My Grandfather

My mother's father, which I guess would make him my Grandfather, passed away on January 9th, 2012.

Honestly, I wasn't close to him in any sense of the word. In fact, I can probably count how many times I have seen or spoken to him with just one hand. I'm not very close to anyone in my either of my extended families. While I might have looked up to a cousin or two back in the days when my thumbs blistered from trying to hadoken on Street Fighter II, to me it has always been my nuclear family against the world. A "I'm sorry for your loss" or "Are you okay?" really is not in order here. There arn't any flowery adjectives or metaphors that try too hard to be humorous in my words to hide behind because there just isn't much emotion to disguise. There's only disconnection. I can't even say whether he had a good life or not-- because I don't know. There's just a looming fear of major life events taking place. Birth. marriage. Death. But where is the adventure?

On a more joyous note, my sister who is four years senior, is getting married. As delightful as this development is, somehow it just adds more anxiety to someone working a full-time job who doesn't feel (or look, for that matter) a day older than fifteen-- a man-child struggling with adulthood.

I'll never get to say goodbye to my Grandfather. With all the family values-- what should and what shouldn't be-- ingrained in our minds, the sentence sounds much more sentimental, more impactful than it really is. If he sat next to me, Nu'er-Hong (Chinese Wine) in hand, I'm not really sure what I would say. I'm sure he would sit there with a smirk, thinking about all the things that I've yet to learn and accept. The man lived to be 100. I just know that I would thank him for giving birth to my Mother.

Earlier tonight, I spoke to my Mother for the first time since I found out he passed away. This is the woman who always seems to know what I'm thinking. The woman who with a singular glare could stop any words of protest from coming out of my mouth. The woman who I inherited my exceedingly good looks from. The woman who I will lose too, some day.

It was a mere three minute conversation. Suddenly the Alan Lin who could talk someone's face off at will became the little boy who couldn't form any words. It was like trying to wake up Snorlax without a PokeFlute... No can do, baby-doll. My Mandarin became even worse than usual, and nothing came out right. All I could muster was something along the lines of "We are here for you" and "stay strong"-- all the things that no one really wants to hear. I realized that there wasn't much to say. Sometimes words (especially when you are at a loss of them) won't do the trick. This seems to be a reoccurring theme of late. I can't begin to comfort those that I care for because I'm not there.

She sounded rushed and winded. The rhythm to her voice and the way she was breathing was unsteady. I can tell that her mind is at so many places at once because it was as if she had to remind herself that she was on the phone with me. It's disheartening because she's trying to give off the impression that everything is business as usual when in fact, my presence is just another place that she had to be. I didn't realize that this was her father when I never felt like I had a grandfather. This is the man who fed and raised her to be the woman that I love.

I guess that's the funny thing about family. We're all connected by the same tendencies, traits and deficiencies in the blood flowing through our veins. We're manifestations of history. Through our breaths, maybe all those who were once loved continue to breathe. I'd like to believe in this. I really would.

阿公安息
懇請阿彌陀佛接引林火土先生到西方極樂世界