I'm drained. There's just something about seeing someone you love slowly lose pieces of themselves. My mother is on that road. She still recognizes me, Kitten, SpouseKitty. She knows our relations to her (son, daughter-in-law, granddaughter.) She knows she's in a home, that she'll never move back to her apartment.

So far so good. Then, she talks about me and Taiwan. I've never been to Taiwan. About family heritage and holdings in Taiwan. To the best of my knowledge, my family is from the mainland and Hong Kong. My father's sister married a man from Taiwan, but that has no bearing on me, especially in the patriarchal mindset of Chinese society. Anything my aunt had would go to her sons, not to me.

We end our visits with her asking me if I'm staying in Hong Kong or Taiwan. I know she's afraid of some conspiracy or another from Taiwan, so I say Hong Kong. Later on, we talk about me needing to go back home, to go to work tomorrow. She knows that I'm working in Seattle, and that bit of reality conflict flashes briefly in her eyes, then she lets it fade.

There are other moments, times and words that drive home that my mom is on that path. I can't remember them. I'm sure they're behind the curtains I've put up. I want to type something in, something more telling that simply "Hong Kong, Taiwan or Seattle." I want to show how badly it gets at times.

I can't. I think it's because I'm just not really able to bring myself to deal with it, not when I don't have to. I'd rather write silly stories, make silly origami models.

Anything.