An evening in Paris-London-Paris

On the Eurostar back to Paris from London. Penning this down is hard, but I'll try and do it anyway

(as if on cue, Damien Rice's The Blower's Daughter came on.)

It is hard to see your parents getting older by the day. I think my father is having a hard time grappling with the fact that he is old in his years. He is frustrated that sometimes he bungles things up like simply operating the TV and other chores. I think he is frustrated that he cannot do things for us (well things that do not require money, at least) and that he slows us down sometimes when we go out.

I, on the other hand, am frustrated seeing him not succumbing to nature and just be old. Okay, wait. I take that back. I don't think I really know how to react here. What should I do? The mother is still very much in her prime and refuses to be empathetic towards the father, often chastising him for being slow.

Maybe it is her way of dealing with getting old. Deny it and it will go away. Maybe men should not get married to women who are more than 5 years their junior. Growing old together will be a bitch.

The train is moving on really fast and the father is still not back yet from his toilet/water break. His balance and movements are now slow and hesitant.

Should I go look for him?
Okay. Let's give him 5 more minutes.

The mother, the niece and the sister are sleeping here beside me. I cannot get to sleep. My heart is just not settled seeing everyone slumping uncomfortably on their seats. This is definitely not a way for old folks to travel. But...it was my father's wish to take the Eurostar to London. Damn. He should have done all these when he was younger, not at the grand age of 64...with gout, diabetes and a weak heart to boot.

(Yes, older folks are travelling but they are not my parents. They can climb Kilimanjaro for all I care.)

Father is still not back. The green-haired girl across the aisle is looking at me, smiling. She's on her headphones. Maybe she is listening to something happy, unlike me, who is now listening to 'The Everlasting' by the Manic Street Preachers. She's bopping her head up and then now. Good for her. Youth is definitely her colour.

Father is still not back. Maybe he is searching for food. Afterall, it is 7.30pm now. The last meal we had was at 1pm at the Malaysian Hall with Nora, my ex-Art Director from MediaCorp.

Anyway, the trip to London earlier was ...well...interesting. I think we were all overwhelmed by the sheer number of people thronging the streets. The bone numbing cold weather didnt help either. Nevertheless, I think the father had fun looking at the sites he heard and saw on the newspapers, TV and movies (him being such a movie buff). Wish I could let the family stay a day longer but I could not afford London accommodation. Maybe next time. Just the parents and me. If we have the good health and good fortune. God willing.

God.

Now that's another topic for another day.
Let me finish 'Still Alice' in the mean time.

(And Manic's The Girl Who Wanted to be God plays.)

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