Free and unbounded

Working late night shifts, it’s kinda easy to feel like all of my time, I sleep it away, as if I live in another layer of the universe that overlaps with everybody’s, but not quite the same. While the day people work through the day, building their lives, constructing, for better or worse, the foundation of their future, I, as a creature of the night, pass my days in a blink of the eyes, doing a job that’s invisible to the others, indulging myself in movies, fiction, foreign politics, music and what-not, anything but the contemporary world I live in.

I get off work at 7:00 in the morning, go to bed at noon, wake up at 8:00 in the evening, go to work at 9:30. Social life is reduced to the minimum, which doesn’t hurt, for I expected and welcome the isolation and distance in the first place. But it can be nerve-wrecking, though, to start each day startled by my own weak consciousness, feeling that I mess up big time for being ridiculously late for something, while in fact, my day has yet to start.

The thing is, the body has its own memory, and is homesick for the sun in the day and the moon at night.

The past few months have given me a junky look, dark circle under my baggy eyes, which also give you the impression that I’m far more near-sighted than I actually am. My skin looks pale and papery in an undernourished way. I often has a lost look on my face. It’s harder to get excited about things, and easier to get annoyed, by traffic, by daylight, by people.

Anyhow, time flies. I had asked for the transfer myself for I was planning a get-away again, this time, hopefully for years. The flight is scheduled on New Year’s. My first stop will be Melbourne in Australia. I sure can use a little bit of that extra money. Especially now that it’s pulling closer and closer.

After my military resignation, I spent three months in New York City. I remember the first night I spent when I got to New York. I had thought I made the biggest mistake by going there, giving up almost everything I had had. It always goes back to that.

It’s difficult to say whether or not New York was a good plan. I mean, how do you calculate the benefits against the odds? A huge chunk of my years’ savings was thrown over that expenditure. The result and returns aren’t in the form of figures. But when asked if it’s worth all that, the answer is always a without-a-doubt positive, which, often feels like the line of the last defense, for I could never elaborate further on that comment. But it’s a brain reaction, I just know, because I don’t regret even one penny.

Even though New York has been proven to be the best investment in my life, to my weird, non-transmittable psyche, it does not turn me into the type of person who faces each decision with a grin and enthusiasm. I still can’t trust my own instinct and conclusion. The unknown still freaks me out, which is exhausting, for I am constantly like, ‘oh, shit, how do I know which is right?!’

What makes this time different, and inflicting much more paranoids about is that I’m not twenty six anymore. I’ll be thirty soon. I won’t even have a place I’ll be able to call home. And when I look around, I see nothing that tells me this is okay, especially in this pussycat Chinese society. I already don’t have mommies and daddies like these fuckers. If I don’t even have the roof over my head, I feel like I might as well just die!

What I don’t get is why I am so upset. Am I not the one who decided that he won’t conform to the norm anymore, against things he believes in? Then why is there such ‘screw you! you don’t know what real life is’ hardcore punk attitude?

I guess knowing is one thing. But to do, and be at peace with the idea is a whole new other aspect. So my remedy right now, is trying to be as detached as I could ethically manage, and hoping when New Year’s comes, when I’m on my way, I’ll get to see a new light along the fresh start, and I’ll get rid of feeling trapped and rejected.

I remember waking up after my first night in New York. It felt like I had been given a brand new life. I looked out from the tiny window from the west ninety something street apartment building, I saw trash and litter in that dark alley. But the sky was ultra clear, just a surreal bright blue. And I felt anything is possible. No one can hold me back. I’ll be only what I decide to be. If I want to be a writer, I’ll be one in my own way. If I want to be an artist, I’ll be one to my own definition. And I felt so alive, my head was clearer, my senses were sharp, my vision was vivid and my whole being was electrified.

After these years, after coming back to Taiwan, it all faded back to an illusional memory, maybe somewhat exaggerated because the lack of its tract. I only hope I’ll be able to feel like that again:

Free and unbounded.

Kika and Law of Desire by Pedro Almodóvar

I once had a conversation about the American writer, John Irving. The man said that he thought there’s a fine line between literature and, what he called, tacky, manipulative entertainment. The World According to Garp is what he summoned to define the closest literature could approach that line. I did not agree, at least not about John Irving, and it has never tempted me to pick it up again and give it a second trial. But I certainly find his statement very useful today. Because whenever I caught an Almodóvar film, the idea of that fine line always popped up in my head.

His movies have never been disappointing. It’s always entertaining. It always brings something that’s very uniquely Hollywood from an earlier era, while at the same time, approaches its audience with its own language and uncomforming way of storytelling. There’s always a touch of enlightenment at the end. While the movies on the whole never bore, always bring out chuckles and laughters, it’s always assuringly apparent on the good movie side from the line, which though fine, is never blurring. I’m certainly very disappointed that I’m So Excited has not yet landed in Taiwan. But there is a small Almodóvar film festival showing his earlier works, if you’re looking to get a dose of Almodóvar.

Check out Flashforward blog

Kika was originally released in 1993, starring Verónica Forqué as a young make-up artist. And the story evolves around her reminiscence of a complicated earlier incestuous relationship with a photographer and his step father. The focus on female sexuality is obvious. It also puts a delicate, almost vulnerable spotlight on the topic of restless obsession, sensual and intellectual.

Kika’s imdb page

“Man falls, deceived
By the other first; Man, therefore, shall find grace.” -Paradise Lost by John Milton

I hope this is a fitting quote. Like Broken embraces "Los abrazos rotos" reminds me of Kika (or could be it’s simply Almodóvar), I also feel some of his other movies could be the driven essence and extended caption derived from Law of Desire"La ley del deseo”. However, the 1987 movie is nothing but the prototype of endless sequels, and without a doubt, each one of his movies is original in its own light. Traumatic and unlikely in its circumstances, yet he could have been talking about you and me, the heartbreak from the loser of the love game, the women vulnerable yet strong, the men fragile but broken. And in this one, it also brings you a little bit of Hitchcock.

Law of Desire’s imdb page

Well by Matthew McIntosh

It feels like a collection of short pieces interestingly put together. But together as whole, this book creates an image, of cities, of dark corners, of weary footsteps, emotions that are not easy to describe, not even easy to admit to oneself, of failure, of disappointment, of anger, and of frail obsessions. There’s no plot line. There’s no climax. It’s not complex and it’s not controversial. But every page, there’s something so unnamable, so quiet yet vivid and real, that it often led me to think that if I turned the next page, I’d see me. And that made me feel engaged and understood. A lot of the feelings stay with me after putting down the book, and made me, temporarily and slightly disturbed. And I realize that through the seemingly casual manner of piercing these short excerpts from the nonchalant narratives by all these characters together (Mr. McIntosh didn’t even bother to give them reference), the book is actually a very sophisticated accumulation of heart-felt observations, struggling to come to a point accepting the inexplicable difficulty of life, which can never be deconstructed, but left, artfully with a poetic tinge, unsaid. Ain’t that the origin of all tragedy and masterpiece?

Official website

Sunrise on 06/06

I didn’t specifically stay up late for it, since I am working late night shifts already, it was just something to divert my attention, I couldn’t sleep anyway.

I started recording when it was four in the morning. The final shot took place when the sun came out which was something like five thirty. I was lucky. The day was clear.
I did a trial shot a few days earlier, but I accidentally chose a pre-set setting which caused everything to look extremely blue.

I sent my cat to someone else. I stayed contact, and pay him a visit once in a while, it’s turning out fine. I think he is going to get taken good care of, which is all I wish for. But now everyday I get to an empty house with nothing to greet me at the door. It feels like the walls is starting to turn cold, and soon, it wouldn’t be able to sustain me. I, am already in the process of leaving. Even mosquitoes seem all but disappeared.

I tried not to talk about my plan of leaving. I don’t think people could ever understand why it had to take such long time. It wouldn’t be just a trip. For me, there will be nothing to return to, so a closure must be exquisitely executed. I’m leaving, because there’s nothing for me here. And I need to make sure that I didn’t miss anything, even the tiniest possibility.

There’s no need to explain really. Since it will be hard to communicate what I’m really feeling over what people assume was going on. There’s thousand different versions of myself what people expect of me that I need to play up to, but I couldn’t be anything other than the sole version of myself. I would only twist what it is had I tried to differentiate.

I guess, sometimes, you just have to admit that there’s no point. However, the day is bright. It might not necessarily be a bad thing.

The song is Sleeping Lessons from the album Wincing the Night Away by The Shins.

The Flood

The apartment was flooded yesterday, sometime during the day, the cause still unknown. The specialist came today, couldn’t figure out why, then asked for a NT$500 bill. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to pack and leave. For I did spend a couple of pretty empty years here, empty, lonely and degrading. And it feels like a good time to start afresh. But where to? how? What then? Before long, it will prompt me to think and plan what I should pack and bring with me, what about the cat, then eventually, convince myself to stay, and keep things the way they were. That’s why I am still here. The flood came, went away, and I thought maybe it wouldn’t come again. Only this time, it’s not a metaphor, felt like a weird dream though.

Someone told me to excel myself I must forget about myself, I must lay deep back into myself, and close something up so that I could really digest them. But now, I just really, really, really want to be heard.

But I’ve got nothing to say, so instead, I play What Sound from Lamb, with the room this cluttered, it sounds different.

 

Redscale tattoo by Assassin Tattoo, NT, Taiwan

 

I am not actually a tattoo enthusiastic. I don’t know what counts as one. But shortly after I got my first tattoo, I realized that it’s a procedure to help me face certain parts of myself, that I’d been trying to convince myself that there wasn’t, parts from the past, possibilities from the future, and something that has always been there.

At first, I only wanted one medium on my forearm where I could hide under sleeve when needed. I chose red because I like the color and I thought it might age better with Asian skin tone. I chose peony because it’s a kingly flower and I like the legend how one winter night it refused to bloom for Empress Wu and got banished from her court.

The next morning, I woke up with a startle as if finally realizing that I simply couldn’t go back.

And there is no going back. I went back to get one more, yet another, yet another, now I got seven peonies and still I want more. I’m now planning to get my arms full. But it costs money. I would have to wait.

I am probably not a very good customer. I feel so guilty that I haven’t given the artist any space to do what he wants. I haven’t even asked him what he likes to do. But it’s so hard to yield, and I can’t help but being selfish.

It’s a sickening thrill, to know you have something so beautiful on your skin, under your clothes. All you need to do is to look, and then you’ll find yourself. You’ll never get lost.

That, of course, it’s not real. But we are not talking about statistic here.

A staggering ride

In New Taipei City, unless you are blessed with the ability to afford accommodation that grants you access to convenient public transportation, it’s hard to get around town. For someone like me, a scooter is very much necessary. However, unlike a motorbike, there’s nothing even remotely macho and rebellious about it. There’s the heavy shower and in typhoon season and the cold in winter, and apparently people who are rich enough to own a car are not smart enough to know how to drive it, so it’s comparatively dangerous for a scooter commuter to share the road with, let’s say, a Mercedes car owner, whereas he can always go like ‘oops, didn’t see this guy coming’ while the scooter rider might just lying dead under the wheels (fine, this image might be slightly too dark. But it happened.)

A second-handed scooter might cost you NT$15,000. If there’s a thirty minute ride to and back from work, in Taiwan, it will cost approximately NT$800 for gar per month. And bear in mind, for a used scooter, constant maintenance is necessary and costly. For example, I just had the transmitter replace, which cost NT$900 for a used, possibly stolen, one, and three NT$200 taxi ride and NT$1,000 when I failed to get to work on time the day the scooter broke. Alas.

You see? That’s what I’m talking about, vicious circle. There you are, stuck with a scooter in the first place, but then it cost you almighty God to keep it going (I might be exaggerating here a little bit, but at the moment, it really made you feel like all your money are spent on that piece of crap.) How are you going to get out of it?

I have a name for my scooter. But first I should tell you the story behind it. I was living in Hualien City at the time. The day was so bright that it’s a shame to spend it indoors, so I got on the scooter and rode south-west into the mountain. The thing about Hualien is that it’s so close to the mountain and The Great Pacific, sometimes, one forgets that it’s still semi-wilderness and just goes thinking it’s just like a trip to the park. Anyhow, I parked my just then bought scooter on the side of the road. And went for a mountain walk. The day was really fine. And the scent of the Nature just set me right at ease. However, when I decided that it’s enough adventure for me, I found myself lost. It may sound incredibly stupid, but I really felt that I might not see the light of day ever again. Just when I was on full panic, there it is, my proven faithful scooter, parked on the road, tilted a little bit, firm on the ground, as if saying ‘alright, you had your fun, time to go, you rat.’ I nearly burst into tears. I named my second hand scooter Grandma, for she’s old, and everything is broken. But she’s reliable and loves me unconditionally.

The garage didn’t have the parts. So I had to leave the scooter and take a taxi to work. I paid for the transmitter, and left the key to the mechanic. He said he would park my scooter outside my apartment building, and hide my key under the mat. With no apparent reason, the idea just simply struck me as disrespectful. I asked him to take the key to my landlord. And then I went to the landlord, and asked him to throw the key to my mailbox. I got home past midnight. There’s an additional twenty dollar for my taxi fare at night. I got the key and immediately went and turned my scooter on. It’s running again. I guess it does seem like a grandma, well, maybe not exactly like her, but at least some sort of a relative: it’s such a pain in the ass to get stuck with her, such a fuss to keep her. But after a costly surgery, I’m really glad that she’s fine.

3 o'clock croissant

I couldn’t fall back to sleep after waking up at three in the morning. Since it’s a waste of time and efforts after tossing around for some time, I got up and made breakfast. I have to admit that it has been a while, such elaboration.

First thing concerning croissant, is to put it directly to the freezer after you get it from the baker, before a certain somebody (meaning me) crushes it. As long as you have a nice bread knife, you’re set. Always preheat the oven, and pay attention whenever you put anything in there. Get it out immediately when the color just turns right (never wait!). Put everything together in a blink of the eye, and take one big bite when it’s still warm and crisp. Such a delicious conquest should always be deemed a bless.

But of course, to get that mouthful of pure content, you have to do it right.

I rinsed the alfalfa sprout, and sliced the tomato already last night. I added a spoonful of water to the egg (much better with milk), got the ham and cheese then put things I wouldn’t need back to the fridge.

I heated the frying pan with olive oil and put the ham in when it’s hot. You don’t need to fuss too much over it. It’s already eatable. So get it out when you get a beautiful color of slightly burnt brown.

Then it’s the omelet egg*. Now this is the biggest deal I learned back at Brunner. If you want to use the same frying pan for it, make sure you wash it, or at least scrub it with a soft scouring pad. Other wise, the egg will burn. As for the taste, there’s no other way than to grease it with butter. That’s right. It’s gonna be FAT. But it’s just like rednecks at a drinking binge, you know it’s so wrong, but it just feels so right.

Now, everything’s in its right place. Toss the croissant in the oven, and ta-ta! Get moving.

Watch the butter, for it’s easily burnt, with this stove, I used medium heat with a fresh rinsed pan. When the water was just about to get evaporated completely, I added in the butter. But I removed the skillet from the stove and melted the butter with the remaining heat. I tilled it sideways and made sure I got the brink as well, so the egg wouldn’t stick. You can use higher heat for omelet egg. I beat the egg thoroughly before pouring it in, and quickly let it cover the skillet evenly. Give it a little knock with your spatula where it bubbles and let the not yet cooked egg seeps through it. You can turn the heat off when it’s mostly cooked but still a little moist on top. Fold it how you want it, place the cheese on top, then the ham, and just let the cheese melt.

Now turn to the oven. What did I tell you? Just look at that elegant, carving-like golden light brown on top. You can almost hear the crumbling sound when you take a bite by just looking at it. But don’t pass out just yet. Spread the mayonnaise on the sliced sides. Place the sprout, tomato, omelet egg/melted cheese/ham accordingly, and put the top on. Holy cow, just look at the cheese melts. Stop what you’re doing. What should be back to the fridge, back to the fridge. What should be washed, don’t worry about it now. Just sit down and enjoy it.

I should warn you. If you want it to look right, try not to press it when you put it together. Just put one layer on top of the other and fast secure it all with a stick. One more thing, it really isn’t for the Victorian I-eat-three-grapes-a-day type of guest if you’re having any. Microwaved beans might work better for her royal highness. This is not for fine-dinning. For this is bound to get messy (so don’t forget to wash your hand before you dig in). And that’s the way croissant crumbles.  

* Omelet egg is not exactly omelet. I think Moss Burger from Japan started it. It’s basically omelet without the fillings. It’s easier to manage than poached egg, but smoother than your sunny side up.

I really wouldn't know

 

I managed to convince myself that this might be a good idea, after talking about going on an adventure for so long, it seems high time that I actually do it. Then I went to sleep and woke up in the middle of the night, sort of deluded by a weird dream which I can’t remember, and sort of sweating, thinking, can I really do this. Some people say that they travel to find the way home. It’s very easy to trust what they said, and be misled to believe that you’d eventually find what you are looking for, too. However, the truth is, when you leave home, there wouldn’t be a home to return to. You wouldn’t be able to travel with everything you have, so you have to sell and get rid of all the furniture and paint the walls back to its original spotless white so that you’d get your deposit back. And after you’re done with all the wondering and even succeed to come back to the same city, you’d have to build everything all over again. 

Some people say that they set out knowing that they’ll come back stronger and wiser, better acknowledged and much more experienced. That, I wish I could say I agree. Unfortunately, I’m never good at having faith. How can you ignore the possibility that you might wind up dead in the middle of nowhere with all of your luggage stolen, and the only proof of your identity tossed into the sewer, and then be known as Dead Asian Number One Five Two?

However, what I don’t want more, is to die with my complete full name and exact address, where I am, fifty years from now, when much has changed.