My Canterbury

The moonlight in Canterbury is wonderful. Whether it is the new moon resembling the downcast eyes of Guangyin gazing compassionately at mortals, or the full moon as round as the tummy of the laughing buddha, it is always there for me. Its translucent brightness would hover above the windscreen of my car silently and full of tenderness. In a holy sort of way, it gave me strength. I felt more grounded and not so lost on the dark and winding country roads.

Many a night, after I visited Mui Mui, I was overwhelmed with all sorts of feelings welling up inside me. I never wanted to say good-bye. Reluctantly, I would get into the small Ford and drive away from the campus of the University of Kent. At the foothill stood the towering and magnificent Cathedral of Canterbury. Its floodlight pierced through the darkness of the sky and created a bright screen up above in the still of night. I would meander down the hill, often in a state of total helplessness. As if it would give me more comfort, I offered a little prayer for the late Sir Edward Youde who is lying peacefully six feet below the Cathedral.

Sometimes, Mui Mui would call me in the middle of the night asking if she could come over to Dembigh Oast to spend the night with me. Dembigh Oast is only 20 minutes drive from the University. I would dress quickly and get out into the freezing cold. Before I started the small Ford, I would look up and see if the moon was there. In a moment like this, the moon was my closest companion. If it was there, I would ask, “Do you think she is alright?” And if it was not there, I would be extremely disappointed. I would mumble and complain, “Without you, the trip's not going to be easy.” But the trip had to be made anyway. As a matter of fact, I knew by heart every turn and every street lamp on the A257. The only thing I didn't know was how many more such trips there would be.

When Mui Mui's conditions were stabilized, I would take a break. I would wander around like a tourist. Thanks to the Cathedral, Chaucer's Canterbury Tales and the Sunday flea market etc, I had explored every nook and cranny of this ancient town. In Canterbury, the really old black and white Tudor buildings are everywhere. I often wonder who had lived in these historic structures centuries ago and what sort of stories were behind them. Once the main characters on the stage of their time, they had all by now vanished. Spring comes and spring goes. Nothing will last.

The sky in Canterbury is high and vast. This is especially so if one walks on the pebble beaches along the Straits of Dover. Before the white clouds gather, the sea and sky merge and form an endless void. I loved walking barefooted on the pebbles, head down and not leaving a trace behind. It's the perfect place to contemplate the dreamy images weaving through the disturbed sleep the night before. The boundless sky can really hit you if you look up suddenly. I have gasped many times,“Oh, what a sky! " and felt a sudden pang of loneliness. I can't remember how many times I have paused, palms together, and prayed to all the gods and demi-gods up there. I prayed to them to please have mercy on my little girl. But the gods and demi gods chose not to utter a word. They had their own plans. I simply have to resign to fate.

The sunset in Canterbury is awesome. Because the sky is high and vast, the sun sinks really slowly. One day, I decided to have a secret rendezvous with the setting sun. I chose a remote field and sat down on a big rock. I listened to the birds who were hurriedly returning to the woods, and I pondered on the things which I wished had never taken place, and the paths which I wished I had never treaded. But there again, nature has its own way and order. In nature, there is no room for“I wish". I noticed that, as the crimson ball was gradually melting away amidst the darkish green trees, a hue of magical royal purple, navy blue, and burgundy red appeared from nowhere and was everywhere. And all of a sudden, the land was filled with silence. That was because the birds had all returned to their nests. Once home safely, there was no more cause for clamour. I reluctantly bid farewell to the setting sun before it got dark. Finding the way where I came from, I got into a small village pub. I ordered a local Kentish ale, and slowly tasted the bitter sweetness of the hops, all alone. I opened Wilde's “ The Portrait of Dorian Gray”and waited for Mui Mui to call.

The moonlight of Canterbury is wonderful, its sky high and vast, and its sunset aweson.