On Monday night, when we had our crisis meeting with Joy, she agreed that the best thing for my father would be to board the plane back to Europe and resolve the numerous things that have gone wrong in his life during the past six weeks. Her promise however did not hold much, as the following day, she took off with my father to an unknown destination. In the days that followed, she had him call us on a semi-regular basis, but he was never allowed to say where they were. Not even to the Taiwanese police nor the immigration authorities, who have been checking up on him as the expiry of his visa is drawing near.
On the phone, all my dad could talk about was the food he had eaten, and that he would be returning to Taipei to take the flight with us (the flight was scheduled for this morning). All other questions were answered with a monotonous “I don’t know”, “I can’t answer that”, or, the most worrisome of them all: “I can’t talk anymore, I have too much pain.”
Pained with concern, we knew we could not sit idly by in Taipei. Although my father had indicated on the phone that they had gone to the southern part of the country, we decided to go down to the East coast, to the place where Joy had taken my father “for rest and healing” during his first visit to Taiwan and where his recent “transition” seemed to have begun. On Wednesday morning, we wrapped up all lose ends in the capital, packed up and took the evening train to the city of Hualien.
The change of scenery was much appreciated, as I have always known in my heart Taipei City can never do justice to this little green island embraced by the sea. Seeing the horizon again after being trapped in dark alleys and overshadowed by smog, was a welcome treat!
We woke up the following morning with peace and full of expectation. The day set off abruptly however as the breakfast table shook to the tunes of the aftershock of a 6.4 earthquake that had taken place earlier that night. (Fortunately for Taiwan, there were no fatalities, as I understood it.)
The place we were intent on visiting was called Ocean’s Home (aka “Kulo’s place”), and we found its location thanks to some prior research on the Internet and a most helpful taxi driver.
Other people have visited Kulo’s place in less dire circumstances and will be better judges as to the personality of this little hostel, which, according to Joy, was built little by little using driftwood and other discarded materials.
To our great surprise, at this exact location, we found none other than Joy and my father, who were supposed to be miles away.
My father was lying listless on the stone floor with his arms and legs positioned in a pentagram form, while Joy was hovering over him and rubbing his chest vigorously.
At the sight of us, Joy stopped short, even though no words had yet been spoken. I am sure however that the word CONCERN was graphically readable on all of our faces.
Quickly recovering from the initial shock, my sister ran up to my father and grabbed his hand. At this display of concern, Joy exclaimed: “He’s fine! He just needs to rest!”
My sister just looked at her incredulously, and asked, “Joy, are you blind?”
For what possibly could be “fine” about the man lying listless on the ground, with fear and agony written all over his face? It would take a heartless human to not see the pain that my father is going through - and has been going through - since this “transition” some six weeks ago, which according to Joy is bringing out “his most beautiful self”. But Joy remains the only one to see any beauty in the transformation degradation that has taken place since she walked into Arne’s life.
Although I cannot understand what Joy has done to hold such powers over my father, who now has to have her blessing for everything he does (including being permitted to see his children and what he is allowed to say to them) - her control over him is obvious. I do not know exactly what it will take to bring him out of this brainwashed state, but what I do know is that love conquers all. As for the “healing” taking place, our mere presence was so disruptive that the activity was quickly wrapped up, my father returning to his bed whilst Joy remained in the doorpost talking to my brother.
Eventually, my dad asked if we wanted to see where he had taken off into the mountains during his first visit to Kulo’s place - the time when he, according to Joy, had been given the bracelet and amulet which have been shown in a previous post.
For reasons he cannot explain himself, my father had taken off into these mountains, cutting his arms as he wrestled through dense vegetation and waded through ice-cold water. According to Joy, he was gone for so long that the army had prepared a search party, but this was never needed as my father eventually found his way to the police who then helped him. I will always wonder whatever happened that made him to chase off into the wilderness like a madman.
We are most grateful for all of your concern about our own health and welfare, yet it is impossible for us to leave Taiwan and leave our father to his fate. Having lost our mother at 55, we are not ready to lose our father at the same age. The “transition” (as Joy calls it) he has undergone in only a few weeks has had such a destructive impact on his life and being, that when he came back to Taiwan he seriously started talking about suicide for the first time in his life.
Six months before my mom passed away, the chemotherapy brought her into a critical state and she was hospitalised. Knowing there was no cure for the disease, the medical staff wanted us to give up on her and “let her die in peace”. My father told the nurse in front of him that the woman in that hospital bed was the apple of his eye, and that every waking moment they spent together, good or painful, was precious to them both - for such was their love.
In the same way, my brother, sister and I can only say that EVERY moment - good or painful - we have with our father is PRECIOUS, and we cannot leave him in Taiwan to die.
