Act Three

The Wind Beneath My Wings

2009-02-26T14:31:00.000+09:00

Leslie C. Lin
February 2009

I became an aunt for the first time last year. My niece, Julia Megan Wang was born a healthy and beautiful baby in Washington DC in July 2008. As I listened to my sister Elaine telling me everything there is to know about this new life and how much she is enjoying being a mother, I couldn’t help but wonder, where did my ambitious, career-driven super woman sister go?

I wasn’t the only person who was surprised by this change of personality and new found motherly love, my sister also took some time to understand what it takes to be a parent. Before the birth of baby Julia, Elaine has been a small business owner who would travel several weeks at a time for work. Today, she leaves work at noon so she could take Julia to the park or mommy’s group in the afternoons. I would never have imagined that my workaholic sister had eventually become one of those mothers who couldn’t end a conversation without mentioning the name of her child.

But it wasn’t always like this. Elaine didn’t particularly care for children or even want children of her own. Having involuntarily become the surrogate mother for her three younger siblings 13 years ago, Elaine had always thought very little about marriage or changing diapers. She was very much focused on her career and would spend longer hours at work than most people. Her friends had no doubt that Elaine would be the last to marry, if she married at all.

Unfortunately, I was one of the reasons that Elaine wouldn’t have children in the first place. After our mother passed away 13 years ago, I, along with my other sister and brother and a house in Boston, were handed down to Elaine like a pair of socks. She was 19 years old at the time. I wouldn’t call it fun when a college freshman had to rush home after classes to cook dinner for her younger siblings or take them to the mall to exchange the broken calculator.

On the weekends, Elaine would take us out to dinner and movies. We would have Korean food one weekend, Indian the next, but Japanese was always our favorite. She subscribed to teenager magazines like the Seventeen and dressed us like American teenagers, buying tank tops and flip flops for us. Elaine encouraged us to watch sitcoms like Friends or Everybody Loves Raymond and songs with easy lyrics like the Wind Beneath My Wings so we could learn American culture. When she took us out to restaurants, she would wait patiently for me to muster courage and construct a sentence in English to ask the waitress for a fork.

In her spare time, Elaine learned to fix the broken toilet and managed the household finance. As the new mother of three children at age 19, Elaine didn’t have very much personal time or the luxury to live the life of a normal college student like most of her friends. It probably wasn’t fair for her, but I had always pictured of us from the movie the Little Women- the four of us made a happy family. I never told Elaine, but it was one of the happiest years of my life in the US.

Years later, my sister would confess that she didn’t particularly enjoy that year of child rearing. Like every other 19-year-old American college students, she wanted to go to parties or go on dates with boys her age. There were times when she dreaded going home to three kids or having to drive us around to our tennis lessons or attending parent’s day at my middle school. But she stayed home. She stayed home and coached me on my college applications and analyzed the pros and cons of each university that I was applying to.

My freshman year in college, my father’s business faced serious financial setbacks and could no longer afford our education expenses. Against my father’s request for us to drop out of school, Elaine insisted that we stayed in school and continued our education. She sought help and looked for resources to finance my college education. She believed that a good education for her brother and sisters was more important than anything else. She was 22 years old at the time.

Throughout my college years, Elaine taught me how to write impressive resume, the importance of doing internships, or how to prepare for job interviews. But she also made sure that I understood why it is important to take courses that are unrelated to my psychology major, courses like economics and accounting- think personal finance. She urged me to take courses in art history or anthropology so I could be exposed to different areas of knowledge. She was happy for me when I spent my junior year in Tokyo as an exchange student. Elaine wanted me to have the kind of college experience that she never had.

A few years ago, Elaine moved to Shanghai and wanted to “make it” in China. As luck would have it, she fell in love with a man who knew how much she had gone through and vowed to take care of her for the rest of her life. Taking all of her friends by surprise, Elaine got married at age 25 and moved back to the US. When occasionally I whine about not having her luck or meeting Mr. Right in Shanghai, my sister would say, “I know its cliché, but seriously, love comes when you are least expecting it”.

With the encouragement of her husband, my sister continued on to get her masters’ degree and became an entrepreneur with an education consultancy. We have always joked that we were Elaine’s first clients and guinea pig. After all, she was the one who saw us through high school and college.

Ever since my sister became pregnant with Julia in the end of 2007, we would talk on the phone more frequently than usual. And it was then, for the first time, that my sister didn’t sound like a fifty-year-old female CEO of a fortune 500 company. She actually sounded her age and seemed vulnerable for the first time. My sister told me how much she missed our mother when she now carried a child inside her. She wanted to know what kind of baby rearing tips our mother would give her. She doubted her ability to be a good mother to Julia while she continues working full-time.

A few weeks ago my sister called me and told me about this high school student she recently met through work. The girl told my sister that she was adopted into an American family from Columbia when she was an infant. However, her adoptive parents told her about the adoption when she was little. They also made sure that she grew up understanding her roots and being able to speak Spanish well; The family would spend every summer in Columbia. My sister was extremely moved by the story of this 16-year-old and said to me: As much as I am now grateful for being a mother and enjoys taking care of another human being, I wonder if I could ever love and go this far for someone else’s child.

But I wanted to tell my sister that she has already been loving someone else’s children more than they could ever have hoped for. She has opened more doors for me in my life than anyone else and made a much better person out of me. I have no doubts that Julia would grow up to become an intelligent, compassionate, and happy young lady. And guess what, I am already a little jealous of Julia and all the attention she gets from my sister!

Elaine, this is for you. Thank you for being the wind beneath my wings all these years.

2009-02-01T17:39:00.002+09:00

Come and encase me, save me from drowning.

I have loved you for the entirety of my life. The thought of having lost you to the wilderness of the world pains my heart.

So I go on life pretending everything is going to be ok, that I have your love until foreverness should overrule.

A whole new day

2009-02-01T17:23:00.000+09:00

I lit a long-missed cigarette, fearing the arrival of tomorrow. As I drown in the poisoning cigarette smokes and tasteless coffee, the scent of perfume lingering on my fingers and lips, I fear the fear of Cinderella. Tomorrow is a whole new day, a day when I am no longer the Cinderella living in the perfect world, the day when I'd stop thinking of Barcelona, the men whom I had loved and made love to, the pictures of old jaded men walking aimlessly, wandering in and out of my heart, the moist openings for your big sweaty palm, the recklessness, the restlessness, the hate, the love, the melodies, the streets lined with men and women who haven't got the faintest idea of what love is.

You have come back to me, my life once again, or haven't you ever left?

I love you, I told L many many times in the days that went by without fear. Then I saw the tears welled up in his big round eyes, the innocence has long gone.

I wait

2009-01-28T16:49:00.003+09:00

“If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.” – Oscar Wilde

I have been waiting. All these time. Waiting. Day in and day out, I wait. I wait by the door. I wait like a faithful dog for his person. I wait for a note from you. I wait for the time you would think of me. I wait with another life in this room. I wait petting his head, smoothing and scratching his fur. I wait thinking of the men. I wait with hopes. I wait hopelessly. And I wait.

I wait for the time you'd come home. I wait for the time we'd finally meet, the coarseness of your hand on me, my eyes. Your eyes on me. the tenderness breaks my heart. I wait for the one chance to see you. Beautifying myself, my ever gesture, the way my hair is pinned. The moment silence would and should take over. The time I'd not have to say a word. And you would, you would understand.

Now that you are in my life, you said, the words you said, I'd always be here for you, you said, and you said that thousands of times. So I wait, with or without traces of tears, for you. All my life. I wait for you.

The bananas have gone weary. The water now stale. The cat hides no more.

The hide

2009-01-25T10:47:00.002+09:00

In the middle of the day I left room twentyeight with a slight regret of having said too much, of having disclosed every thought that roams through my mind, be it mature or immature, deserving to be known, or better buried for the dead. I walked out of the room with a large pane of glass window, where we were bathed in the warm afternoon winter sun, the kind of world I was often lost to, in which I would let down my guard, and consequently say more than I should.

It comes with a fear, a kind of fear that you'd taste in between your teeth in the middle of the night, wishing you hadn't told the world everything there is to know about you. What is there to know about me? a 25-year-old who's seen too little of the world, who is nothing but judgmental, who has too much pride and too little faith? Who sits through dinner parties with her fingers twisted, bitten, stained with blood under the table? Who can't muster enough courage for a simple act of picking up the phone and dialing the numbers? Who tightens her shoulders at every word she writes down, stiffens her eyebrows at the unsightliness of the world?

There are times when I am told that I have a nice smile. A smile that would charm the men's socks off, so I was told. A smile that will bring down the bridge, the kind that'd melt your heart. I thought long and hard about the truth of the statement. And sometimes, just sometimes, I don't know how much I deserve the smile.

In between the jazz, I sat through Brown Sugar last night, among the cigarette smokes and whiskeys, from time to time asking if the man was missing me. Having lost Lilu to the hide the entire day, I was starting to understand what it would feel like to having lost your precious one. I was at one point someone's preciousness. Today the man sits at home, fears for his life, goes on life not knowing how well his precious one is faring the world, or how the world fares her.

Then I thought perhaps I shouldn't have said so much about who I really am. It was the sunlight. The warm winter afternoon sunlight.

Lucky

2009-01-23T04:19:00.003+09:00

In loving memory of Fen Fen Chang, the woman who loved me unconditionally for 12 years and continues to watch over me today.

I stole for the first time when I was 9 years old.

It was a cold winter night. My parents had been out to a wedding all night, so I knew it was the perfect time to steal. I went to my mother's room and took out 200 Taiwanese dollars from her drawer. I slept that night with the fear of being caught, and of having to lose this precious money before I could make good use of it. The next morning I woke up early, skipped breakfast and ran to school for the most important school event of the year- the book fair.

Later when my mother found out that I had stolen money from her to buy books, she wasn't happy about it. But she eventually learned to resign herself to the reality that her daughter had taken after her and had become another hopeless bookworm, and would do anything to get her hands on a book.

My mother taught literature in a high school. As a parent and an educator, my mother understood the power of reading in shaping a child's character. She understood that reading fictions stimulates children's imagination and opens up a world of possibilities for them. She believed that reading about people's lives teaches children and young adults to be empathetic and compassionate. So I grew up in a house with a huge study where every wall was stacked with books from top to bottom. When I close my eyes and think back on my childhood, I see my mother reading to us 4 kids in our favorite reading spot. My mother made sure that if anything, the house would never run out of books to read, stories to be told, and wild fantasies to be imagined.

Unfortunately, on another cold winter day, my world fell apart. The chapter on my happy childhood came to an end. I was 12 years old and my mother was 42. A heart attack that happened within seconds took her life and left me without a mother. I grew up overnight.

Shortly after my mother's death, my father sent my siblings and me to boarding schools in the U.S. At age 13, I started living in dormitories without parental supervision in a foreign country. I didn’t speak English very well and I wasn't very good at making friends. I was always lonely, and I was very scared. After I finished all the Chinese books I could lay my hands on, I resorted to reading English novels. I could go on for days without speaking to anyone at school, but I learned to appreciate English literature before I could even speak a word of it.

In books and literature, through beautifully written language, I found escape. I found escape from living the life of a miserable teenager in a foreign land. I was often instantly transported into different parts of the world. I could easily be in Tokyo one morning with Haruki Murakami listening to his favorite jazz melodies, or witnessing the cruelty of the Vietnam War with Tim O'Brien in The Things They Carried. And of course, hanging out with Africa's number 1 lady detective was always top priority.

My last year in high school, I took a creative writing course called the Found Voices. I started writing, and I wrote like a mad woman. I wrote one story after another. I wrote mysteries and love stories. I wrote dramas. And I wrote about my mother. I wrote about the life of this extraordinary woman, about how well respected she had been and how much she was missed in the neighborhood. I wrote about the pain and the heartache of losing her. I wrote about life without a mother as a teenager. I wrote about the love of reading she wanted to instill into me when I was a child. I wrote about the time that we had spent together.

In my writing, I told my mother the things that I never had a chance to tell her. I apologized to her for being rude to her the night before she passed away. I made promises to her that I would not let her down. And I promised myself that I would always stay true to my feelings in my writing. At age16, I couldn't think of a better way to feel closer to my mother.

At the end of the school year, I was awarded The English Award. I was the first student whose native language was not English to receive the award in the high school's history. And I thought I was going to win the math or science award like other Asian kids.

I thought long and hard about how you could possibly get to know me better. I thought about telling you the one time when I ran naked in college. I thought about telling you how it is like living in 4 countries in 5 years. But then I realized that, nothing would do a better job than telling you about how I came to build my life around reading and writing.

If there was one thing that my mother wanted me to understand, it was to love and appreciate literature and the joy it brings. There is a Taiwanese folklore that goes: children who have mothers are precious beings and children who don’t are wild grass. But I have always known that my mother had already given me the best present before she had to go. And because of that, I never became wild grass. I know in my heart that I will always be the luckiest child.

Snow trucks and all

2009-01-23T04:12:00.002+09:00

I'd wake up in the middle of the nights mistaking with full conviction that I were in Boston, a city I believe for a fact would never crumble under any circumstances. I'd hear the sound of the snow trucks and find comfort in knowing it had snowed after all. Strangely enough, Shanghai isn't the sort of city you'd confuse for any other city, with its unique lot of people, how the streets tasted like, the way the air felt on the hair of your skin. A little while ago, T wanted to believe it had been San Francisco. I'd want it to be Boston any night.

Panda love

2009-01-06T15:54:00.003+09:00

This entry chronicles the most meaningful conversation I had with my boss today.

H: what kind of pic is the panda pic? (referring the panda picture on my MSN)
L: the male panda pressing the female's head down so she could give him a BJ
L: thats my interpretation
H: agree, pandas are indeed dumb animals, he apparently doesn't know where are other ways to get her to cooperate
H: send me that pic by the way, want to share with the husband
L: I just sent you a better pic (referring to a picture of two pandas having hot steaming sex)
H: but send me the BJ pic too

100 seconds on positive change

2009-01-06T00:57:00.000+09:00

My grandmother is 80-year-old and she is illiterate. Although smart and bright, she never learned to read or write. When she was a little girl working in the rice fields in a small village in Taiwan, she had no idea that one day her grandchild would speak the two most popular languages in the world- English and Chinese. While my grandmother lived her entire life unable to read street signs, I grew up bilingual and educated in the best schools in Taiwan, Japan, and the U.S. I have traveled the world and have lived in more than 4 countries, but my grandmother stays at home all day. The idea of pursuing one’s dream, as I did, is simply unimaginable to her.

Unfortunately, today, there are still more than 100 million children in the world unable to attend school. Even worse, in the least developing countries, illiterate women account for half the country’s population. The inability to read and write leaves women with very few options to escape a life of hardship. My grandmother certainly didn’t have an easy life. Education empowers women and gives them knowledge to improve living conditions for themselves and their families. So I believe that educating women is an important step toward positive change.

So I dream. I dream of a world in which every little girl can read and write, be fascinated by children’s stories and literature, and to see and imagine the world with beautiful languages. And that to me, is a powerful way to make this world a better place.

2008-12-14T09:30:00.000+09:00

在寫作之前，我不能和世界碰撞

- 鍾文音

Leo Tolstoy

2008-12-13T16:51:00.002+09:00

"All happy families resemble one another, each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." - Leo Tolstoy

I’ve been chewing on this Tolstoy quote for days- it is the very first line in Anna Karenina, a book that I could never get passed the first fifty pages. Like what I said to J in our email correspondence, the quote sums up the story of my life in one telling. It is absurdly true and heartbreaking. The story of my family isn’t probably stranger than fiction. It is more realistic and in your face than you would have preferred.

Unfortunately it is again that time of the year. The time when families gather, family dinners shared and enjoyed. The time that gives me unspeakable anxiety and a heart ache that I find it impossibly difficult to transcribe to friends. I am not yet sick of answering those questions and giving people the response they were hoping for. Most of the time I only wish avoiding the question could be easier.

It amazes me how much I psychoanalyze myself and every word I utter, every gesture I make. It can’t be good. So I tell myself.

I am imagining the perfect picture of familial bliss...

Thank you

2008-11-06T19:20:00.001+09:00

You have so much faith in me, in what I have always been, in what I will eventually become. You tell me you have been seeing certain things about me that I have long failed to see, to feel, to believe in.

The whole world believes in you, in me. Why don’t you?

親愛的你，
到底過了多久又到底需要多久的時間你才會學會愛與珍惜自己
到底積累的傷害過去的陰影需要多久的時間什麼樣的方式哪一個合適的時機才能完全擺脫
親帶的你不是她
親愛的也許是該離開的時候了
我需要你需要你找回自己需要你發現自己需要你好好愛需要你肯定自己需要你相信
需要你真心相信需要你擺脫那些不應該的人事物需要你看到
親愛的該是開口說話的時候了你可以選擇克服你可以證明你可以你可以

Questions about time

2008-07-02T00:05:00.001+09:00

Does time make one bolder?
Does time make us a better person?
Does time eventually make things right? or perhaps better?
Does time take away the heartache? Does time obliterate the heartfelt memory?
Does time take you back to where we began?
Does time give you the chance to become good again?
Does time give you the answers?
Does time love you the same way?

A story about you

2008-07-01T23:48:00.002+09:00

I wanted to write about you, or us, whatever that had happened to us, whichever that came to mind first. I wanted to write about how we had loved, or how we had lost each other, how we had not learned to care for one another better than we should have. I wanted you to be there when I tried to write about you, I wanted you to feel the pain, the heartbeat when a story about you, on you, for you was being shaped, formulated, given a life into this world, a world so ugly that neither of us could possibly have continued to love and live.

So I have been writing about you, on the day that you turned your back on me, the day I was left alone in the wind, and the day our world was overturned. I continued to write about you, or us, whoever that deserved a carefully crafted story more. You were given a life to live well, to its fullest, and so was I. But here I was, in the middle of the day, doing not a thing but drafting a story about you, on you, for you.

So the love of my life, how have you been? in the time that we have been apart, that you have grown into someone completely strange to me, journeyed through this life on your own, without a hand to guide you in the darkest nights. How have you been?

I imagine you, the very special individual, traveling in the air, wandering all by yourself, with no one to talk to, no one to look after, no one to care enough for. Would I want that for you? so much was lost, so much pain. Would I want that for you, the love of my life? So I wonder if the pain, the heartache deserved a voice, too.

And my love, you didn’t have to be a novelist to be writing a story about yourself, or us, whichever that deserved a few pages, a few passionate words, paragraphs, a couple carefully crafted stories.

C (June 2008, Shanghai)

2008-06-21T11:33:00.002+09:00

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.

Freedom of speech for the day!

2008-06-21T10:56:00.003+09:00

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

2008-06-21T10:53:00.001+09:00

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.

March 2, 2008

2008-06-21T10:52:00.001+09:00

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

Feb 24, 2008

2008-06-21T10:50:00.002+09:00

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。

Feb 20, 2008

2008-06-21T10:50:00.001+09:00

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。

Janurary 14, 2008

2008-06-21T10:48:00.000+09:00

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.

2007-10-07T17:56:00.000+09:00

「在這樣的一個春天裡，一些人努力將冬天拋在身後，就像花兒似的默默生長，含苞欲放；另ㄧ些人則命中注定要繼續過一種『含垢忍辱』的生活，就像蕾拉所形容的那樣。」

「流水對一個骯髒的人說：『到這兒來吧。』
骯髒的人說：『我感到羞愧難當。』
流水回答：『沒有我，你如何能洗滌你的污點。』」

The Bookseller of Kabul by Asne Seierstad

01'55

2007-09-01T10:10:00.000+09:00

01'55 so it is named

I deleted all the i's in my story
I listen to Tom Waits for the first time in the early morning
The naked self writes

Tom Waits sings, “hope I don't fall in love with you because it makes me a little blue”
Doesn't it?
Have I not had the same thought?
I'd rather not love, so I declared, proud and loud
I'd hate to hurt and be hurt
Time and again

I looked for his presence
I wanted him to be right here right now
Miss right here right now
The joke was told
The night went on without sparkles in my eyes
The night dragged on

I needed water to survive
I needed not you

The door bell rings when I write
The very moments of vulnerability
I'd rather not answer
I've never answered, in the presence of the naked self
Couldn't you, my very own stranger at the door, not have understood?

My darling, my darling,
Tom Waits is singing
How do you scheme love?

我心中想的只有你

2007-08-31T01:19:00.001+09:00

How is it that things don't always go the way we want them to?
How is it that the night went on the way neither of us understood what to do with it?
How is it that people love you without ever telling you?
How is it that the wonder of life frightens me at unimaginable times?

How is it that I could love you without having to know you by heart?
How is it that we walked across the city without a word exchanged between us?
How is it that the cats and dogs sleep in silence?
How is it that the cat waits by the veranda, overlooking the park and my lonely silhouette?
How is it that I had no choice but to imagine life in the absence of my very beloved?

How is it that you shall remain a mystery to me, for the rest of the times that we will meet and fall for each other?

How is it that the night continued to be special, without you by my side?

Why Act Three?

2007-08-26T23:09:00.000+09:00

A month or two into our friendship, Leslie sat me down to tell me a story. "I don't tell this to many people," she prefaced.

It was a practiced story, I could tell, by the way she moved from plot point to plot point neatly and linearly – by the way she elaborated on the most distressing things as if she were reading from a moving, but familiar, book.

I was 21 then, and Leslie 20. If Leslie freaked when she found out I was a senior – I think her word was "immature" – I often stood in awe of the centeredness she possessed for her age.

In listening to her story, I learned that at the age of 20, she had already lost a mother and moved to another country, adopted a new culture. She had not only scrambled to survive, but worked hard to succeed. She seemed to have gone through more at that age than what some people will experience in a lifetime.

Leslie has an affinity for the literary, appropriately, because her life sometimes reads like a story. She asked me to think of a title for her blog. I thought, if her childhood in Taiwan was Act I of her life, and her maturation into adulthood in the U.S. was Act II, then her return to Taiwan and her search for a place to plant her feet makes a pretty compelling Act Three.

I can only say that I'll be here to read it.

—Andy

Incomplete

2007-08-22T00:01:00.000+09:00

When life gets difficult, I forget what it means to be special. I forget the light and the gift people see in me. I forget how powerful language can be. I forget what I have in me that draw the extraordinaire to me.

The very truth is that I am terrified. I am scared out of my mind about what is to become of this life, about living a life with regrets, about going straight ahead without having the direction mesmerized.

I forget easily. Too easily. I forget to stride ahead, with my head tilted upward, with a fearless look, with undefeatable confidence. I forget life goes on, I forget people love, I forget to love.

But when life gets difficult, what do I know? What do I really know that will possibly make a difference in my life? Change me, move me, become the better part of me? What do I know about being distinguished? About being the one in control? About being powerful? About being strong?

But the truth no longer matters, the cold harsh truth. It no longer matters.

2007-08-21T23:14:00.001+09:00

I have a story to tell. So that’s how the story began.
I may or may not give the whole of myself. To you. To a faithful reader as far as you.

I may not tell the truth. About myself. About how life works in wonder. About how they have changed me, about how I have been convinced that life isn’t always about just me.

I may or may not tell the truth. I may or may not give the whole of myself to you, to someone as far as you.

I have a story to tell. So I began the story, about the loves found and lost along the way, about the men and the women, about how the world was changed overnight, in an instant, about the grownups, the children, the father.

Were you entranced? Were you fascinated? Were you heartbroken?
Would you have understood?

2007-08-21T23:01:00.000+09:00

I am not yet ready to speak with you, to speak to you as if nothing has happened, as if the hurtful conversation never took place, as if life really could go on this easily, as if the world has not yet crumbled beneath our feet.

I am not yet prepared to deal with the brokenness that you made me feel, the defense you had against me, the silence, the drama, the questionable infidelity.

I am not armed.
I am not teamed.
I am just me, alone, silent, feared.

I am not ready to apologize, to go away, to turn my back on you.
Nor am I ready to be healed, to love in spite of myself, to forgive.
I am not anyone else.

2007-08-17T13:14:00.000+09:00

"She was just like everyone else, she endured her loneliness in silence, tried to justify everything she did, pretended to be strong when she was feeling weak or weak when she was feeling strong..."

- Paulo Coelho in the Eleven Minutes

2007-08-16T15:12:00.000+09:00

I wonder if you would see in me what I see in myself

I wonder if you see me in what I have always seen in myself

2007-08-16T09:17:00.000+09:00

Dreaming is very pleasant as long as you are not forced to put your dreams into practice. That way, we avoid all the risks, frustrations and difficulties, and when we are old, we can always blame other people- preferably our parents, our spouses or our children- for our failure to realize our dreams.

- Paulo Coelho

2007-08-16T09:09:00.000+09:00

I knew Coelho was talking about me instantly, speaking to me right in my face the moment I had the book open. I could easily be Maria, through her travels, her adventure, the heartbreaks. I too had spoken about the decisions that I had made, the dreams I had woven myself into, the disappointment and the loss that Maria had no choice (did she really not?) but to go throug life with.

It isn't supposed to be fair, so that's how they had life understood.

"Some people were born to face life alone, and this is neither good or bad, it is simply life. Maria is one of those people."

- Paulo Coelho

2007-08-16T01:16:00.000+09:00

「我是一個敏感的小孩，很容易受傷，但卻不知道怎麼解決。」

「我好想回家，卻不知道怎樣才能讓爸媽快樂。」

「我的人生不是為了追求完美。他[哥哥]追求的是潛力極限，我追求的是人活生生的一面，人各有生存之道。人生的風景各有險峻，我可能是誤入歧途，辛苦，可是能看到奇花。」

─ 焦安溥

2007-08-13T21:17:00.000+09:00

When you really want something, the universe will conspire to help you get what you want. Make it happen for you.

What does the world want from me?

2007-08-13T21:11:00.000+09:00

Why am I here?

Why does the world need what I have to offer?

I wish you love

2007-08-13T20:52:00.000+09:00

An all time jazz favorite. The music takes you to a mysterious place. It's fascinating.

I Wish You Love

Artist: Rachael Yamagata

I wish you bluebirds in the spring
To give your heart a song to sing
And then a kiss, but more than this

I wish you love
And in July a lemonade
To cool you in some leafy glade

I wish you health
And more than wealth
I wish you love
My breaking heart and I agree
That you and I could never be
So with my best My very best
I set you free

I wish you shelter from the storm
A cozy fire to keep you warm
But most of all when snowflakes fall

I wish you love
But most of all when snowflakes fall
I wish you love

I believe

2007-08-12T17:28:00.000+09:00

眼前的黑不是黑你說的白是什麼白
人們說的天空藍是我記憶中那團白雲背後的藍天
─ 蕭煌奇

I have always believed that I would do great things. I would live an extraordinary life that becomes a legend to some. I would create, I would make wonderful things happen, I would inspire, I would be an icon, I would be proud. I would define the meaning of my life. I would fulfill. I would do them good. Make them proud.

2007-08-11T01:01:00.000+09:00

I refuse to be treated any less than what I deserve.

給g

2007-08-03T00:50:00.001+09:00

親愛的g,

寫封情書給你
但我的筆怎麼寫不出鍾文音的動人詞句
寫不出攝人的情感
寫不出過去寫不出思念寫不出每日的追憶

親愛的g, 我想像你漫步在大阪街頭
想像迎面而來的關西女子
想像你猜測你無緣的我的故事
想像你低問我的近況

親愛的g, 你懷念的是涉世未深終日鬱鬱的我
在冬日積雪的草地駐著拐杖赤裸地奔跑
在波光粼粼的查理斯河畔旁與你相守
在離開舞會的接駁車上哭泣承受白人男子輕挑的我

我親愛的g,
你是不需要時間經過，也可以讓我有答案的人，但我依然覺得生命有你很好很好。(鍾文音)

我最最親愛的g,
於是時間證明你是對的
你的預言你的信誓旦旦都是對的
我沒有一日快樂
謝謝你鼓起勇氣萬般殘忍的對待在離別時吐訴所有你知道的真相
在另一個城市呼吸著我的空氣變態地回憶我的殘缺
在陌生的日本女子身體霸道地撫摸我佔有我

親愛的g啊
你依然是我最親愛的我萬般地思念你萬般地渴望擁有你

我的親愛的
我該怎麼在浩瀚的時間洪流裡這樣自私地擁有你呢

Crushed at last

2007-08-03T00:26:00.000+09:00

I started writing online in 2002 when things at stake finally fell apart, fell into the open void that none of us could have any say. I wrote and documented the end of my loved ones' relationships, the crushed dreams, my crushed dreams, things that seemed to matter, things that brought us hope. I wrote and spoke about lives that I could have possibly changed, people that I would always love.

I continued to write in Japan, with L along side me. Strange as it sounds, L was there when I needed to hold onto someone. L stood by me, until the very last day. Yet, I continued to envy L. I questioned her right to be happy. I questioned everyone's right to be happy.

It ain't easy, honey. To live in anger and to live with so much hate.

I wrote to L. I missed her.
I always like to put it this way—L has and will always be in my thoughts.
L never responded. L hasn't.

The writing had to stop in 2004. I had to leave my sputnik sweetheart. I lost it in the world wide web. I let it go. I ended our relationship. I gave away my last source of comfort amidst a period of turmoil.

Dear God,
I don't ask very much from you.

Please. Do give me the strength to go on. Do give me the peace of mind that I am in a dire need for.

Dear God, you must understand. You must.
You must give me what I need. You must love me like how you love all the other children. You must give me the strength. You must love me.

I will then save myself. I will be able to. I will not mind the gaps, the hidden traps along the way, I will be strong enough to go on. I will fear no longer.

Dear God, I must have you in my heart. I must go on with you in my prayers.

And my loves, I will not give up on myself. I will continue to love you all, love them all. I shall not be crushed so easily.

2007-08-02T12:01:00.000+09:00

Nothing in life is so exhilarating as to be shot at without result.

- Winston Churchill

2007-07-30T13:24:00.000+09:00

"There are still days when I pace my living room, crumpled paper at my feet, rejection letters tacked to my bulletin board. If I still smoked, there would be overflowing ashtrays. If I could grow a beard, I would have one. But I no longer have the fear that deep down I'm not supposed to be a writer. You don't get to decide those things. It's not about having a degree or winning a prestigious award or finding a respected mentor. It doesn't have to be about chapbooks and literary journals. How it works now is that if you're writing something someone else is reading, for better or worse, you're a writer. You just have to decide what you're going to do about it."

- Pamela Ribon in Bookmark Now: writing in unreaderly times.

讀鍾文音

2007-07-21T16:16:00.000+09:00

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。

鍾文音

To be continued

2007-07-21T10:34:00.001+09:00

It is all very strange, the things that happened, the stories that I never meant to share.

I had never imagined myself actually speaking these words out loud, let alone having an audience. But there she was, there we were, in the dim light, the small coffeehouse next to my place. She had told her story first, the words carefully crafted and almost forced. I knew she wanted an audience, someone to listen to her and comfort her for the loss and pains that she believed she had lost. For all the time that I’ve come to know her, I had never been the right person to tell the stories to. We have shaped our friendship around the things that we do together, the people that we meet together, the food, the jazz, the neighborhood that we live in.

I have learned my lessons after all. I have learned not to force feelings out, not to press for untold stories. I have learned not to care, not to mind too much business.

But it was that night, a night of magic, the time we had come to each other at the bus station that she chose to tell her stories, to someone as far as me. She had come to me with a hidden agenda, carefully disguised to fool.

She spoke of her pains, of her anger, of the desires.
That was when we fell into silence.
That was when I felt compelled to tell my story for the night to go on, for the connectedness that we felt to last.

There I was, there she was, in the dim light, the small coffeehouse next to my place. I spoke for the first time, of the inner fear, the weakness, the hurt, the pain, the losses, the regrets, the tortures, the self-tortures that went on every night, the hurt that stung on every bus ride to work. I spoke these words for the first time, to an audience.

She listened. She shook her head. She did not understand.
She did not understand the necessity of going this far for the punishment.
She felt for me. She felt for the pain and the losses. She felt the hurt and the fear. It was the tortures that she did not understand, the self-tortures that I had inflicted upon myself every night of the week, on every bus ride in the mornings.

I had never imagined myself actually speaking these words out loud to an audience. But there I was, there she was, in the dim light, the small coffeehouse next to my place. She had told her stories first. I told mine second.

天真的渴望

2007-07-16T20:49:00.000+09:00

「我們也許都是多有貪求。可是，這會不會是因為，我們對這個世界還充滿了好奇與熱情？會不會是因為，我們在心中還擁有一些天真的渴望？一些如蔓草紋如纏枝花紋般的始終不曾消失的對「美」的夢想？」

席慕蓉

I would love you

2007-07-16T20:38:00.000+09:00

If I could, I would tell you how much I love you
How much you've meant to me
How you've been important to me and how I act as if it doesn't matter
If I could, I would tell you in person
I would confess all my love for you
I would be in tears and I see you would too

If I could, I would tell you how much I love you
How much you've changed my life with and without knowing
How you and I have let each other down
If I could, I would tell you how much I love you in person
How I think about calling you every day of the week
How I've never picked the phone up

If I could, I would bring all of your children back
I would make us all happy
A big happy family
I would make things better, easier for every single one of us
I would make your worries go away
E would apologize, you would forgive
WY would be in tears, and so would I

If I could, I would love you with everything that I could offer you
I would not be afraid of you
I would speak to you with love and respect
I would take away the silver hair
I would understand how you've always felt about the story
How it really ought to have a very happy ending

Would it be?

2007-07-13T00:06:00.000+09:00

Wouldn't it be nice?
Wouldn't it be nice to be happy?
Wouldn't it be nice to go through a day without any negative thoughts about anyone, anything?
Wouldn't it be to nice if I could do that effortlessly?
Wouldn't it be nice if I didn't have to try too hard to be myself?
Wouldn't it be nice to not go home in the end of day wondering what you've said wrong today?
Wouldn't it be nice to be content and fulfilled for once?
Wouldn't it be nice if I could figure out what life really is about and why people upset me so much?

Is there any reason for me to not be happy?
Is there?
Is there any reason for me to cry over spilled milk?
Is there any reason for me to ever wonder if I deserve it?

Wouldn't it be nice to not feel stifled by dailiness? For once?
Wouldn't it be nice to get over the hurt in an instant?
Wouldn't it be nice if picking up the phone to call dad felt just like the right thing to do at the moment?
Wouldn't it be nice if the two weeks of having WY home could repeat itself too many times?

Wouldn't it be nice to not live in regrets?
Wouldn't it be nice if I found the passion for reading back?
Wouldn't it be nice if I eventually learned the ropes and mastered the tricks of game about life?

Wouldn't it be nice to not knowing how to doubt myself?
Wouldn't it be nice if I was not very good at it?

Wouldn't it be nice?
Would it?

2007-06-24T01:49:00.000+09:00

我雖然沒有永恆的青春、不受污染的純真，但有經一事長一智的生命體驗。

─ 陳藹玲

2007-06-11T00:10:00.000+09:00

"You can take the girl out of high school, but you can't take high school out of the girl."

灰塵萌生

2007-06-09T12:36:00.000+09:00

時間在灰塵萌生的日子裡過去了
該打的電話仍擱置著
該醒悟的罪惡感仍時時刻刻地折磨著我們三姐妹
我常常想這樣的糾結這樣的大時代裡不該存在的誤解與尊嚴何時可以離我而去何時可以讓E在夜裡不再驚醒讓W不再畏懼所謂的家

我也常想是不是我不自量力是不是我們不自量力
也許這終究會是一個永遠打不開的結
也許我們注定帶著它輪迴帶著它生生世世
帶著它哇哇落地帶著它喜怒哀樂帶著它來到另一個家庭擁有另一種人生
與它共生存任由它寄生束手無策

天母的百貨公司

2007-06-07T01:11:00.000+09:00

這些日子以來我常想起A
想起那些互相陪伴的日子想起彼此用苛刻的言語折磨對方的日子
想起她的夢想一些永遠不會實現的夢想
想起在這樣寄生蟲般的依賴關係中舔舐傷口的我
想起高傲的她
想起天母百貨公司前的水泥地
想起妳我的足跡

這樣的思念這樣殘忍的追憶原來源自那天的天母行
原來只要回到舊地還是只能無助地任由漫長時間背棄的過去椎心痛徹地
在公車上
在黑暗中
在白晝
在字裡行間
提醒你曾有的過去你丟棄的回憶
我唯一的選擇

The Wonder of Life

2007-06-04T13:10:00.000+09:00

"The wonder of life is that even in despair, when things seem hopeless, you still get to choose who you want to be and how you respond. "

- Oprah
http://www.oprah.com/omagazine/200705/omag_200705_mission.jhtml

Inscription

2007-06-04T12:39:00.000+09:00

I thought of A over the weekend. I thought about how the memory of her haunts me months after we parted and I bid my goodbye with her. I thought about how all this time I’ve never let go of her, how the thought of her still breaks me. I thought of resolving the issues with her or quietly within myself. Then the thought of having a pressing need to seek resolution with her frightens me. Why would I need to go this far for a moment of truth, a peace of mind with someone who should not matter in my life? Someone who has finally found her happiness and left me alone.

I thought of the sickening habit of me to make up imaginary enemies and how the negativity affects me in indescribable ways. I thought about quitting the habit for good. Then I imagined A with her fiancé walking through the food court in the department store, hand in hand. I imagined running into her and having to turn away. Then I couldn’t help but feeling the anger rising inside of me, running through my veins. I am angry at myself for thinking so much about A, for imagining her happiness, for her having her happiness.

I secretly wondered if she deserved her happiness. Even if it shouldn't be up to me to decide or even to doubt if anyone, if A deserves the kind of happiness she owns. The happiness she inscribed on her skin, on her fate. I wondered if she ever thought of me, if she thinks of me from time to time.

Our friendship remains

2007-05-29T17:40:00.000+09:00

Wind blows.
Leave fall.
Seasons change.

Our friendship remains.

A dear friend sent me the card a couple days ago. The comfort and familiarity came just in time.

I realize I could no longer contain it within, all to myself, the need to say a few words for the departure of a friend whom I hold very close to my heart.

Not until the day of your departure and the weeks that followed did I start to feel a very strong sense of loss. You probably can't imagine this because I didn't see it coming either...that life here felt very differently without you...that this city all of a sudden doesn't feel like home anymore. I tried to recall the days that I didnt have you in the picture...and I remember how unhappy I had been back then.

聰明過份

2007-05-29T00:30:00.000+09:00

Rereading the story years after our first read in junior high school...it surprised me how much the story still moved me and brought tears. 我的淚很快地流下來了Chang man-chuan put it well. Writing isn't always about big words or layered metaphors of how much one's heart aches. It's about touching someone else with the magic of simple words.
I thought of father while listening to Chang . I thought of father and guilt. I thought of WY and E. For sometime I even thought about sending them the story. I wanted someone to share the sentiment with me. I wanted not to be the only one being reminded of the wrongs we've done to each other. I thought about how we can make things better, how, finally, we learn to love without pride.
I did nothing about it. I didn't have the heart to send the story to the ones whom I know I can hurt easily, whose vulnerabilty reminds me of who I was and used to be everday.

朱自清背影

我與父親不相見已有二年餘了，我最不能忘記的是他的背影。那年冬天，祖母死了，父親的差使也交卸了，正是禍不單行的日子，我從北京到徐州，打算跟著父親奔喪回家。到徐州見著父親，看見滿院狼籍的東西，又想起祖母，不禁簌簌地流下眼淚。

父親說，“事已如此，不必難過，好在天無絕人之路！”

回家變賣典質，父親還了虧空；又借錢辦了喪事。這些日子，家中光景很是慘淡，一半為了喪事，一半為了父親賦閒。喪事完畢，父親要到南京謀事，我也要回到北京唸書，我們便同行。
到南京時，有朋友約去遊逛，勾留了一日；第二日上午便須渡江到浦口，下午上車北去。父親因為事忙，本已說定不送我，叫旅館裏一個熟識的茶房陪我同去。他再三囑咐茶房，甚是仔細。但他終於不放心，怕茶房不妥貼；頗躊躇了一會。其實我那年已二十歲，北京已來往過兩三次，是沒有甚麼要緊的了。他躊躇了一會，終於決定還是自己送我去。我兩三回勸他不必去；他只說，“不要緊，他們去不好！”

我們過了江，進了車站。我買票，他忙著照看行李。行李太多了，得向腳夫行些小費，才可過去。他便又忙著和他們講價錢。我那時真是聰明過分，總覺他說話不大漂亮，非自己插嘴不可。但他終於講定了價錢；就送我上車。他給我揀定了靠車門的一張椅子；我將他給我做的紫毛大衣鋪好坐位。他囑我路上小心，夜裏要警醒些，不要受涼。又囑托茶房好好照應我。我心裏暗笑他的迂；他們只認得錢，托他們直是白托！而且我這樣大年紀的人，難道還不能料理自己麼？唉，我現在想想，那時真是太聰明了。

我說道，“爸爸，你走吧。”他往車外看了看，說，“我買幾個桔子去。你就在此地，不要走動。”我看那邊月台的柵欄外有幾個賣東西的等著顧客。走到那邊月台，須穿過鐵道，須跳下去又爬上去。父親是一個胖子，走過去自然要費事些。我本來要去的，他不肯，只好讓他去。我看見他戴著黑布小帽，穿著黑布大馬褂，深青布棉袍，蹣跚地走到鐵道邊，慢慢探身下去，尚不大難。可是他穿過鐵道，要爬上那邊月台，就不容易了。他用兩手攀著上面，兩腳再向上縮；他肥胖的身子向左微傾，顯出努力的樣子。這時我看見他的背影，我的淚很快地流下來了。我趕緊拭乾了淚，怕他看見，也怕別人看見。我再向外看時，他已抱了朱紅的桔子往回走了。過鐵道時，他先將桔子散放在地上，自己慢慢爬下，再抱起桔子走。到這邊時，我趕緊去攙他。他和我走到車上，將桔子一股腦兒放在我的皮大衣上。於是撲撲衣上的泥土，心裏很輕鬆似的，過一會說，“我走了，到那邊來信！”我望著他走出去。他走了幾步，回過頭看見我，說，“進去吧，裏邊沒人。”等他的背影混入來來往往的人裏，再找不著了，我便進來坐下，我的眼淚又來了。

近幾年來，父親和我都是東奔西走，家中光景是一日不如一日。他少年出外謀生，獨立支持，做了許多大事。哪知老境卻如此頹唐！他觸目傷懷，自然情不能自已。情鬱於中，自然要發之於外；家庭瑣屑便往往觸他之怒。他待我漸漸不同往日。但最近兩年不見，他終於忘卻我的不好，只是惦記著我，惦記著我的兒子。我北來後，他寫了一封信給我，信中說道，“我身體平安，惟膀子疼痛利害，舉箸提筆，諸多不便，大約大去之期不遠矣。”我讀到此處，在晶瑩的淚光中，又看見那肥胖的，青布棉袍，黑布馬褂的北影。唉！我不知何時再能與他相見！

1925年10月在北京

The only defence

2007-05-20T00:39:00.000+09:00

"I will not serve that in which I no longer believe, whether it call itself my home, my fatherland, or my church: and I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can, using for my defence the only arms I allow myself to use - silence, exile and cunning."

- James Joyce 1882~1941

2007-04-25T23:40:00.000+09:00

當光明出現的時候，黑暗就消失

當智慧跟慈悲出現的時候，痛苦跟畏懼也會自然消失

小情歌

2007-04-18T02:38:00.000+09:00

珍妮花離開的前一晚我們聚在一起終於吃到了傳說中的尤氏羊肉爐
回程的一路上嘉嘉和我很患難的分著一副耳機重複的聽著這首小情歌
我們很有默契的決定這一程路從木柵到中山國中我們都要一直聽這首歌
捷運上的座位散亂著當天training的大畫本斜放著的雨傘

有時回想哪一晚的歌聲總會想起捷運車窗外飛逝而過的雨景
你知道　就算大雨讓這個城市顛倒我會給你懷抱

到達萬芳醫院駛過科技大樓站來到了曾經狼狽萬分的大安站
就算整個世界被寂寞綁票我也不會奔跑
還記得在某人的部落格讀到筆者覺得那是個無比沉重及嚴肅的承諾
但是這世界又怎會被寂寞綁票呢
是怎麼樣排山倒海的寂寞竟可以冷酷的沒收所有情感
是哪些人給了寂寞不屬於它的權力

我問嘉離騷是什麼意思
是怎樣的心情能將屈原的浪漫寫進二十一世紀的流行樂曲
而是怎樣的雨夜能讓嘉和我為這一首歌心動不已

Change is the only constant, so they said…

2007-04-17T23:52:00.000+09:00

I've always been a firm believer of the saying, “change is the only constant,” changes are for a better future, changes are actually good for you. Good for me.

Yet I have become the biggest skeptical of the thought these few days, for I am seeing changes in myself that are, if not, drastic, utmost unsettling in many ways. I am not understanding how I feel or how to come to terms with the uneasy feelings in the stomach. I am not doing very well.

Simply said, I am not myself anymore. I am not feeling like myself anymore. I am pushing people out, closing myself in, blaming myself and believing that I do not deserve true and graceful love.

As much as I resent the habit of criticizing myself for all the wrongdoings that happen in a day, I seem to be really good at doing this, at feeling like a failure anytime of the day.

I am never going to love myself, am I?
I am never going to believe that good love can come easily, am I?

I start praying to God for more strength and wisdom for I seem to be losing all of it. The simple act of mustering enough strength and wisdom to get me to the end of the day seems almost impossible.

The past couple days of all the madness of a wedding, of traveling for hours to get to the man who welcomed me with wide open arms, of returning to a most familiar yet strange work place, of hastily leaving with a bad taste in the mouth. It isn't unbearable. It was almost too easy. Things changed for no better reason. People left without much left to be said. Love lost and love found. How do I be certain of what it is that I am secretly wishing for? Amongst all the confusions and changes in the dailiness of life.

If getting to the last pages of the book among the 20 other books that I am also reading itself presents a challenge to me, how is it that I am asking to demonstrate disciplines?

不屬於我的80年代

2007-03-31T17:56:00.000+09:00

Tears came from listening to this song again and again. I was born and grew up in the 80s, never get to enjoy the 80s though. I wonder what it was like back then. The good old days.

我的80年代　詞曲唱：雷光夏

那天吹來的風　穿過我的手中卻又不肯停留
它就轉身飄離　被握到你的手中
你也忘了　認真地對我說　究竟什麼相同
屬於我們的80年代是你的笑容　或那首情歌和走不完的鋼琴前奏
鼓手們還在昨天　靜靜等候

一封未寄的信　春天綻放了花
清晨醒來時候　
是否你偶爾想起　那首未完的歌
認真地對我說　究竟什麼不同
屬於我們的80年代
是你的笑容　或那首情歌和走不完的鋼琴前奏
哭泣的音符　已被緊緊擁抱

離開得越遠越好　我那軟弱的夢　誰也不在那裡面
用我的美好思念　和你的過去相逢　在下一個時間

一封未寄的信　春天綻放了花
清晨醒來時候　是否你偶爾想起　那首未完的歌
認真地對我說　究竟什麼不同
屬於我們的80年代
而你的笑容已散失在風中

夢

2007-03-31T17:38:00.000+09:00

這究竟是不是一場夢

親愛的你啊
你到底還是來到了我的生命中
我朝思暮想的你啊

我沒法肯定
你的出現對我的生命究竟會造成什麼樣的影響
究竟你是過客抑或是注定
究竟我是天賜抑或是錯誤

這究竟是不是一場夢
一場太美好的夢

我的未來是否可以現在確定

如影隨形

2007-03-31T17:23:00.000+09:00

我不得不承認
我喜愛孤獨遠遠超越了與人群相擁
深愛享受不說話的時刻
也許他們說的對生命的本質最後竟是孤獨
寂寞的你我
孤單的你我
在大城中
在荒野
在橫跨浩瀚大海的飛機上

只有這個時候我才能深切的感受到自己選擇的生活方式
我到底要的是什麼
我到底如何看待自己

於是我如同這個小島的每個人
買了保險買了基金告訴自己從今天起我也要好好的儲蓄認真的理財
but what about my wildest dreams?
what about giving up everything else and pursue the lifestyle I've always longed for?
我可以想像
卻沒辦法接受

孤獨的感覺如影隨形
昨天夜裡於是我又孤獨的醒來夏夜的炙熱終將到來

再次提筆的原因

2007-03-26T14:27:00.000+09:00

我想告訴你再次提筆的原因
沒有很多華麗的原因或特殊的契機
只是心情繁雜時是沒有辦法特別去注意到身邊的美好事物
取而代之的是整日怨天尤人的心情烏雲密佈的世界

而現在這麼多年後我終於第一次感覺到些許的平靜
你問我怎麼發覺的
我想就是當我開始注意到腳下瘦小卻美麗萬千的花朵開始的
呼嘯而過的公車旁是踩著碎步的小學生嘻笑互鬧的高中生
在這陌生的台北城裡第一次感覺平靜
平日矮小雜亂的灰色房宅們
第一次透露著寧靜的氣息
第一次讓人感覺到美的存在

於是我知道　當我又可以感覺美的存在時　即是再次提筆的時候了

真正的美

2007-03-22T12:22:00.000+09:00

「真正的美，都是有靈魂，有底蘊的。還要有信仰。」

─ 席慕蓉

一個答案

2007-03-21T14:41:00.000+09:00

今天終於確認了這種感覺，這種長久以來我都沒辦法以言語以思敘確認的想法
午休時與T坐在狹小的會議室翻讀著席慕蓉的日記，讀到席說的
「人與自然，彼此善待，在浩瀚的天地之間永存感恩之心，這就是游牧文化裡最令人疼惜與珍惜之處啊！」
我不了解游牧民族與其文化但人需要流浪與自由的心情不管是心靈的流浪抑或身體的自由這我是了解的
而那浩瀚的天地一望無際的草原狂放的風
又豈是我們能輕易的割捨的呢

我終於確認了這長久以來在心裡蠢蠢欲動的渴望
我不能也沒有辦法被這樣的人生這樣的局面限制不能也沒辦法放縱自己的靈魂這樣的生活
外面的世界其實我並不羨慕也不渴望
流浪也並不能給我一個像樣的答案
但這樣的生活模式這樣的生活內容其實我是不愛也不能引以為傲的
我知道習慣自由的靈魂渴望創意的靈魂值得給予自由

我不會這樣下去的
凝望著窗外密麻的矮房聳立的大樓無垠的天空
我默默的給了自己那長久以來在心裡蠢蠢欲動的渴望
一個答案

Fact and Story

2007-03-13T22:34:00.000+09:00

David-

"Our assessments of others say more about us as observers than they do about the other person."

"Our description of the world is not the world but a description." (it's a story, not facts!)

"Once you accept the fact that life is difficult, it no longer matters that it's difficult. Then we are free to focus on satisfaction and fullfillment. Suffering and regret are the result of seeking to avoid what is difficult."

New friends

2007-03-13T22:28:00.000+09:00

I must admit it's a rather strange feeling when new friends find me special for my spirituality. For god's sake, I almost wish they see me as a mediocre individual who lives a mediocre life. It is true that it feels almost unreal and unsurprisingly good when people regard you as someone who strives to be a better person. Yet the overwhleming expectations are almost unbearbale. Is the pressure I unwittingly put upon my shoulders not enough to stifle me and my will to be better?

For this, I never talk to them as much as I wish I should have. We had our moments, usually the first or the second meetings and they shall stay beautiful in memories.

再次離題

2007-03-13T22:18:00.000+09:00

Dated March 10, 2007

I am too afriad to be in love again. Scared of losing myself all over again. For beautiful memories that will never save me from all the evils in this world. The moment I stopped knowing what word to use to describe how I felt, I knew I would never become a writer. I no longer know how to make myself understand in literal terms of exactly what is happening to me…what is happening to this world of mine? a world that fails to contain all my sorrows, confusions, senses of loss and insecurity, desires to be loved and to love, lust, longings to get away and to run wild… It failed me. Again and again. Until the moment that I lost faith in what this world promised to offer. At one point, it promised love and forever-ness.

沒有人可以告訴我事情的真相事情的結局
也許也許你跟我會一直被隱瞞著直到永遠直到最後的最後
有一天當我發現我已無法精準的描繪我想說的話我知道我永遠也不會成為你所謂的小說家
我只能靜靜的讀著他人寫的書每一本每一頁每一個字彷彿在炫耀著他們的才能他們的成就
也許也許我就只能永遠這樣羨慕著愛慕著他們這群所謂作家的男男女女