Words of Innocence and Experience

Angels with silver wings
Shouldn’t know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you
–Depeche Mode “Precious”

S had a car accident during the Lunar New Year holidays and was severely injured. I was worried about him, but something held me back from constantly asking him about his condition. Possibly the past grudge was still fresh on my mind, and besides, it was impossible for me to visit him.

He said he would quit school, and that was not what I wanted to hear. Now I think a talented person like him probably needs a period of quietude to think things through; I know I do.

He sounded unusually serene when we chatted this morning, but something wrenched my heart.

I: I can take a few days off (from work), and I’d probably go south. I’d visit you then.
S: There’s no need, really. It’s too far away. I can type now. I can chat with you online.

I stopped myself from saying sentimental things, which I’m sure he didn’t need any. If he can be optimistic, I shouldn’t feel pessimistic about my future at all.

I took out the lip balm to moisten my dry lips. Suddenly the sharp sound of something crashing disturbed the quietness in the staircase. I assumed that it was sound of my lip gloss or mascara falling down, but they were intact in my bag. Tiny pieces of broken glass shone on the dim ground, catching my attention, and I crouched down to find out what exactly was broken.

It was the small bottle of sand he gave me last October. I tried to gather the scattered sand in my palm, but my attempts were, out of question, futile.

I had a chat with him over MSN this afternoon when I was in the office. It was a nice surprise to see him logging in, for I was bored from taking a break from work, and I had not talked with him for quite a few days. He doesn’t even have an English name (and would probably consider it unnecessary to have one), so I would tentatively name him S.

I: Happy New Year!
S: Happy New Yeah!
S: Sorry “Year”
S: Congratulations!
I: There’s nothing to congratulate me on. ^^|||
I: How are you feeling? (i.e. I learned that he was sick from his blog)
S: I don’t know.
S: OK, I suppose.
S: Just those symptoms, which don’t really make me feel bad.
I: It’s better to see a doctor. I suffered from stomachache and diarrhea the week before last week, and I saw a doctor.
S: I don’t really feel uncomfortable.
S: It’s not harmful, I suppose.
I: If you say so. ^^|||
S: Thanks for your concern.
I: That sounds so distant.
S: Then I’ll add the emoticon ^^|||
I: Oh.

Perhaps we are truly distant now. The smiley didn’t change anything.

The traffic jam was dreadfully annoying. I was supposed to meet Allyson at the moment, yet I was still stuck on the highway, only a few kilometers away from Hsinchu. It was the National Day, and the TV was broadcasting the lame Double Ten Day celebration. Then my cell phone rang.

I: Hello?
S: I suffered from diarrhea. The doctor said it was enterogastritis. I had to tell my sister to cancel the trip. I guess I’m OK now. Since I’m still here, I can give you the gift.

S asked the reader of his blog to guess the name of a movie he saw in one blog post, providing a line from the movie. As a Wim Wenders fan and having written an introductory article about that particular film, I knew immediately that it was The State of Things. He had asked me to choose one of the two gifts he offered. One was some kind of jewelry and the other was a bottle of “seashell sand” from Penghu. I chose the latter as I hardly wear any jewelry.

“Nice choice,” he had remarked. “It’s more precious.”

I: How are you feeling now? Are you alright?
S: (ignored my question) When will you arrive today?
I: Um, soon. I’m still on the bus, but I have a lunch meeting with a friend at noon.
S: OK, give me a call when you are available so that I’ll give you the gift myself.
I: OK.

That afternoon, we agreed to meet at the motorcycle lane of NTHU. As I was walking towards the destination, I could see him approaching me. His shadowy figure crystalized in the afternoon sun. He was in a plain black T-shirt and blue jeans. His hair was longer than the way I had remembered it was, and longer hair, in my opinion, suited him better, with his impishness and caprice. He walked in large strides and did not shuffle even with his illness.

Finally we stood face to face. He had the bottle of sand between his fingers. The bottle was incredibly tiny, so when he handed it to me, my fingers brushed momentarily with his callous ones.

He rubbed his stomach before me. “I feel terrible now,” his lips twisted into a wry smile, “and I must go home and rest.”

“Thanks for the gift,” I said. “May you get well soon.”

“Thank you,” he said. We turned around simultaneously and walked away; I to the front gate and he back home. I did not look back, and I assumed that he didn’t, either.

Now the bottle of sand is broken.
——————————————————

I’d like to write more about memories and past incidents. After putting them into words, I may eventually be able to let them go. Moreover, they might become potential elements of the novel I hope to write.

My apologies to my readers (that is, if there are readers) who have to tolerate another lame beginning of a blog entry. I haven’t written here for more than three months. It appears that I’ve almost dropped the habit of writing altogether although I’ve always wanted to write.

Things have been turbulent during the past three months. I became active in hosting the movies festivals in NTHU. I made my first overseas trip this March and went to a number of conferences here in Taiwan to present my thesis. I grew close to a former student, but the relationship ended almost too abruptly. With the near completion of my thesis last week, now it’s time for me to begin the course of job hunting.

To this day, I’ve had several job interviews. However, I don’t think I presented myself well. Perhaps I haven’t warmed myself enough to the idea of being an employer in a company. My desire to be a scholar has been so strong that it clouded my senses.

Oh, dear, the song “Mistaken by Strangers” by the National affects me deeply. Is working really this horrendous?

The thing is, I’ve seldom been prepared for anything in my life. I mostly go with my instincts and intellect. Gradually I’ve realized that instincts and intellect do not always take me to where I want to be. In addition, I tend to act like a silent observer rather than an outspoken presenter in life, but this tendency is unappreciated in the job market. I must learn to speak no matter how much I hate to do so.

Should I take part-time jobs such as teaching and translating documents so that I could still concentrate on studying and thereby fulfill my wish to study abroad? That is a question. I reckon I’d still try working in a company, albeit temporarily.

Despite my confusion over a clear future direction, life has been good. I used as much time as I could to read, listen to music, and watch movies. I’d like to write about them in my Chinese blog.

So I have decided to start writing here again. I hope the decision becomes a habit. I saw my friend Winnie yesterday and we both conceded that we were disorganized people. I don’t like being disorganized. I want a change. Well, I’m sure this post is going to be as disorganized as the current state of my room, with half-open suitcases and plastic bags strewn all over the floor.

Anyway, the lunch with Winnie yesterday was heart-warming. I’ve always admired her personality, which is a fascinating combination of gentility and persistence. We were scheduled to meet in front of the record store opposite National Taichung Institute of Technology. I arrived early and could not refrain myself from entering the store. When was the last time I actually purchased a CD at a record store instead of looking for cheap copies online? Probably a long time ago. Boy, I felt ashamed of myself.

The album that immediately caught my attention was “Boxer” by the National. I LOVED the album and should have bought it as soon as it was released but did not. It was time for me to make amends.

I was so happy that I had brought it home. The sound quality of CDs is indeed superior to that of mp3 files. I had written a Chinese article about the band’s previous album “Alligator” on my Chinese blog, and perhaps I’d write something about “Boxer” soon even though plenty of bloggers have talked about it.

I went back to Hsinchu this morning. It was freezing here. My heavy luggage was creating pain in my fragile arms, but I had no choice but to venture on. May my last four months in Tsing Hua as a student be my best moments here yet.

Since I’m currently helping Professor Viphavee rating the students’ essays, I’m constantly reminded of the pieces I had written in the past. This would possibly sound self-satisfying, but reading my past compositions again this evening, I was struck by the beauty of the words as well as the heart and soul I was able to put into the writing. That was why I said studying in the TESOL program is mind-damaging, for I am not receiving any critical or inspiring input. At first I was extremely frustrated with the meaninglessness of the TESOL studies, but as time proceeds, I gradually got used to the nature of them and acquired the ability to produce redundant, mindless, and forced papers on my own, even when I didn’t put my heart in the process.

If not for the personal crises happening in the first half of 2007, the urge to write might have still possessed me to this day. Unfortunately, one person’s accusation of me being too fantastical and dreamy extinguished the creative ardor in my heart, and I reflected less and less on the things going on around me; instead, I numbly went with the stream.

Time heals, and I realize what has been missing in the previous six months of my life–creative spirit.

“With your feet in the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
But there’s nothing in it
And you’ll ask yourself

Where is my mind?”
–The Pixies “Where Is My Mind?”

Well, at least there is something I DID learn in my foolish, lamenting days–the diversity and power of rock music. If I am able to restore my literary sensibility, I’d love to combine it with the rock n’ roll fervor, as both have become integral elements of my way of thinking.

Like dry, waterless land
Yearning for rain,
It was bliss
When that storm crashed on the parched earth
of her weary heart.
But the flood overtook her sanity,
Her defense, her dike

Eventually it would fade
The sun sap the remains of escapade
And dry spell retake

Often I lurk behind the curtains, letting others take the stage and tell my story, which is then adapted and twisted. Won’t I tell my own story? Perhaps, but I’m suppressed, smothered.

People are enamored with storytelling, or blogs and personal spaces or writing an autobiography when becoming a celebrity wouldn’t have been all the rage and desirable. Thus, I turn on the computer, click on “Mozilla Firefox,” and hit the keyborad. A friend I met on the Internet wishes to become a storyteller under a skybridge. Such a romantic idea!

I’m still unsure about whether I want to share my story or not. Hence the words come out in mysterious codes only comprehensible to my close friends and me. I never intend to be pretentious. Rather, I want to record things; my youth cannot be obliterated.

November is the windiest month
Stirring memory and desire,
Thoughts about the past springing in my mind…
Wait, does memory always coincide with desire?
With pain?
Na, not really. I’m just reminiscing.
Now with the textbook burdening my shoulder,
Contact lenses hurting my eyes,
The whirling wind drying my skin,
I’m drowning in the memory
–Of you.

People are people
So what should it be?
You and I should get along so awfully.
–Depeche Mode “People Are People”

Ah, how complicated people are!

Sometimes when people make a general statement about me, I wish I could exclaim “Oh, that’s not true!” and give various examples to prove what I’m really like. Nevertheless, there is always fear and modesty that pull me back–fear that saying too much would scare people away, particularly the ones who barely know me. Time would tell, I’d think, but what if I’d never seen those people again? Their impression on me would remain stereotyped and untruthful.

However, if thinking in another perspective, I’d just known the people, too. When I’m anxious over the frustration of the interactions with them, they are possibly troubled by the same thing as well. They’d think that their remarks weren’t intended to do harm. It was actually I who had misjudged them.

The reasons–fear, modesty, etc.–which prevent both sides to open their hearts and be frank would not disappear. Therefore, misunderstandings are likely to be intact.

If only people were simpler, success in communication would not be such an uphill job.

Now you’re standing there tongue-tied
You’d better learn your lesson well
–Depeche Mode “Policy of Truth”

Life without the Internet is hard.

It’s not just about being cyberholic. Well, isn’t every young person cyberholic these days? Our life basically operates around the Net.

One thing about the Net that is incontestable is its immediacy. When dying to find answers to some questions or learn more about aything, the urge would be satisfied within a few minutes through the Net.

Also, people lose their best means to interact with one another when the Internet connection dies. Although cell phones make it possible to contact someone, the price of the phone bill would be truly scary if using it for too long. Besides, the electro-magnetic rays harm human brains. With the Net, more specifically, instant messengers (IMs), it’s easy to talk to people any time one feels like to. IMs are so common that using them becomes less intrusive than making phone calls. IMs also permit photos, links, and files, and in a way, it’s easier to express oneself through IMs.

Anyway, with no Internet connection, I feel that I’ve lost the privilege to share things with others. There are things I wish to say to someone, whom I’m sure must be online at a certain moment, but I can’t. Even though I can organize what I want to say and e-mail that person the next day, inserting personal feelings in e-mails seems weird. Worse still, some people don’t check their e-mails at all or are too lazy/busy to reply to them. Sending mails appears to be merely a one-way communication, depending on which is not a gurantee of response on the other end.

The feeling of emptiness and suppression closes in on me when I need the Internet and don’t have it. I’m tongue-tied, stuck in this little barren space…