mom to try harder. 

Magically any little remnant of our fights over the previous months disappeared. I am grateful they did. I am guessing my sister saw that I only had mom’s best interests when I pushed certain viewpoints. But I am not even half way through the trip and I am not fooling myself that there isn’t potential for more conflict. 

As for me. I am counting the days to return and feeling guilty about it. The time I spend with mom and with my sister is good and I feel present and pleased but there is an exhaustion that comes over me here. This time there is a busyness between exercises for mom, and doc visits, and hot and cold packs, and there hasn't been time to contact anyone. But without that too, here my world shrinks and I feel a huge emptiness. I still haven’t figured out how to keep my life going — my creativity, productivity, and training while I am here, and until I do I fear planning a long visit. And I know there are long visits in the near future for many reasons.

It feels too exhausting to deal with everything that happens — like a shower that trickles and a tap that leaks after you shut it, musty smells, and clothes that never dry, and gastric upsets, and lack of sleep—and be there for mom and get on with life. 

For now, I am just chronicling that emptiness I feel in my little Midori book, along with all the precious moments, and maybe one day I might know the emptiness better. For it is not the emptiness of loneliness or boredom, as I am always surrounded by people and the schedule is overfilled with things to get done — it feels deeper, more visceral, perhaps even to do with childhood or times in my cradle. 

I just feel a huge hole. I’m glad I don’t have it today, but I did yesterday. And I am glad I have this A6 pictorial exploration of it. Easier to look through this than wade through pages of text when I have some distance from it all and want to process stuff.