So I called my 妈妈 today. Our family has little fanfare on this May Sunday of the year because Mum’s birthday is usually a few days away. So as convenience and pragmatism would have it, we do it all in one day - usually we’d celebrate Mother’s Day on her birthday as well. I think she liked that I called home just now.

To be confessional, I have been pretty absent minded about keeping the phone line busy with Mum in my years away from family. I was young and could not wait to be free. But the years away and the heart grew fond of even conversations subject to incessant nagging on the same issues she’s raised with me over the years. Marriage, career, money, children, the future… She pulled the familiar cord of, ‘I might be gone soon’-card.

To which, I teased her about how she is surrounded by tonic, herbs, nutritional supplements Dad and her have stored up over the years since retirement. And her 6 grandchildren who are giving her a lot of joy and a generally stress free life. I could be an idiot but I hate it that she always think she doesn’t have much more to live anymore. She spoke about the veteran local TV star, 黄文勇, who passed away at 60 and the fragility of life.

I assured her she will live a long life. With much faith. She hasn’t seen very much of the world, and I wouldn’t have it. I mean, it was only three years ago, that she saw snow for the first time in her life when I took Mum and Dad to Mount Bulla. I still have our family video of her playing like a kid, snowball fighting away with Dad. One of my best memories.

I know Mum is getting on in years and although she is healthy without broken bones or disease, I don’t have much time with her. As we parted, I assured her my poverty won’t stick around for too long. The work I am doing, though late in bloom, will pay off. I assured her it is not her fault that I discovered my passion for music much later in life. I am grateful I get to pursue this dream. I assured her this winter will be over in time to come. That when the days of sun and bloom awaken, we will find the spring and summer rain upon us. There are so many places she has yet to see. So many hours, weeks and months I want to take her to.

Stay young at heart, stay healthy, stay hopeful, Mum. I love you. Happy Mother’s Day.

Hum away, the motor of the bike lulls past the front of my door. Between this half moon shine and the lampshade, my fingers itch away, scratching about at the keyboard, tapping in a rhythm that only exists in my head. That distant roar fades while the overlapping crossfade of the anxious trams skids by, yearning a muffled scream. These quiet nights have either been a source of much grief or clarity. Tonight, this morning, is one of the latter. I can still hear cars flying by, whisking away like the crumble of the waves on a sun soaked beach. I wish for more sun. But for now I bask in what my imagination can call out. That image and light that I’ve saved past the solar hour of glory. I breathe slowly, intentionally, with gratitude. For strength to fight these monsters and battles of invisible adversaries. Hope is a place of strength and love is the fuel that propels that engine. Yet love as the common understanding does not live in this house I’ve been building. Love takes it’s toll on me, weighs me heavy upon these shoulders. I understand why. I have known these heavy plowshares and their sweeping pruning ways. My callouses are now my gloves and permanent armour. Love for the future, for the hope that this toil and trouble is worth all the mistakes and risks. Love, illusive, out of reach, but it has found me, guided me, fathered me. Better to love, than to be loved. To give, than to be given. To create than to be part of someone else’s dream. To create is to love. And all my primal instincts tell me, that is enough. Someday, someday, this will be. This will be.

I’m depressed. I woke up this morning with a head full of swag ideas. The first thing I did, was check on the render. And then hit the keyboard right into edit mode. An hour later, the video renders away while I go to my next compartment and knock about for some coffee. I am clockwork in this house. I haven’t left this house for more than anything the distance of a grocery food run. This part of the corner is a little dusty. Only because I have censored all my thoughts and placed them where they are out of sight. All day I walked about with a heavy head and a stiff neck. I know something is about when I feel this way. Like meds. As I walked back along the leafy shroud, I found myself admitting that I have locked my heart away. Am I walking as a zombie? Stupid MTV. So, this article hit me and switched on a light. Suicide by creativity. I know this is a touchy topic. The idea. The notion. The suggestion. But this really keeps me living. I found what I love and I am letting it kill me. That’s what I have been doing. I am more aware than I care to confess. What is there to live for? A lot of things are meaningless. So I seek death and as such I live. I guess I am not ‘cured’ of my depression. I just found something so bright that it is distracting enough. The tension is my fuel. My work saves away. I wait, with the smell of expired ginseng still good to keep me wide awake.