Easter Weekend

Feeling rather vulnerable. Still reading In the Devil's Garden and working toward reading about Renaissance architecture.

Mom's still sick, and resting in bed, while going through physical therapy three times a week. Going home this weekend to see how she's doing, and to make her food. Dealing with my mother is particularly difficult, as she seems to choke me with an invisible web of emotional obligations everytime I speak to her. Not to blame her though, in light of recent events: her father passed away this past summer, and just the beginning of this week, her god-father also left this world. I have never met my grandfather on my biological father's side, so mom's god-father was like a second grandfather to me. When mom and I were in Taipei, we would have big family dinners with their family all the time. In my last memory of him -I think he was around 70- he was still strong, wielding his dark wooden cane to discipline obnoxious grandkids. He had a good hand, and wrote beautiful calligraphy. He took a cup of jasmine tea and a piece of sweet Chinese sha chi ma cake for breakfast, and a stroll around the nearby park every morning. I went along on some of those morning walks, usually as the silent grandchild intimidated by the man who once ordered me off the dinner table for holding my chopsticks incorrectly.

Upsetting. Want to talk to somebody about personal frustrations, without burdening them with my problems. Someone not overly optimistic, not overly sympathetic; someone who is an ernest listener but realistic enough to tell me that such is the course of life. (Sincerest thanks to the wonderful person I talked to the other day, for your open ears and genuine support, and for everyone who cares.)

This state of mild sadness is nothing a hot bath, clean room and good chocolate can't fix.