The first few paragraghs of the story I am currently working on.
C's Story
I’ve been meaning to write down C’s story, a story that took C months to disclose. The story about the little boy, whom brings soaring joy to C’s mother, yet causes C many agonized nights and unspeakable pain at the very sight.
It is a story about a unified yet broken family, an all too familiar scenario to me. C preluded the telling of the story with “I don’t tell this to a lot of people…,” the very line that I’ve whispered a number of times before I began setting the stage for my story to come.
To C, the little boy meant too little and too much. To the mother, the boy may have meant the world, a whole new world, one in which for years C’s mother denied the very existence.
I wanted to raise my hand and probe. Questions needed answers. How could I get going not understanding the very important basics to the development of the story?
How could I not hear the voice of the mother, sensing the urgency and helplessness in the fabricated version of the story that she would choose to defend herself with?
But I never got to where we began. C simply shook her head and confessed the lack of knowledge on any of the questions that I had raised. “She wouldn’t tell. She just wouldn’t,” C let go of the words matter-of-factly.
It all goes back to the fact that C’s mother never bored any son. Only daughters. Two very beautiful angels yet a daughter too many in a traditional Taiwanese family. For years after C’s sister was born, C’s mother would always say “daughters are just like boys, but better” whenever the conversation involving the apparent lack of sons in the family arose.
Growing up, C never felt any mistreatment from the parents or anyone in the family. Life went on as it was, son or not. The family, the parents and the two girls, lived happily ever after until C’s mother found the calling of her life and became a devoted Buddhist.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Freedom of speech for the day!
I am posting pieces of writings that I worked on in the last few months (not all, only a selected few) in Shanghai. China has decided to be kind and uncensoring Blogspot today. For all I know, it could all very well be gone tomorrow.
June 15, 2008
Saturday, June 15, 2008
A few weeks ago I walked out of a man’s apartment as early as four am in the morning with a bag of personal belongings and a belated new found sense of self-respect. Amidst the personal items and scattered memories of an all unfamiliar word dignity, there was a gray man’s cotton t-shirt that I had stolen from the man’s apartment.
I was a thief. A thief for men’s worn cotton t-shirts in the middle of the night.
To this moment that I am typing away the very words on my computer, I wonder if the man has thought of the shirt in the weeks that had gone by. The man has clearly not been thinking of me. This much I know is true. But what about the missing t-shirt? Does he care?
I wondered if it was his favorite t-shirt.
Perhaps he had wondered if the house had been broken in.
The thief wanted nothing but gray t-shirts. Gray worn men’s t-shirts.
You could argue that the thief wanted more than anything else but his heart.
To which I could never tell you the truth.
A few weeks ago I walked out of a man’s apartment as early as four am in the morning with a bag of personal belongings and a belated new found sense of self-respect. Amidst the personal items and scattered memories of an all unfamiliar word dignity, there was a gray man’s cotton t-shirt that I had stolen from the man’s apartment.
I was a thief. A thief for men’s worn cotton t-shirts in the middle of the night.
To this moment that I am typing away the very words on my computer, I wonder if the man has thought of the shirt in the weeks that had gone by. The man has clearly not been thinking of me. This much I know is true. But what about the missing t-shirt? Does he care?
I wondered if it was his favorite t-shirt.
Perhaps he had wondered if the house had been broken in.
The thief wanted nothing but gray t-shirts. Gray worn men’s t-shirts.
You could argue that the thief wanted more than anything else but his heart.
To which I could never tell you the truth.
March 2, 2008
親愛的*deleted*，
蝴蝶在我肚子裡玩上了癮，玩瘋了
不亦樂乎
正午，我做了個夢 夢到好久沒想起的媽媽
死去許久的 我的母親
夢裡 有個像媽媽的女人 她的笑容好溫柔
好溫柔 像媽媽一樣的溫柔
我好想她再抱我一次 好想她告訴我 一切都會沒事
很快我們就能再一起見到奶奶
她一定知道 奶奶也好想她
但夢裡 還有另一個女孩 另一個跟我長的一模一樣的女孩
女孩也想要她的媽媽
女孩知道她必須趕走我 趕走我她才能得到她的媽媽
原來這只是一場比賽
我好幾天沒好好吃頓飯了 全身無力 女孩比我有力氣多了
一把就推倒我了 女孩不費力氣就贏走了我的媽媽
我跌坐在地上 好懊惱 好難過
我的媽媽 我死去多年的媽媽 我好不容易我可以再見她一面
女孩 你了為什麼
夢醒時 我流下眼淚 想起我又再一次失去我的母親
想起她溫柔的笑容
想起身邊友人的母親 想起我的忌妒
想起我對母親的思念
我想起奶奶 想起奶奶身上經歷的痛
台灣的天氣溫暖許多了吧
奶奶出院後 不知去曬過太陽沒
現在的天氣不需要再戴我那頂小紅帽了吧
蝴蝶在我肚子裡玩上了癮，玩瘋了
不亦樂乎
正午，我做了個夢 夢到好久沒想起的媽媽
死去許久的 我的母親
夢裡 有個像媽媽的女人 她的笑容好溫柔
好溫柔 像媽媽一樣的溫柔
我好想她再抱我一次 好想她告訴我 一切都會沒事
很快我們就能再一起見到奶奶
她一定知道 奶奶也好想她
但夢裡 還有另一個女孩 另一個跟我長的一模一樣的女孩
女孩也想要她的媽媽
女孩知道她必須趕走我 趕走我她才能得到她的媽媽
原來這只是一場比賽
我好幾天沒好好吃頓飯了 全身無力 女孩比我有力氣多了
一把就推倒我了 女孩不費力氣就贏走了我的媽媽
我跌坐在地上 好懊惱 好難過
我的媽媽 我死去多年的媽媽 我好不容易我可以再見她一面
女孩 你了為什麼
夢醒時 我流下眼淚 想起我又再一次失去我的母親
想起她溫柔的笑容
想起身邊友人的母親 想起我的忌妒
想起我對母親的思念
我想起奶奶 想起奶奶身上經歷的痛
台灣的天氣溫暖許多了吧
奶奶出院後 不知去曬過太陽沒
現在的天氣不需要再戴我那頂小紅帽了吧
Feb 24, 2008
親愛的*deleted*，
我想，我是全世界最會睹物思人的人。
我將開始以這樣的形式跟你對話，用我的方式悄悄地回憶那一晚的膽顫心驚。
午夜十二點，你在門外，我，拖著鞋，壂著腳，踩著一地的冰冷，來到你的身邊。
車子行駛在我不熟悉的道路，我知道即將要展開的夜晚，是超乎我所能期盼的。
那晚的我們，說了些什麼呢
但能那樣的聽你說說話也是好的，聽另一個人訴說他的過去不能克服的痛，他成長的旅程。
我想，我是全世界最會睹物思人的人。
我將開始以這樣的形式跟你對話，用我的方式悄悄地回憶那一晚的膽顫心驚。
午夜十二點，你在門外，我，拖著鞋，壂著腳，踩著一地的冰冷，來到你的身邊。
車子行駛在我不熟悉的道路，我知道即將要展開的夜晚，是超乎我所能期盼的。
那晚的我們，說了些什麼呢
但能那樣的聽你說說話也是好的，聽另一個人訴說他的過去不能克服的痛，他成長的旅程。
Feb 20, 2008
二月二十日 上海靜安
午夜的上海，我在靠著窗，凝視依舊燈火通明南京西路的沙發上斜躺的，努力抗拒成為一個普通上班族，把人生活得朝九晚五的命運。我細數著想跟你分享的字句，其實都太過浪漫。朋友總說，你不該打給男人，那樣你就輸了。我不知道我應該贏些什麼，這不是一場賭局，不用旁人的教誨。到最後，我連自己應該是誰，可以是誰都迷糊了。
「情人微不足道，成為自己是巨大的事」莒哈絲說。我畢竟還太過年輕，沒法把愛人這事看得淡薄些，而成為自己又是需要多少的力量。是你可以給我的嗎？而你，又是這世界上的哪一個人。
白晝裡在電腦上電話上談論中國醫藥市場發展潛力的那個自己，彷彿太過陌生。此刻的真實卻又顯得過於不切實際，原來這才是自己啊。我暗自慶幸，這個在寧靜的夜思念男人的我，在嘆口氣後，告訴自己春天來臨時我必然要愛上江南的早春。那才是你。
「站在邊界。我的生命課題。既不想孤單，也不想進入人群，這究竟是如何的邊界之邊界，我不得而知。」鐘文音的文字。
有很長的一段時間，我活在這段文字，活在這條邊界上，人群似乎不願與我親近，我孤單了好長一段時間。我一度以為，既不能改變自己，只好接受自己永如病者的靈魂。我最終還是半路出家了，離開了這條邊界，離開了那時的自己。不知道，也許我永遠不知道。
午夜的上海，我在靠著窗，凝視依舊燈火通明南京西路的沙發上斜躺的，努力抗拒成為一個普通上班族，把人生活得朝九晚五的命運。我細數著想跟你分享的字句，其實都太過浪漫。朋友總說，你不該打給男人，那樣你就輸了。我不知道我應該贏些什麼，這不是一場賭局，不用旁人的教誨。到最後，我連自己應該是誰，可以是誰都迷糊了。
「情人微不足道，成為自己是巨大的事」莒哈絲說。我畢竟還太過年輕，沒法把愛人這事看得淡薄些，而成為自己又是需要多少的力量。是你可以給我的嗎？而你，又是這世界上的哪一個人。
白晝裡在電腦上電話上談論中國醫藥市場發展潛力的那個自己，彷彿太過陌生。此刻的真實卻又顯得過於不切實際，原來這才是自己啊。我暗自慶幸，這個在寧靜的夜思念男人的我，在嘆口氣後，告訴自己春天來臨時我必然要愛上江南的早春。那才是你。
「站在邊界。我的生命課題。既不想孤單，也不想進入人群，這究竟是如何的邊界之邊界，我不得而知。」鐘文音的文字。
有很長的一段時間，我活在這段文字，活在這條邊界上，人群似乎不願與我親近，我孤單了好長一段時間。我一度以為，既不能改變自己，只好接受自己永如病者的靈魂。我最終還是半路出家了，離開了這條邊界，離開了那時的自己。不知道，也許我永遠不知道。
Janurary 14, 2008
M,
A long overdue piece of writing that I promised weeks ago, in our parting cab ride, our goodbye word. The truth is, I hadn’t been able to write for a long time, unable to put my thoughts down, in writing, in print, in concrete terms, in languages once familiar to me.
And to this day, the mystery remained to be answered, the answers nowhere to be found, and I had no choice but continue life without having a better understanding of the wrongs that are taking place in my life, consuming a piece of me, bit by bit, piece by piece.
The year 2008 was off to a very odd start, as most events and stories of my life. I celebrated the very beginning of the new year with a group of strangers who would not and had not mattered very much in my life. I remembered sipping the champagne and thinking to myself- “what the hell am I doing here?” I didn’t come all the way here, in my beautiful new year eve party dress and full blown makeup, all the way across the globe, threading in between cities, fallen love and crushed hopes, to be here, to sit beside men and women who never for one second of their lives regarded me as someone loving and special.
In fact, I did not go through a whole lot of trouble, to find myself amidst people who never saw the light in me, the strength that had kept me going all these years, the love that I wanted to give and to cherish. I had no doubt that this was a group of very special men and women, people who wanted to love well and be good to each other, who never meant to hurt and let go of important relationships. It was unfair of me to accuse them of not loving the way I do, of not giving the best they could.
There are men and people in our lives that have done us wrong in every sense of the word. At times I wonder if I have been too harsh, if the expectation would ever exceed the hurt, if happiness would eventually find its way through, for “there is a crack in everything- that’s how the light gets in”, so the saying goes.
I am remembering the story of the light bulb. You were absolutely right. Let there be light. And there would be.
Sometimes it’s as simple as that.
But my very dearest M, I wasn’t, we weren’t meant to be hurt all over. Were we? I stared into the empty space, at all the pots and pans, the coffee tin, the wash boards, asking myself the question as I opened a can of corn, sliced some ham, washed my hands with the stream of winter cold water. Were we meant to be hurt over and over until life or god comes to its senses? Until someone decides to finally do us justice, to axe out the bad and the evil, the wrongs and the unfairness. I contemplate the meanings behind being abandoned, being loved and let go, of enduring the agonies of losses and pain time after time, of finding ourselves at various points of confusion throughout our lives, of falling in and out of love, of believing in the goodness of people and finding ourselves utterly disappointed at the last chapter.
A long overdue piece of writing that I promised weeks ago, in our parting cab ride, our goodbye word. The truth is, I hadn’t been able to write for a long time, unable to put my thoughts down, in writing, in print, in concrete terms, in languages once familiar to me.
And to this day, the mystery remained to be answered, the answers nowhere to be found, and I had no choice but continue life without having a better understanding of the wrongs that are taking place in my life, consuming a piece of me, bit by bit, piece by piece.
The year 2008 was off to a very odd start, as most events and stories of my life. I celebrated the very beginning of the new year with a group of strangers who would not and had not mattered very much in my life. I remembered sipping the champagne and thinking to myself- “what the hell am I doing here?” I didn’t come all the way here, in my beautiful new year eve party dress and full blown makeup, all the way across the globe, threading in between cities, fallen love and crushed hopes, to be here, to sit beside men and women who never for one second of their lives regarded me as someone loving and special.
In fact, I did not go through a whole lot of trouble, to find myself amidst people who never saw the light in me, the strength that had kept me going all these years, the love that I wanted to give and to cherish. I had no doubt that this was a group of very special men and women, people who wanted to love well and be good to each other, who never meant to hurt and let go of important relationships. It was unfair of me to accuse them of not loving the way I do, of not giving the best they could.
There are men and people in our lives that have done us wrong in every sense of the word. At times I wonder if I have been too harsh, if the expectation would ever exceed the hurt, if happiness would eventually find its way through, for “there is a crack in everything- that’s how the light gets in”, so the saying goes.
I am remembering the story of the light bulb. You were absolutely right. Let there be light. And there would be.
Sometimes it’s as simple as that.
But my very dearest M, I wasn’t, we weren’t meant to be hurt all over. Were we? I stared into the empty space, at all the pots and pans, the coffee tin, the wash boards, asking myself the question as I opened a can of corn, sliced some ham, washed my hands with the stream of winter cold water. Were we meant to be hurt over and over until life or god comes to its senses? Until someone decides to finally do us justice, to axe out the bad and the evil, the wrongs and the unfairness. I contemplate the meanings behind being abandoned, being loved and let go, of enduring the agonies of losses and pain time after time, of finding ourselves at various points of confusion throughout our lives, of falling in and out of love, of believing in the goodness of people and finding ourselves utterly disappointed at the last chapter.
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