August 2, 2020
All for One
Not the kind of news I desired to hear. Not the type of travel I wanted to make. Even without COVID.
At 8:20 PM Wednesday July 1 I got a message from my brother in Taiwan to call Ama because she's feeling weak. Of course, straight away. But it's 11:20 AM over there, auntie would have gone to the office already, I wouldn't be able to do a video call since uncle rarely turned on his smart device. Grandma had trouble hearing me on a regular telephone. Let me try the analog line anyway.
"Ama cannot talk to you," uncle replied, "her mind is blurry." I've heard that before when she was diagnosed with shingles almost two years ago and under heavy medication to numb the pain. I squinted as I set my alarm for 4:30 AM (7:30 PM uncle's time) to catch auntie and speak to grandma before her bedtime. Squinting probably relieved as much pressure from the stye that appeared on my upper left eyelid a couple days ago as tying a string around my middle fingers.
The string tying cure is an Asian superstition a friend of mine swore by with proven efficacy in their household. I was game to practice this religion if it'll vanquish the pimple overnight. Any color thread and two loops on the fingers to make it secure and tie it as soon as the swelling appears she claimed. Since the red bump seemed to make more frequent reappearances the past year and I was always late to the tying train, I thought I could do better - make thread rings and wear them on my middle digits to stop the sore lump from showing up in the first place. The embroidery bands I've been wearing for a month prevented nothing and my next best practice was a hot compress.
Jackson's text came two minutes before my alarm went off.
"Ama is in hospital now waiting for a bed. She's had a shot and blood transfusion. She also had a fever but is doing better and is more responsive than before."
I needed more info but my calls to auntie's cellphone went unanswered - busy at the hospital. It's their evening, I'd have to wait until their morning to catch auntie. Going from self-independence and riding her bike everywhere at ninety-five years of age to limited freedom and movements and under the care of her sons, grandma's health had not been the same since her first fall eight years ago. Would she be okay this time? I looked up travel regulations in Taiwan.
Around 8:00 PM I got to speak to auntie at work.
"Ama can no longer sit up on her own half a month ago, doesn't say much and couldn't eat much. She has been drinking from a straw, but last night, she couldn't even drink. We got her to ER, still waiting for a bed, she's too weak, some sort of infection in the blood, on respirator, wouldn't be able to talk to you. And only one person can check upon her at a time."
All sounded bad. I must see her at once, but how? With the mandatory 14-day quarantine and the high fines from 3,300 - 33,000 USD in violation penalty and a negative COVID-19 test prerequisite for boarding. I found no mention of exceptions for family emergency. My brother suggested trying the Taiwan trade office in LA to check whether the conditions are different for foreigners and citizens.
8:00 AM Friday July 3. The stye now big, feeding on news from overseas like steroid injections.
Jackson: "Ama is not in good shape. They will be taking her back to Tainan tomorrow. I will go as well and will give you a call from there. They found a bunch of things wrong with her - liver and stomach cancers, ulcers. Doctor cannot do anything for her."
Me: "What? How? Grandma is too old to have cancers!"
Jackson: "I don't know. Don't ask me."
Me: "That wasn't a question. How much time she has?"
Jackson: "Doctor estimates just days."
The Taipei economic & cultural office in LA was closed due to early observance of Independence Day. I dialed its emergency line. Officer Zhen instructed me to enter the country with a Taiwanese passport, eliminating the COVID test prerequisite, and said quarantine can be shortened to five days.
Me: "What if grandma doesn't have five days?"
Zhen: "Tell officers there your situation, they'll test you immediately. Then you can go out for one hour. They'll help you find a quarantine hotel. They have fully sanitized vehicles to drive you from Taipei to destination. Taiwan has a complete process, a whole package to deal with COVID and emergencies. They've done an outstanding job in this regard."
Me: "So all I have to do is to buy a ticket?
Zhen: "Yes."
Me: "Is there a minimum stay?"
Zhen: "No. Stay however long you like."
Her reassurance was everything I needed to hear to book a flight out at midnight to see grandma.
"Don't get your hopes up about them being extra lenient. The likelihood is too low because they are just so many rules," my brother expressed doubts. Doubts I had to ignore as I had to pack, take care of things before heading to airport, putting my friends on the same roller coaster ride. I was uncertain if I would be able to work while in quarantine in Taiwan, but I verified remote access regardless. Three IT groups took turns to help me resolve VPN connection issues on my laptop because Heaven forbid things to work when you are in the middle of a fire.
A mask and a pair of safety glasses too tight around my temples to stay on constituted my protection gear for the trip. In comparison to the hazmat suit travelers, I felt way underdressed.
At 8:20 PM Wednesday July 1 I got a message from my brother in Taiwan to call Ama because she's feeling weak. Of course, straight away. But it's 11:20 AM over there, auntie would have gone to the office already, I wouldn't be able to do a video call since uncle rarely turned on his smart device. Grandma had trouble hearing me on a regular telephone. Let me try the analog line anyway.
"Ama cannot talk to you," uncle replied, "her mind is blurry." I've heard that before when she was diagnosed with shingles almost two years ago and under heavy medication to numb the pain. I squinted as I set my alarm for 4:30 AM (7:30 PM uncle's time) to catch auntie and speak to grandma before her bedtime. Squinting probably relieved as much pressure from the stye that appeared on my upper left eyelid a couple days ago as tying a string around my middle fingers.
The string tying cure is an Asian superstition a friend of mine swore by with proven efficacy in their household. I was game to practice this religion if it'll vanquish the pimple overnight. Any color thread and two loops on the fingers to make it secure and tie it as soon as the swelling appears she claimed. Since the red bump seemed to make more frequent reappearances the past year and I was always late to the tying train, I thought I could do better - make thread rings and wear them on my middle digits to stop the sore lump from showing up in the first place. The embroidery bands I've been wearing for a month prevented nothing and my next best practice was a hot compress.
Jackson's text came two minutes before my alarm went off.
"Ama is in hospital now waiting for a bed. She's had a shot and blood transfusion. She also had a fever but is doing better and is more responsive than before."
I needed more info but my calls to auntie's cellphone went unanswered - busy at the hospital. It's their evening, I'd have to wait until their morning to catch auntie. Going from self-independence and riding her bike everywhere at ninety-five years of age to limited freedom and movements and under the care of her sons, grandma's health had not been the same since her first fall eight years ago. Would she be okay this time? I looked up travel regulations in Taiwan.
Around 8:00 PM I got to speak to auntie at work.
"Ama can no longer sit up on her own half a month ago, doesn't say much and couldn't eat much. She has been drinking from a straw, but last night, she couldn't even drink. We got her to ER, still waiting for a bed, she's too weak, some sort of infection in the blood, on respirator, wouldn't be able to talk to you. And only one person can check upon her at a time."
All sounded bad. I must see her at once, but how? With the mandatory 14-day quarantine and the high fines from 3,300 - 33,000 USD in violation penalty and a negative COVID-19 test prerequisite for boarding. I found no mention of exceptions for family emergency. My brother suggested trying the Taiwan trade office in LA to check whether the conditions are different for foreigners and citizens.
8:00 AM Friday July 3. The stye now big, feeding on news from overseas like steroid injections.
Jackson: "Ama is not in good shape. They will be taking her back to Tainan tomorrow. I will go as well and will give you a call from there. They found a bunch of things wrong with her - liver and stomach cancers, ulcers. Doctor cannot do anything for her."
Me: "What? How? Grandma is too old to have cancers!"
Jackson: "I don't know. Don't ask me."
Me: "That wasn't a question. How much time she has?"
Jackson: "Doctor estimates just days."
The Taipei economic & cultural office in LA was closed due to early observance of Independence Day. I dialed its emergency line. Officer Zhen instructed me to enter the country with a Taiwanese passport, eliminating the COVID test prerequisite, and said quarantine can be shortened to five days.
Me: "What if grandma doesn't have five days?"
Zhen: "Tell officers there your situation, they'll test you immediately. Then you can go out for one hour. They'll help you find a quarantine hotel. They have fully sanitized vehicles to drive you from Taipei to destination. Taiwan has a complete process, a whole package to deal with COVID and emergencies. They've done an outstanding job in this regard."
Me: "So all I have to do is to buy a ticket?
Zhen: "Yes."
Me: "Is there a minimum stay?"
Zhen: "No. Stay however long you like."
Her reassurance was everything I needed to hear to book a flight out at midnight to see grandma.
"Don't get your hopes up about them being extra lenient. The likelihood is too low because they are just so many rules," my brother expressed doubts. Doubts I had to ignore as I had to pack, take care of things before heading to airport, putting my friends on the same roller coaster ride. I was uncertain if I would be able to work while in quarantine in Taiwan, but I verified remote access regardless. Three IT groups took turns to help me resolve VPN connection issues on my laptop because Heaven forbid things to work when you are in the middle of a fire.
A mask and a pair of safety glasses too tight around my temples to stay on constituted my protection gear for the trip. In comparison to the hazmat suit travelers, I felt way underdressed.
My wardrobe was no longer a concern when a video call came in from Jackson before boarding. Grandma was brought back to her home at the countryside in an ambulance earlier. The live stream showed a tiny figure all skin and bones, unconscious and rapid, shallow breathing. She did not have days. Can I make it? I was crying, telling her I'm coming, asking her to wait for me, if she can hear me. She let out a weak sigh, brother said to take that as a yes and ask no more as she's too frail to answer.
4:45 AM Sunday July 5. I landed in Taipei. Both of my eyes red from uncontrolled bouts of crying during the flight. Thanks to my naturally puffy epicanthic folds, as long as I don't blink or squint, no one should notice the red bump, now a two-yellow-headed monstrosity. Humidity wafted over me at the opening of the cabin door and kick started my eczema - small blisters forming on my right ring finger.
I walked up to the tourism representative who was onsite to help with finding quarantine hotels. "What is your household registration?" she asked. "I don't understand what you are asking. This is my grandma's address," I said.
The rep seemed to understand my level of comprehension and moved on to the listing she had. She only had info for one quarantine hotel in Tainan, the city nearest my grandma, which cost 4300 NT (146 USD) a night, a ransom for the south. Another place she called for me to get their assistance was telling me in her barely awake voice that I can't ask them to help on the day - had to be in advance; they can't help. The smooth picture Officer Zhen painted me back in LA was starting to fall apart.
There was no one at the airport to listen to my urgency, no one to test me right away and let me go anywhere for one hour. What I had to do was to enter an address in the Health Declaration of Quarantine System for Entry before I was allowed to go through immigration. Once entered, I cannot change location, I must stay there for the entire 14 days. I would be detained and fined if I went to the airport before completing the sentence. I also cannot stay at a house where there are people who are 65 or older or kids under 6. My grandma was about to go to the light any second, did it matter if I stayed with her?
Jackson searched high and low and found a bulletin on bereavement visits on Taiwan Centers for Disease Control website, which stated the one-hour free movement was permitted with a negative COVID test after five days of quarantine. Factoring in the regulations, accommodation and transportation costs, we decided that it's best for me to stay at the family cottage in Kaohsiung. It's one-hour drive to Ama's place and the fridge was already loaded with enough groceries to feed a small family for two weeks and I could have the whole place to myself.
With the paperwork and the lines, it was twenty minutes after seven before I was on my way south. The fully sanitized vehicle means they spray you below the face and all your luggage with disinfectant prior to entering the taxi. They are not free but at a fixed rate subsidized by government. My 3-hour ride from Taipei to destination was 2,660 NT (90 USD) instead of over 10,000 NT.
Huge headache I got - could be from all the bureaucracy, or from wearing the facial covering for 21+ hours from airport to aircraft and taxi rides, the lack of sleep, or all of the above. Still, I called the quarantine hotline to give them a number of an extra local cellphone my family had, and turned on my laptop, checking photos I have of Ama per relatives' request. Two wasps buzzing around me, keeping me company.
Me: "Looks like the only good photos I have of Ama are the ones you took of us. I just emailed them to you. Most have reflection from her eyeglasses. If you give me sketch pencils and paper (the size that they want for framing,) I can draw her."
Jackson: "We'll leave paper and pencils at the door steps. The ceremonial will blow up the drawing."
Me: "You heard any updates on Ama's condition today?"
Jackson: "The same."
Around quarter to two in the afternoon, I received a call from a district official who was to be my case manager tracking my whereabouts and any occurrence of flu-like symptoms during confinement.
Me: "Why you call my US cellphone?"
Manager: "What? Why did you leave a US number? I'm calling international? How much is this costing me?"
Me: "I didn't have a local number this morning. I can call you back from the new number."
She couldn't hang up fast enough.
Manager: "You have to message or call me daily before 8:00 AM to inform me you are okay."
Me: "Got it. I'm here to see my grandma, she doesn't have much time left."
Manager: "Can I check for you tomorrow? I'm off work already."
Really? I had not expected this kind of casual treatment from the district personnel especially in the south.
Two and half hours later my brother called when I was about to drift off to tell me Ama passed away. Dazed, I wondered if I was dreaming, "what?" I said. He repeated. I paused for a minute to grasp the news. I was quiet, then I said okay and let him go.
Angry I was at the local authorities and their stupid rules for wasting the precious hours I could have spent with Ama in her last moments. I messaged the clocked out manager about my grandma's departure to express my feelings on her timely help. She rang me three minutes later with info from the Health Bureau on application for the free movement during quarantine. Info that was good for the funeral and nothing else now.
The 90+ F heat, mugginess, and warm water shower did little to lift my fatigue. I stared at my left eyelid in the mirror with my head tilted back. Never mind about the hot compress. I fetched my travel bag and took a lancet to the mutant stye. Then I slept under air conditioning. But only for about three hours before getting woken up by the police.
Either the phone I got was defective or the reception poor as there were messages time stamped at 9:30 PM saying I went out of quarantine home and a missed call. The first call was at 10:04 PM, presumably onsite when the bell failed to sound and I was too tired to hear anyone knocking. The second call from the station brought me back to consciousness. I had to explain that I was sleeping and that there was nothing around and nowhere to go in the vicinity. The policeman jotted down some notes and reminded me to stay put.
To think this binding contract I entered on landing couldn't get worse, the next day I learned that they didn't count yesterday, the arrival day, as the first day. And the 1-hour outside allowance after five days is not daily; it's one time for the two weeks. The cherry on top: The COVID test would cost 7-8,000 NT (233-267 USD) out of pocket, a hefty sum by Taiwanese standard for a simple throat swab.
I picked up the A4 paper and regular pencils and began sketching. Even though my relatives said they would use something else instead just before I shut my eyes yesterday, I had to steer my focus elsewhere, away from the regulations and government employees. Drawing Ama was it and for in case that something else didn't pan out.
Sometime in the afternoon, mom called from the countryside to ask if I could still make the portrait. I guessed they wanted to let me grieve but weren't able to find any suitable images of grandma for the funeral. I was working continuously, getting up only for food, bathroom, to stretch my hands, or to let the wasps out of the room when they persistently flapped their wings right next to me.
By five o'clock, I had something to get feedback on. If relatives were onboard with the direction I was going with - mouth closed with a slight smile and no eyeglasses since Ama didn't wear them often.
The review committee wanted glasses was the word.
My waking hours were in disorder due to jet lag, but I was able to see the text when the phone beeped this time at 9:31PM. It's the same message that screamed I had left home followed by an unanswered call. The phone didn't even ring. What the voodoo? Is this going to be a nightly ritual?
Leaning back on my bed, I pressed the most recent log entry on the flat screen. As politely as I could, I told the officer on duty the signal was no good where I was and that the same thing happened previous evening at the same time. He said his hands were tied and that they were obligated to come inspect when they received the notification.
Except no show one and half hours later. When I called the policeman back to ask if they were still coming, he said he checked with someone mighty, so didn't have to come. I waited up with my brother on standby as I would need to buzz them in at the gate, otherwise they couldn't get in. He didn't even call to tell me they were not coming.
For the subsequent nights my eyes were locked on the possessed phone at voodoo o'clock. Maybe the signal improved with the mobile device out of the case per Jackson's suggestion as the 9:30 PM warning stopped. I was able to concentrate on the task at hand. God knows I couldn't afford teardrops or other distractions because another request came in hot from my relatives.
Jackson: "They want a colored portrait. They thought you were going to color on top of the sketch."
Me: "Really? I did all the shading for the face already, can't add color on top."
Jackson: "You can't paint it?"
Me: "Can't paint on A4, it's too thin."
Jackson: "I can go buy paper and paint."
Me: "I can't start over. It takes a long time. Can try scanning and printing a really light copy and I do color pencils on top."
I sent him a photo of what I got and like Superman, my secretary was at the door a minute later with three copies of the portrait in different shades of gray and a box of colored pencils. Too fast to notice missing hues in his kid's art supplies. No graphite pencils or sketch paper for the black and white version, no problem, I made do. But neon yellow and bright pink for skin tones? I had to dispatch Superman to the store to acquire a new set.
Steady I held my hand, gliding the leads ever so lightly across the sheet, back and forth, blending the pigments - yellow, fawn, peach, orange, red, carmine, light carmine, magenta, lavender and brown - in layers to create the complexion. I labored until my eyes were straining to focus, until my right arm flared up and then some. All for Ama; for the wonderful, caring woman who raised me.
Whenever I was able to visit her in the last nine years or so, I would intentionally call out Ama three times to make sure I had her full attention, then pull her cheek gently, say you are so cute, and kiss her cheeks like what you would do with a child. Because that's what she was like to me, getting smaller, more and more childlike as she moved towards a centenarian status. In the beginning the old child would wipe off the kisses, call her granddaughter a twit, dirty. After a while, she gave up wiping but not the endearing moniker. The twit had full access to her face. A face I now had the privilege to depict.
When the colored rendition was approved, I shared it with friends who knew about the trip and were monitoring my heart rather than my legs.
Trevor: "It's amazing. Really really beautiful. She and everyone will love it."
Renée: "Wow, that's an amazing portrait! You can draw?!?? Why am I surprised? Such a beautiful tribute."
Latoya: "You've always spoken so highly of her and the wonderful qualities I see in you must be in part due to her. I know she had to have been so very proud of you. She'll always be with you. Your own guardian angel."
Me: "Thank you. She would prefer to be my guardian angel than reincarnating again, she needs a break after 100+ years on earth."
Latoya: "At least until after COVID."
On Saturday the sixth day of my official lockdown, Ms. Zhang from the Health Bureau called to schedule the throat swab. The fee was 7,000 NT (233 USD) for same-day report or 5,000 NT (167 USD) next-day at the authorized hospital closest to me. It was a tug of war battle with her and my secretary to reach an agreement on means of transportation.
Zhang: "The regulation just got updated to allow a 2-hour visit per day over 3 consecutive days starting the day after obtaining a negative test result."
Me: "15, 16, 17 are the 3 days I would like to use for visitation with the 17th the day of the funeral. So I do the test on Monday the 13th, get the result next day, and go to grandma's on the 15th."
Zhang: "We only have two vehicles for quarantine use and already booked for Monday, cannot take you. And you cannot use public transportation. Can anyone take you?"
Me: "I have to check with my brother. Let me call you back. . . . He prefers not to take me because what if I'm positive."
Zhang: "You just have to roll down windows, no air conditioning, and both wear masks, then it's okay. Or can you ride a scooter on your own? Or drive yourself?"
Me: "I don't know how to ride a scooter. I am not familiar with the area and directions."
Zhang: "GPS?"
Me: "Not sure whether I can borrow a car. Let me check again. . . . My brother said he'll take me."
Zhang: "I'll book you Monday 8:30 AM and send your info over. You head to ER check-in window and tell them self-pay test."
Me: "Do you need to call me back to confirm?"
Zhang: "No."
A minute later, she rang again.
Zhang: "Sorry, the hospital has some sort of drill Monday morning. Can do test in the afternoon or next day."
Me: "Afternoon please."
Zhang: "Okay, one-thirty in the afternoon."
Come noon time Sunday, my chauffeur had a change of heart.
Jackson: "I want to talk about tomorrow, we have activities here on Tuesday, many kids. Dad is over 65, probably not a good option. Think it's better you call for a quarantine taxi."
Me: "I forgot to ask for quarantine taxi number. I thought the quarantine taxi and the Health Bureau vehicles are the same thing since they supposed to rearrange transportation for me. No one at the office today."
Jackson: "Ask your case manager. She should be on call."
Me: "I don't think she knows, she always says check with and go by the Bureau. She didn't know about the regulation change until I told her."
As predicted, "I don't have the number. I can check tomorrow morning," was her reply.
3:21 PM A text from my manager that said to call the ruler's quarantine line and listed a new local number.
The line told me to call a care center. The care center representative asked my location, gave me another number, then another another. The last two the taxi office and its president. Oh the merry-go-round. At last, the taxi office president answered his cellphone and said to message him my address and he'd get back to me later.
Mr. President secured a driver for me and sent me the contact info Monday morning. Double the regular meter the fare rate was - cheap for a short 10 minute one-way ride, especially when he would wait at the hospital to take me home.
There was no ER check-in window to go to but large tents outside that functioned both as waiting and testing stations. Even though I had been under air conditioning since day 1, the tiny blisters on my ring finger spread at a rate independent of the in-house climate control. Standing there in the open sauna, I wondered how much worse my eczema would get. Then my flat screen buzzed. The Bureau. What now?
Another rep called to check on my status.
Rep: "Why you called for a quarantine taxi? Wasn't your family taking you?"
Me: "They said they can't."
Rep: "Who told you to call? Your case manager?"
Me: "No, she gave me a quarantine number to call, and I asked them. Oh I forgot to message my manager when I left home for the test."
Rep: "You need to let her know, otherwise she's going to think you violated parole. (Not her exact words, but that was what it felt like.) You picking up report tomorrow?"
Me: "On Saturday Ms. Zhang told me because of the drill this morning, the result may not be ready next day, might have to be Wednesday, that you can still check on my behalf tomorrow for a verbal answer first since my brother can't pick it up."
Rep: "Which days you want to go out?"
Me: "15, 16, 17. I get the result tomorrow, then go visit starting the day after."
Rep: "The first day of visitation is the day you get the result."
Me: "What? On Saturday, Ms. Zhang told me the first day is the day after."
Rep: "Let me check and get back to you."
Get back to me they did. In less than two minutes, with a whip. It might have been Ms. Zhang because the woman lashed out on me, but the voice seemed different.
Rep: "Why did you take taxi? Didn't we agree that your family was going to take you?"
Me: "They said can't, so I called for the quarantine taxi."
Rep: "Who got you the taxi? Your case manager?"
Déjà vu.
Me: "No, she gave me a quarantine line number to call, they gave me another number to a care center, then another, at the end was taxi office and president Lin's numbers."
Rep: "Who's president Lin?"
Me: "Taxi office president Lin."
Slew of questions continued like an interrogation.
What's his number? Is there a separation shield in the taxi? No? What's the plate number? Who's Mr. Zhang? The driver. Where is he? Waiting for me. You can tell him to leave. I'll send a car to take you home.
I thought you had no vehicle to spare.
Which days you want to go out?
Oh lord, how many times I gotta answer the same questions?
Rep: "You did the test yet?"
Me: "No. They only took my blood pressure."
I was sure it's gone way up with the calls.
Rep: "You have to do the test tomorrow instead in order to go out on 15, 16, 17."
You don't say.
Me: "Okay. I come back tomorrow. You'll send a car for me?"
Rep: "Yes."
A new appointment eight-thirty in the morning. Cash payment only. Transportation provided by the Bureau was free.
The nicest person was the taxi driver.
Me: "Sorry, the Health Bureau asked me to let you go."
Mr. Zhang: "So how should we calculate the fare?"
When we arrived, he said 400 NT each way and I agreed to his 800 NT proposal for round trip.
Me: "Meter is 200 NT (under 7 USD,) you said double, so 400, how about you charge me 600?"
I gave him 1000 NT.
Mr. Zhang: "That's a bit steep. Let's do 500."
He handed me 500 NT change back.
An hour after I got home another woman from the Bureau called to ask why I didn't do the test today.
Holy mother, would I have to relive this experience tomorrow morning?
Other than two complementary mosquito bites, a gag-inducing deep throat swab, and a short call from the Bureau, the next morning was bliss in comparison. But the red swelling on my upper left eyelid had returned.
The report came out after 4:00 PM on Wednesday - too late to go to the country. Jackson and I allocated my time to attending the family service Thursday afternoon and ceremony Friday morning. The former involved joint chanting from scriptures with temple sifus and all family members to conclude a happy merit ending for grandma, the latter opened to friends and government officials and entailed more formal protocols.
Marquees and tents were set up at the open space outside Ama's humble dwelling to house the service. Elaborate sympathy floral arrangements from the mayor and city officials graced the entrance honoring the centenarian. The minute we arrived, mom rushed over to say the ceremonial staff was going to close the casket soon.
The service worker, little uncle and mom accompanied me inside the living room. An area was sectioned off for observance. The outline of the body so small. The worker uncovered the silk drapery to reveal her face. So skinny. Mom told me to say "Ama, I came back to see you." I had to find my voice. I clasped my palms together and bowed but couldn't say more than those few words.
We joined the rest of the family at the main marquee. I chanted with the group briefly but my gaze shifted between the scriptures, the décor, the attendees, and the top of the altar. My drawing was enlarged and printed over a tranquil lakescape with cherry blossoms and what looked like a moving train in the background on a canvas. There was one more thing I wanted to do for Ama and the relatives I grew up with. With permission, I began taking pictures, documenting the event.
The chorus ate up more than ninety minutes of my free window. I could only catch a few moments of little uncle and country auntie's time as the participants had to follow the sifus to another site one-hour away to burn incense and joss paper.
I bumped the arm of Ama's youngest child of six and said uncle. He grabbed my hand and held it tight - strong and warm, made me emotional. There were so much I wanted to say, but all I could utter was how are you? Teary eyed, he nodded, gave my hand a firm shake. I leaned on his shoulder and hugged his grip with both hands.
Then I asked if he had seen the portrait I sketched, not the one on the altar.
Uncle: "Your brother sent it to me before."
Ah, my review committee.
Me: "Would you like to have the original? I can bring it tomorrow."
Uncle: "You can leave it in my bedroom, the small room next to dining room."
He had to get going. I dashed towards another relative. "Auntie," I hollered as loud as I could over the mask without distracting the rest of congregation. Like little uncle, she grabbed my hand and said girl and pulled me aside. Girl she repeated, holding my hand tight. "Really... Don't you only have one hour?" she asked. "Regulation just changed, two now," I replied. "Your Ama..." I nodded. "Alright, that's all," she said.
I dabbed my nose and eyes with tissues on the way home, thinking how useless the previous 1-hour allowance would have been, how the resident sore lump was making my eye hurt, then suddenly became aware of one thing. Social distancing. Totally forgot about it.
There was already a flurry of activity when we got there at twenty to seven in the morning, fifty minutes before the scheduled ceremony. I hastened my steps to uncle's bedroom to drop off the portrait and got on with photo recording.
Shortly after the band marched in from the street, mom asked me to go pay respect and bid farewell to grandma as I didn't get to light incense stick for her yesterday. Standing before the altar, I whispered beneath my mask, "Ama, the twit came back to see you. Thank you for raising me, I love you so much. Sorry I couldn't come right away when I got here..." My voice trailed off. I bowed and handed the incense stick to the service worker.
I snapped pictures when I was not required in the proceedings. Everyone was dutifully following the procedures and instructions from the master of ceremonies. I was able to interact more with others during intermissions.
Country auntie poked my belly and said so thin. No, it's all muscles underneath, touch, feel this. I tapped my abdomen to encourage her to see for herself. But thin or not, the white long drapery towel I had to wear on my head was kicking my sweat glands into high gear. I whined about the thermal status.
Auntie: "Take it off."
Me: "I feel bad... Can I tie it cross body like the guys?"
Auntie: "Hmm, don't know, it's designed to be worn over the head."
I rolled and draped it cross the front of my body as it was not long enough to go around my back. But not for long before a conflicting order came down from another auntie.
Auntie: "Wear it properly."
Me: "It's too hot."
Auntie: "Do it even if it's too hot."
If grandma was alive, she'd let me do whatever. But alright, for grandma.
I waved to my cousin, my childhood companion, who used to lead me across the fields in search of different insects or treasures. I idolized him and little uncle, the two cool introverts.
Me: "You can't tell it's me with the facial covering, right?"
Cousin: "Why all of a sudden I feel like I've gotten a lot older. I was like, who's that little one?"
Me: "We can stand six feet apart and I take the mask off for a picture. Would be difficult to take though."
Brother: "How about you just don't breathe while I take a shot of you two?"
Me: "Deal! Hurry!"
I reduced the distancing to three feet and held my breath. I turned to face cousin after the shot.
Cousin: "Now I recognize you."
I smiled and put my mask back on.
As most have relocated to cities, my chance of seeing everyone was slim when I visited Ama unless my dates coincided with special holidays. So nice it was to have those wonderful moments with the people I hold dear. My eyes I dabbed again, the stye burst on its own.
Trevor: "It's amazing. Really really beautiful. She and everyone will love it."
Renée: "Wow, that's an amazing portrait! You can draw?!?? Why am I surprised? Such a beautiful tribute."
Latoya: "You've always spoken so highly of her and the wonderful qualities I see in you must be in part due to her. I know she had to have been so very proud of you. She'll always be with you. Your own guardian angel."
Me: "Thank you. She would prefer to be my guardian angel than reincarnating again, she needs a break after 100+ years on earth."
Latoya: "At least until after COVID."
On Saturday the sixth day of my official lockdown, Ms. Zhang from the Health Bureau called to schedule the throat swab. The fee was 7,000 NT (233 USD) for same-day report or 5,000 NT (167 USD) next-day at the authorized hospital closest to me. It was a tug of war battle with her and my secretary to reach an agreement on means of transportation.
Zhang: "The regulation just got updated to allow a 2-hour visit per day over 3 consecutive days starting the day after obtaining a negative test result."
Me: "15, 16, 17 are the 3 days I would like to use for visitation with the 17th the day of the funeral. So I do the test on Monday the 13th, get the result next day, and go to grandma's on the 15th."
Zhang: "We only have two vehicles for quarantine use and already booked for Monday, cannot take you. And you cannot use public transportation. Can anyone take you?"
Me: "I have to check with my brother. Let me call you back. . . . He prefers not to take me because what if I'm positive."
Zhang: "You just have to roll down windows, no air conditioning, and both wear masks, then it's okay. Or can you ride a scooter on your own? Or drive yourself?"
Me: "I don't know how to ride a scooter. I am not familiar with the area and directions."
Zhang: "GPS?"
Me: "Not sure whether I can borrow a car. Let me check again. . . . My brother said he'll take me."
Zhang: "I'll book you Monday 8:30 AM and send your info over. You head to ER check-in window and tell them self-pay test."
Me: "Do you need to call me back to confirm?"
Zhang: "No."
A minute later, she rang again.
Zhang: "Sorry, the hospital has some sort of drill Monday morning. Can do test in the afternoon or next day."
Me: "Afternoon please."
Zhang: "Okay, one-thirty in the afternoon."
Come noon time Sunday, my chauffeur had a change of heart.
Jackson: "I want to talk about tomorrow, we have activities here on Tuesday, many kids. Dad is over 65, probably not a good option. Think it's better you call for a quarantine taxi."
Me: "I forgot to ask for quarantine taxi number. I thought the quarantine taxi and the Health Bureau vehicles are the same thing since they supposed to rearrange transportation for me. No one at the office today."
Jackson: "Ask your case manager. She should be on call."
Me: "I don't think she knows, she always says check with and go by the Bureau. She didn't know about the regulation change until I told her."
As predicted, "I don't have the number. I can check tomorrow morning," was her reply.
3:21 PM A text from my manager that said to call the ruler's quarantine line and listed a new local number.
The line told me to call a care center. The care center representative asked my location, gave me another number, then another another. The last two the taxi office and its president. Oh the merry-go-round. At last, the taxi office president answered his cellphone and said to message him my address and he'd get back to me later.
Mr. President secured a driver for me and sent me the contact info Monday morning. Double the regular meter the fare rate was - cheap for a short 10 minute one-way ride, especially when he would wait at the hospital to take me home.
There was no ER check-in window to go to but large tents outside that functioned both as waiting and testing stations. Even though I had been under air conditioning since day 1, the tiny blisters on my ring finger spread at a rate independent of the in-house climate control. Standing there in the open sauna, I wondered how much worse my eczema would get. Then my flat screen buzzed. The Bureau. What now?
Another rep called to check on my status.
Rep: "Why you called for a quarantine taxi? Wasn't your family taking you?"
Me: "They said they can't."
Rep: "Who told you to call? Your case manager?"
Me: "No, she gave me a quarantine number to call, and I asked them. Oh I forgot to message my manager when I left home for the test."
Rep: "You need to let her know, otherwise she's going to think you violated parole. (Not her exact words, but that was what it felt like.) You picking up report tomorrow?"
Me: "On Saturday Ms. Zhang told me because of the drill this morning, the result may not be ready next day, might have to be Wednesday, that you can still check on my behalf tomorrow for a verbal answer first since my brother can't pick it up."
Rep: "Which days you want to go out?"
Me: "15, 16, 17. I get the result tomorrow, then go visit starting the day after."
Rep: "The first day of visitation is the day you get the result."
Me: "What? On Saturday, Ms. Zhang told me the first day is the day after."
Rep: "Let me check and get back to you."
Get back to me they did. In less than two minutes, with a whip. It might have been Ms. Zhang because the woman lashed out on me, but the voice seemed different.
Rep: "Why did you take taxi? Didn't we agree that your family was going to take you?"
Me: "They said can't, so I called for the quarantine taxi."
Rep: "Who got you the taxi? Your case manager?"
Déjà vu.
Me: "No, she gave me a quarantine line number to call, they gave me another number to a care center, then another, at the end was taxi office and president Lin's numbers."
Rep: "Who's president Lin?"
Me: "Taxi office president Lin."
Slew of questions continued like an interrogation.
What's his number? Is there a separation shield in the taxi? No? What's the plate number? Who's Mr. Zhang? The driver. Where is he? Waiting for me. You can tell him to leave. I'll send a car to take you home.
I thought you had no vehicle to spare.
Which days you want to go out?
Oh lord, how many times I gotta answer the same questions?
Rep: "You did the test yet?"
Me: "No. They only took my blood pressure."
I was sure it's gone way up with the calls.
Rep: "You have to do the test tomorrow instead in order to go out on 15, 16, 17."
You don't say.
Me: "Okay. I come back tomorrow. You'll send a car for me?"
Rep: "Yes."
A new appointment eight-thirty in the morning. Cash payment only. Transportation provided by the Bureau was free.
The nicest person was the taxi driver.
Me: "Sorry, the Health Bureau asked me to let you go."
Mr. Zhang: "So how should we calculate the fare?"
When we arrived, he said 400 NT each way and I agreed to his 800 NT proposal for round trip.
Me: "Meter is 200 NT (under 7 USD,) you said double, so 400, how about you charge me 600?"
I gave him 1000 NT.
Mr. Zhang: "That's a bit steep. Let's do 500."
He handed me 500 NT change back.
An hour after I got home another woman from the Bureau called to ask why I didn't do the test today.
Holy mother, would I have to relive this experience tomorrow morning?
Other than two complementary mosquito bites, a gag-inducing deep throat swab, and a short call from the Bureau, the next morning was bliss in comparison. But the red swelling on my upper left eyelid had returned.
The report came out after 4:00 PM on Wednesday - too late to go to the country. Jackson and I allocated my time to attending the family service Thursday afternoon and ceremony Friday morning. The former involved joint chanting from scriptures with temple sifus and all family members to conclude a happy merit ending for grandma, the latter opened to friends and government officials and entailed more formal protocols.
Marquees and tents were set up at the open space outside Ama's humble dwelling to house the service. Elaborate sympathy floral arrangements from the mayor and city officials graced the entrance honoring the centenarian. The minute we arrived, mom rushed over to say the ceremonial staff was going to close the casket soon.
The service worker, little uncle and mom accompanied me inside the living room. An area was sectioned off for observance. The outline of the body so small. The worker uncovered the silk drapery to reveal her face. So skinny. Mom told me to say "Ama, I came back to see you." I had to find my voice. I clasped my palms together and bowed but couldn't say more than those few words.
We joined the rest of the family at the main marquee. I chanted with the group briefly but my gaze shifted between the scriptures, the décor, the attendees, and the top of the altar. My drawing was enlarged and printed over a tranquil lakescape with cherry blossoms and what looked like a moving train in the background on a canvas. There was one more thing I wanted to do for Ama and the relatives I grew up with. With permission, I began taking pictures, documenting the event.
The chorus ate up more than ninety minutes of my free window. I could only catch a few moments of little uncle and country auntie's time as the participants had to follow the sifus to another site one-hour away to burn incense and joss paper.
I bumped the arm of Ama's youngest child of six and said uncle. He grabbed my hand and held it tight - strong and warm, made me emotional. There were so much I wanted to say, but all I could utter was how are you? Teary eyed, he nodded, gave my hand a firm shake. I leaned on his shoulder and hugged his grip with both hands.
Then I asked if he had seen the portrait I sketched, not the one on the altar.
Uncle: "Your brother sent it to me before."
Ah, my review committee.
Me: "Would you like to have the original? I can bring it tomorrow."
Uncle: "You can leave it in my bedroom, the small room next to dining room."
He had to get going. I dashed towards another relative. "Auntie," I hollered as loud as I could over the mask without distracting the rest of congregation. Like little uncle, she grabbed my hand and said girl and pulled me aside. Girl she repeated, holding my hand tight. "Really... Don't you only have one hour?" she asked. "Regulation just changed, two now," I replied. "Your Ama..." I nodded. "Alright, that's all," she said.
I dabbed my nose and eyes with tissues on the way home, thinking how useless the previous 1-hour allowance would have been, how the resident sore lump was making my eye hurt, then suddenly became aware of one thing. Social distancing. Totally forgot about it.
There was already a flurry of activity when we got there at twenty to seven in the morning, fifty minutes before the scheduled ceremony. I hastened my steps to uncle's bedroom to drop off the portrait and got on with photo recording.
Shortly after the band marched in from the street, mom asked me to go pay respect and bid farewell to grandma as I didn't get to light incense stick for her yesterday. Standing before the altar, I whispered beneath my mask, "Ama, the twit came back to see you. Thank you for raising me, I love you so much. Sorry I couldn't come right away when I got here..." My voice trailed off. I bowed and handed the incense stick to the service worker.
I snapped pictures when I was not required in the proceedings. Everyone was dutifully following the procedures and instructions from the master of ceremonies. I was able to interact more with others during intermissions.
Country auntie poked my belly and said so thin. No, it's all muscles underneath, touch, feel this. I tapped my abdomen to encourage her to see for herself. But thin or not, the white long drapery towel I had to wear on my head was kicking my sweat glands into high gear. I whined about the thermal status.
Auntie: "Take it off."
Me: "I feel bad... Can I tie it cross body like the guys?"
Auntie: "Hmm, don't know, it's designed to be worn over the head."
I rolled and draped it cross the front of my body as it was not long enough to go around my back. But not for long before a conflicting order came down from another auntie.
Auntie: "Wear it properly."
Me: "It's too hot."
Auntie: "Do it even if it's too hot."
If grandma was alive, she'd let me do whatever. But alright, for grandma.
I waved to my cousin, my childhood companion, who used to lead me across the fields in search of different insects or treasures. I idolized him and little uncle, the two cool introverts.
Me: "You can't tell it's me with the facial covering, right?"
Cousin: "Why all of a sudden I feel like I've gotten a lot older. I was like, who's that little one?"
Me: "We can stand six feet apart and I take the mask off for a picture. Would be difficult to take though."
Brother: "How about you just don't breathe while I take a shot of you two?"
Me: "Deal! Hurry!"
I reduced the distancing to three feet and held my breath. I turned to face cousin after the shot.
Cousin: "Now I recognize you."
I smiled and put my mask back on.
As most have relocated to cities, my chance of seeing everyone was slim when I visited Ama unless my dates coincided with special holidays. So nice it was to have those wonderful moments with the people I hold dear. My eyes I dabbed again, the stye burst on its own.
I spent my Saturday sifting through 600+ photos. Had I been able to attend the event in its entirety, I would still be sorting the week after. Monday was my first free day, also the day of my return flight. Onboard the northbound high speed rail, I shut my eyes, tempo of Daft Punk's song beating in my head. One more time we're gonna celebrate...
One more time, the mask, the airport, the plane, the quarantine. Self-imposed quarantine because it's the US, the land of the free and the curve steep. There will be no case manager to keep tabs on me, no questions from the Health Bureau, and no police knocking. No perfect nationwide measures in place to control and prevent the coronavirus spread. But next time someone tells me they have a solid pipeline to deal with pandemic and emergencies, I would wonder where I've heard that before.
© 2018 Janey Play