Words of Innocence and Experience

Upon a secret journey
I met a coy man
His shyness was his trademark
I’m such a lonely fan
–Adapted from “Secret Journey” by the Police/Sting

After having returned from the harmonica camp for two days, my waned annoyance with the harmonica propelled me to dig it out from my desk, where papers and books lay scattered. Although my brain was still functioning slowly due to exhaustion, I began slowly recall the incidents of the five-day camp. Tedium, seclusion, and insomnia that I suffered during the five days still left a bad taste in my mouth, yet there were some sweetness springing from my memory that I could not deny.

Frankly speaking, it was my fault to not realize what the activities were like before going. When Erica invited me to go with her, I agreed on the spot rashly. The reason for my hasty reply was unknown, but the rather inexpensive price must have been a powerful incentive. Since the two weeks before the camp were filled with arduous exams, I longed to linger in the comfort of my hearth rather than attending a camp totally alien to me. Reluctant to shirk the responsibility, I still did what I was told.

Before arriving at CYCU, where the camp was to be held, Erica and I took the train with the member of the Harmonica Club in Tsing Hua. Neither of us knew anyone from the club, so Erica and I only conversed with each other. She told me that she felt worn out owing to lack of sleep the night before, and even though I had sufficient sleep, what was on my mind was a wish for the camp to end soon.

Upon our arrival, T-shirts, teaching materials and a bottle of water was distributed to everyone. There was nothing special about the rituals at the beginning. Our luggage was placed in where we were to stay at night, and the members who belonged to the same group sat in a circle, singing or greeting one another. Similar to what other camps usually do, there was also the “Angel and Mater” game. The childish game was adapted with some sinister schemes was, surprisingly, a significant element of the activities.

The nightmare did not start until after lunch. After stuffing our stomachs with rice, we were asked to go to different classrooms according to our scales of skill in harmonica. Neither Erica nor I had any contact with the harmonica before, and we were in the elementary-level class along with other seven people. On knowing that we would be tested and perform after the learning, I was thoroughly startled. Besides, our class was small so that the teacher was able to take notice of everyone’s endeavor. Despite my lack of interest, I strive to blow the accurate notes painstakingly, grudgingly.

After the elementary training class, the preliminary ensemble class came forth. It was during this class that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake of joining this camp. I have always loved music to the bone yet I never desired to learn any musical instrument and have been satisfied with merely being a dilettante. Moreover, if I must learn to play an instrument, it would have been the flute, the piano, or others that are considered more “girlish.” The harmonica is not a feminine instrument to me, for the posture of playing it is by no means graceful, and it also does damage to the lips. In addition, I knew that I would never become a virtuoso, and I resent doing things that I am destined to fail. After all, being able to play the harmonica would not benefit the material life at all.

I was much more relieved during dinnertime. The people on the same group with me were generally friendly, some of whom were standout figures throughout the camp. Although I still had the too familiar sensation of not belonging there, my apprehension was not too strong for me to handle.

After dinner, a crude party was held outdoors. It had been freezing for weeks, so sitting on the chilly ground against the angry wind was utterly uncomfortable. The leaders played some silly playlets in an attempt to amuse us, and I really appreciate their efforts regardless of some boring parts. Occasionally our lackluster bodies were forced to rise from the ground, and we ran around playing some open-air chasing games.

Fortunately, we stayed in the dormitory in the first three days of the camp. With the price NT $9500 not including utilities a semester, the dormitory resembled a hotel with decent showering systems. However, the supply of hot water would be cut after midnight, and therefore everyone rushed to cleanse themselves. To my surprise, in CYCU the curfew was supervised strictly, and no one was allowed to enter or exit the dormitory after 11 p.m.

The night was icy, cruel, and I was sleepless. Feelings of depression overwhelmed me, and I was as dispirited as a caged bird. I desired to flee, yet with the curfew there was no way that my contrivance should succeed. As the low temperature wrapped me like an icecap, my state of mind shifted between doze and consciousness until the morning was broken.

The next few days passed by in the similar fashion. There were endless practices of the harmonica in daytime, and at night we were finally bestowed the privilege to do things other than playing the harmonica. Excellent concerts were held at the second and third night; still, the breathtaking melodies sent out from the harmonica musicians could not erase my melancholy. Despite my lack of interest and motivation, my harmonica was slowly progressing, yet the gradual improvement did not brighten my dark mood. The eagerness to escape had been keen on my mind until something happened…

(more coming soon)