Old Magazine and Simple Graphics

映在牆上的影子

2012-01-05T23:56:00.004+08:00

新北投捷運車廂緩緩地駛向月台，透過貼著點狀圖形的窗戶及車門，我依稀可以辨識出門後站著的人影以及類似木製洗澡桶的圓形狀裝置。列車雖然只有幾節，但這真是一列裡外色彩豐富的車廂。那圓形狀玩意兒結果是個螢幕，我想大概是在介紹新北投的景點，而且可能也因為這緣故所以列車開的特別慢，讓我們可以慢慢欣賞兩邊的老舊公寓以及它們的舊日容光。

約莫兩個小時之後，我再次等車進站，午後原本冷清的月台現在擠滿了下班族和討人厭的國高中生以及他們有關手機的討論。拯救我逃離煉獄的特快車不疾不徐地在鐵道上拖行。於車門開啟的同時，返家心切的人潮好比如獅子看到獵物搬飛撲上去。一直困惑我的是，為什麼人們不等車廂裡的人先出來然後再進去呢？這疑問已在我心中駐足了快十年。某次在電梯裡一位中年男子因為湧進的浪潮太過洶湧，導致他勇敢踏出的右腳在有機會落地之前就被擠的潰不成軍，最後只好發出無奈的怒吼：「讓我先出去！」

我坐定位之後發現對面原本應該是椅子和窗戶的地方現在有一面大約56吋的液晶螢幕，而窗戶則被畫有圖案的牆面所取代，要凸顯的重點顯然是液晶螢幕裡氣定神閒地在寺廟拜拜、拍照和逛新北投的妙齡少女。在這「新北投-北投」一站的距離裡，影片總共撥了兩次，這顯然是要讓旅客有機會可以好好地欣賞並記下少女所拜訪的優聖美地。而我也的確為這設計所動容，在離螢幕約兩公尺的距離裡彩色牆面佔據了雙眼的視線範圍，帶觀眾進入另一個空間，成功地把地獄來的國高中生們打入邊緣的角色。

我回神過來，猛然發現我在移動的車廂裡盯著一個螢幕看。我頭左右轉，迅速地巡視一下四周，發現除了我之外沒有人在注意影片中精彩的劇情，每個人都低頭在看手機。我忽然有一種感覺 - 一種活生生的感覺 - 如果牆面瞬間崩解、消失，然後我發現我站在蕭瑟的海灘上跟外星人握手，我大概也不會覺得太訝異。

Consistency

2012-01-01T19:54:00.026+08:00

I saw the ceiling darkened by the advance of the hours and, when the irises got used to the gloom, the faint glow printed on it by the streetlamp through the drawn curtains. It's as if I've been staring at ceilings my whole life while thinking about nothing in particular. Most often I found my thoughts drifting from one trail to the other, then on to something else, and later it would find its way back to the starting point. This process would go on like automation till thoughts gave way to slumber.

As I lay there on the bed in my friends' house I had a sudden feeling that my life reflects my thoughts in form - drifting from one place to the other familiarizing with and specialising in none. Where am I going and what to do next? In my case the latter conditions the former, yet it was the former that sets the goal for the latter. However, under close scrutiny it should be better described as both happening at the same time.

I have the rather unrealistic dream to write and publish travelogues, think of Paul Theroux or Michael Asher (British writer and desert explorer). Problem is, I couldn't figure out ways to get there. Two big reasons (or excuses if you insist) being: 1) domestic expectation (read: pressure) to establish a "stable career" and then a family of my own consisting of me, my wife and my children. Flagrant foul of which would result in great domestic disturbance bordering on the edge of a crusade against the offender. 2) doubt and fear of stepping into professionally unknown field at an age when your friends are happily making kids and big bucks at work. The resulting disorientation is great.

This dreadful state forces me to think quickly for even if my family should stop talking about it I couldn't drive it out of my mind. It has successfully taken over woman as my leading preoccupation. As a matter of fact, the idea of a girlfriend might even seem a bit unthinkable. These days I dedicate my time between soaking in photography and trying to figure out my career (and some other meaningless activities like staring into the ceiling), this may sound productive, but it is constantly interrupted by the inconsistency of my thoughts which has led me to my own wretchedness.

Skyscrapers

2011-12-28T13:08:00.005+08:00

Untitled, a photo by Schuma on Flickr.

My on-going journey through photography has landed me in medium format land. Taken with Rolleicord III, Kodak 400TX.

Epilogue

2011-11-19T13:48:00.007+08:00

Epilogue, a photo by Schuma on Flickr.

Taken with Leica Standard, Kodak 400TX

Prologue

2011-11-19T13:48:00.006+08:00

Prologue, a photo by Schuma on Flickr.

Taken with Leica Standard, Kodak 400TX

Aficionados' conversation topic over coffee

2011-11-11T02:11:00.003+08:00

Untitled, a photo by Schuma on Flickr.

Taken with Leica Standard, Kodak 400TX

The Virtue of Writing

2011-05-30T00:46:00.000+08:00

Too much convenience is bad for your health, while in modern society it's just all too convenient. I gave up on digital cameras because they leave no room for imagination, we use them precisely because they provide us with instant feedback at no additional cost. So I turned to film photography about 2 years ago and contrary to what people prophesied I'm still using my film camera, and most importantly, I finally find joy in it which digital failed to provide me with.

For the past 2 years I've somehow lost the habit of writing, something which I valued greatly for it served as a means of reflection and intimate friend that I don't have in real life. It was replaced by Facebook, I now have most of my friends up there, having access to their latest updates with the click of a mouse, yet the hole in me's grown bigger. I realized that Facebook is not the answer to my plight, and that I need to go back to my old practises.

I was surprised by Esther's remarks the other day telling me that when a friend asked her what would she like to read in English on a regular basis, the first image surfaced was the blog Old Magazine. I didn't know I had another reader apart from the toastman (haha)! Her letter was a reminder to what I enjoyed doing. I've been looking in the wrong direction for salvation, I should get back to writing and release my ghosts here.

回憶與流亡

2011-03-07T23:29:00.000+08:00

昨晚於餐後的茶點時短暫聊及Mecano（或是 Amaia Montero？忘了）以及回憶。回憶的特性就是即便你以為已經遺忘它了，在特定媒介的刺激下，它（們）會憑空出現，而當這發生時你陷入一種迷流的狀態。這並不是指進入跟現實切斷連結的恍惚狀態。薩伊德在談論流亡時提供了類似的敘述：「對大多數流亡者來說，…家鄉其實並非那麼遙遠，[但是]當代生活的交通使你對故鄉一直可望不可即。因此，流亡者存在於一種中間狀態，既非完全與新環境合一，也未完全與舊環境分離，而是處於若即若離的困境…」（知識分子論）

當消失的回憶縈繞在心頭時你陷入的就是這若即若離的困境，這是個無解的狀況，因為過去的某一狀態已經停止存在，但是記憶它的記憶卻是存在的。你一點辦法也沒有讓它完整重現，你只能以文字或是其他替代方案讓它發生於指定的媒介上。薩伊德接著說：「有一種風行但完全錯誤的觀念：流亡是被完全切斷，孤立無望地與原鄉之分離，但願那種外科手術式、一刀兩斷的劃分方式是真的，因為這麼一來你知道遺留在後的就某個意義而言是不可想像、完全無法回復的。這種認知至少可以提供些許的慰藉。」

不同的是，對回憶而言，知道它是「完全無法回復的」並不會替你帶來多大的慰藉。這並不是說回憶是負面的，不能帶來慰藉指的純粹只是一種因為無法重現已經消逝於過去某一點人事物的狀態的強烈失落感。在追憶似水年華裡普魯斯特為回憶的優點提供了一段很好的形容："...memory, not yet of the place in which I was, but of various other places where I had lived, and might now very possibly be, would come like a rope let down from heaven to draw me up out of the abyss of not-being, from which I could never have escaped by myself..."。

回憶本身不包含善惡的概念，它充其量只不過是個善變的東西，隨你起舞 -但同時也控制著它的主人。這主從的關係並沒有清楚的界線，有時你可以削減它的氣燄，但更多時候是它對你頤氣指使。然而，普魯斯特指出回憶也會以救世主之姿把你從虛空之中解救出來。假如普魯斯特所言不假，那麼回憶就同時具有使迷幻以及使清醒的作用。此一強大能力的存在到底是好是壞並沒有辦法下定斷 -也許尋找結論是多餘的-，但可以知道的是在很多情況下這兩種作用同時在進行著，而這又把我們帶回了流亡上。對流亡者而言，回鄉的強烈慾望一直驅使著他向前進，但也同時不停地折磨他。這回應了薩伊德所言：「流亡就是無休無止，東奔西走，一直未能安定下來...無法回到某個更早、也許更穩定的安適自在的狀態；而且，可悲的是，永遠無法完全抵達，永遠無法與新家或新情境合而為一。」

On the Back of a Pickup Truck

2010-04-13T17:15:00.000+08:00

Memory is a capricious thing. I've lost count of the times I've said that, and I just can't stop myself from pronouncing it once more. It's only been 5 months since I came back, but Nicaragua feels so far away from me, it's a goddamn lie that when you miss someone or something, they'll feel closer. Well, they don't, they only appear distant and of another time, something that exist only in the yellowed pictures that you have between your feeble fingers trembling with age and nostalgia, saddened by the thought that you might not see them again nor can you step on the familiar soil.

Time makes it appear unreal even though you have every physical items to prove its existence in time. It just slipped away from your fingers without notice. Well, you were aware of it all the time, but it escaped anyway. You thought photos, music, movies, all sorts of papers and stuff were going to do the trick and save those days. They don't. They don't deliver, but only serve as means to access your memory - which is capricious - and you knew that, nevertheless you still don't give up.

You think about the first time you saw her - beautiful dark face, large round earrings and lovely eyes; the empty street of Granada at sleep - the thought of this triggers you to open the map and retrace the streets you'd walked with her, the bars and her room; you think about Waslala, the chaotic scene, and the little girl sitting next to you peeking at you through her mother's arms, giggling when you caught her sneaking a look at you, and her saying goodbye with her smiling eyes; you think about your mate yelling "I hate China!" to the homeless kids wandering the streets of Managua on the back of a pickup truck... You think about a million things that's long gone.

And goddamnit, these thoughts forced you to crawl out of your bed, turn on the light and sit in front of your computer to write these down at 3 o'clock in the morning. You'd always thought that nostalgia hits only when you're unhappy, what you never expected was that it strikes as well when you're in good spirits. Mood doesn't seem to play a crucial role in revoking the past. Fuck, it's overwhelming, I need to lie down and see if it'll go away so I don't keep wandering in the days gone by thinking about them and wondering about their fate.

Scribble, 7 Oct

2009-11-19T22:43:00.005+08:00

how it feels to cry?
my heart burns with exhilaration and sadness
when I think of how I first saw you,
standing there in your black dress and pink shirt,
unwavering, like a beacon, you guided me to you.

Never-ending Reconstruction of the Past

2009-10-12T08:55:00.002+08:00

While I am trying painstakingly to piece together the route we took in Granada, and thinking about taking pictures of it - as a visual reference for remembrance - an image flashed through my mind: it was the street running alongside the Campo de San Francisco and leading to the bus station. One block before reaching the station, I would turn left, then right, and left and there I would find above my head your closed window - because you'd left. I was in the station to see you off, you were surprised by my presence. It was a cold and misty early morning, futilely, I chased after the bus on my bicycle - attempting to keep you in my sight for just even a few seconds more. Shortly after leaving the station, the bus took to the bridge and then disappeared on the horizon leaving disturbed vapours in its wake and a lone figure panting violently in the middle of the semi-dark street called Peña de Francia.

The Departure Lounge

2009-10-09T20:41:00.003+08:00

I like airports, don't know why, but I like airports, despite my having to lug around my bike gear every time (almost) I'm in one of them. Probably because that means I'm on a trip to somewhere else - to be on the road for example - the unknown is expecting me, and that idea excites me. Or also perhaps because I like the international air, to be around people from different countries, talking in alien tongues.

My mind then wanders to the departure lounge, and there, surprisingly, I thought about you. It was bittersweet. While we walked on the deserted streets, I told you about the full moon. Then we were lying next to each other in the camouflage of the night, I was happy. But now you are so far away from me, and in about one month's time we will be in different continents. The distance doesn't shorten the pain, it poisons me, and is killing me.

Why did this doggone departure lounge make me think about you? Why? Why is it no matter what I do, where I go, laughing and crying, awake and asleep, thinking and idling, I think about you, see you and hear you? That was where you came from, and where I'll be heading. The prospect of not seeing you anymore terrifies me, and I dread the day of my stepping into that air conditioned room. It's a fear that stifles, a pain that finds no solace.

Creo que la veo de nuevo

2009-10-06T14:01:00.004+08:00

Creo que veo de nuevo,
acostada a mi lado en su cama,
su rostro seductor, hombro desnudo,
como la musa de un poeta!

O calor nocturno!
felicidad divina!
o memoria encantadora!
loca embriaguez, dulce sueño.

En mi insomnio,
creo que he vuelto a verla,
ondulando sus ojos de júbilo,
en las vibraciones rítmicas del melodía!

O deseo desgarrador!
trampa diabólica!
o memoria caprichosa!
loca embriaguez, trance agudo.

Not as Free as a Bird

2009-07-08T15:10:00.002+08:00

The need to be on the move, wrote the man sitting in front of the computer. The day before the day the man was writing these words Cecilia questioned him why, despite his proficiency in the local language and all the experiences of travelling alone, was he wasting his time staying home instead of being out there wandering around while he was still here in the foreign land.

His first reaction was of course to defend his own actions, but the words just fell short of escaping his parting lips. What reasoning could be the justification to his staying home all day long? There wasn't, and he knew it. He had, at the moment of being questioned, already several excuses conjured up to counter the attack, but he simply knew that she was right, these becauses were just excuses fabricated to cover up an ugly truth - he had no control over his own life.

Over time, he was getting used to the thinkings of people that don't move around that much. And he was somehow adapting to these ideas and accepting them as normal. Little did he know that this was taking its toll on his spirit. Weeks and months preceding to this present day when he was writing these words, he picked up a trace of some sort of suffocation - the nature of which remained unclear to him. Suffocation then led to gloominess, and gloominess led to a state of lethargy.

Then it finally dawned on him what was missing, and the remedy couldn't be more straightforward - he just needed to be on the road, to break free from these ideas that restrained him from breathing the free air. It was this very reason that he didn't defend himself when she questioned him. However, along with this realization also came the reaffirmation that man cannot be totally free from foreign influences most of the time, and this inability to be true to himself renders him unhappy.

季報擷取

2009-06-26T11:50:00.002+08:00

這裡窮的很窮，富有的就很富有。有時候看到一些事情就會心酸，那不到３歲連窗戶都摸不到的小孩就在路邊販賣東西或是要向停紅綠燈的車輛洗擋風玻璃要那十塊台幣不到的錢（已從尼幣換算過來，匯率尼幣比台幣1.7比1），但有時候看久了就不會去想到他們。雖然相對比起來我們是有錢人，但是為了省麻煩；或是因為這殘障是假的；或是因為他們的父母就再另外一邊監視著小孩們工作，為了不助長這夭壽的習性；或是因為這是整個政府社會的問題不是說給他錢就可以解決的所以就沒有給他們錢。“因為”總是很多，他們聽起來既有道理但也是藉口，但是現實就是這樣，這也是很無奈。“我們並不是德瑞莎修女”，這是事實但也是說服自己讓自己遺忘現實醜惡的一面的說法。視而不見雖然不會讓你心裡比較好過，但是你的日子的確會過得比較快樂。

但也因為這裡窮所以MI (Misión, Mission) 跟OI (Organización Internacional, International Organization) 的車牌滿街跑。但是因為抗議尼國去年底選舉的不公，很多美國和歐洲的援外組織皆已陸續撤走，或是暫時凍結援助，要求尼國政府給一個答覆。桑定政府在四處擺設他們施政成果的廣告標語，說什麼現在已有多少婦女因為某某計畫而受惠。但是這些計畫都是接受外資援助才得以執行的，所以外援撤走的話很多的這些計畫都會在執行上遇到困難。

事情沒有想像中的那麼高尚美好，援助工作的背後包含了政治角力的元素存在。但其實這也不是那麼的令人驚訝，因為天下沒有白吃的午餐。很殘酷的現實就是這樣，尤其以台灣岌岌可危的處境來看更是如此。廣告文宣中說的的國際友情我百分之百相信是有，在推廣戶和合作社農民的言行舉止上就可以清楚看出來他們對我們的衷心感激和衍生出的友情，但是就官方層面來講，這些努力只是數據，而數據是沒有情感的。只要他人出的條件比較有吸引力，十幾年二十幾年的努力可以在一夕間作廢。

事實就是你需要有籌碼才能有影響力，在談判桌上也才有發聲的機會。這跟設計唯美的廣告文宣中所嘗試描繪出的美麗畫面有一定的差距，但遊戲就是這樣，規則也在那裏，不去遵循的結果就是不用玩。雖然如此，我對NGO的興趣卻沒有因此減少，因為上面所說的只是事情的一個面像。

What Makes This Poem Beautiful?

2009-06-02T13:51:00.002+08:00

Rising up inside him was the sensation he had always felt as a child and as a young man at moments of extraordinary happiness: the prospect of future misery and hopelessness. In a panic, he tried to bring this happy moment to a close. This, he hoped, would lessen the impact of the unhappiness he knew would follow. The surest way to calm himself, he thought, would be simply to accept the inevitable: that the love he felt for Itak - the source of his anxiety - would be his undoing; that any intimacy he might enjoy with her would undo him, as salt dissolves ice; that he didn't deserve his happiness but rather the disgrace and denigration that would result.

Orhan Pamuk, Snow, Chapter 10

Anxiety Quest

2009-05-31T12:58:00.000+08:00

Much to his demise, our hero Lufu Sēoc finds himself once more in the midst of yet another situation which, according to his knowledge of the battlefield, might very well spell disaster. Despite being an experienced commander, our hero can't help but feeling a chill up his spine, and has fallen anew into a state of gaiety and anxiety.

What caught our hero off guard was how the situation was presented in such unforeseen circumstances, and with such great timing - right after Lufu Sēoc decided to put an end to a sentimental episode. But these preoccupy little our hero for he has far too greater task at hand to worry about these matters. He must devise a strategy to cope with this new menace. He must, since his life depends on it.

Para Olvidarte de Mí

2009-05-28T11:39:00.005+08:00

Sometimes your rationality is so that it surprises you, it's even frightening. But this rationality breaks down when the melody of a song hits you; when the moments of a time recorded on the sensitive unit in the camera reaches you. You explore their every detail as if trying to conjure up the past, and in the process reliving it, because you know all too well that it simply won't come back. These images are beautiful because the beauty of a landscape resides in its melancholy.

And some images are recorded only on your mind. This lack of physical recording somehow makes you sad, you're afraid that you will forget them, or that they will blur and fade into the shadow of the memory, not to be retrieved again.

These moments seem at the same time so close and yet so far away. The feeling this double quality carries tells you that for the years to come you will think of them, then sorrow will show and you'll miss these moments so terribly that you will feel as if you're about to be drown, yet you can't call out for help, for you don't know how. You know that when you go back home you probably will never be here again, you probably will never see her again. The nostalghia will swarm you with a desire to come back to search for traces of the past.

Kakadu and Other Places in General

2009-05-09T03:50:00.002+08:00

I've been in the hunt for a new digicam for the past 2 months. I have to admit that I've never been an aficionado in photography, and I'm only doing this beacuse my old Canon died of nature cause, and after going through some trips without being able to take pictures - agonizing that is - , and several reviews comparing different models and such, I've finally settled on one - the Canon G10.

I won't begin by telling you how good G10 is - that's not the purporse of this post - but rather that because of it I've found myself reading articles on photography, and that, surprisingly, it's not as painful as imagined. I'm spending time on having first contact with photography because I want to get more out of G10 than I normally do with cameras, and not doing so would be a real waste with such a fine machine.

It was around 1200 and I was finishing yet another article on G10, then I got linked to some bloke's page on Kakadu. In the steaming heat of the office under the midday sun I was quite excited to see familiar landscapes, and eagerly trying to find the places I'd been to, so I scrolled down and up with the flick of a finger, and when the quick dive to the bottom was over and the scroll bar slowly making its up up to the surface I had an urge to call you, to tell you how much I wanted to take you along with me to all these places.

Prosper Mérimée, 1845

2009-04-04T11:47:00.006+08:00

Desire is a capricious thing, it plays with the reality, then it fucks you. This is a dual layer problem. You see on the tele the glamorous side of the life that is in the well-to-do Spain, and you imagine how good it would be living like that there with a nice, beautiful sheila. Then you proceed with seeing yourself there. Shortly after that, you actually believe that you're there, and so you're filled with a sensation of euphoria.

But of course, you are well aware that it's thousands of miles away. And the thing is you are happy about where you're at. You found yourself falling in love with this country full of chaos, misery, poverty and state corruption, yet populated by lovable people. O lovable, yes, you met her, and the scouts report that she's without commitment of any kind. Judging from her attitudes and the way she acts you can sense a trace of happiness. You are exhilarated.

Then desire makes its way into your thoughts, bringing along indecision. Experience teaches you that patience is a virtue, yet it also tells you that you are old enough to get serious about it before it's too late. This battle between fantasy and reality takes place every time you are close to felicity, and the result of the conflict is always you licking your wounds by yourself. This time around, however, you've decided to let fantasy controls you no more and set foot on solid ground.

Mercy Corps

2009-02-27T11:21:00.000+08:00

You saw the few lines describing the projects you have with other NGOs in Central Asia - somewhere you always wanted to go because it fascinates you - you sat there staring silently and motionlessly at the monitor for a moment, romantically imagining yourself in the steppes, and then your thoughts found themselves back to the present moment, and to the fact that you'll inevitably leave this place before Christmas.

The connections you've made so far will be abandoned - thoughts like these make you wonder what is it you want. You then figured that you're not made for wandering, but staying, for that's what your heart desires. Nevertheless, you're also aware that you've experienced the same kind of feeling before, and not so long ago. You know that you are adaptive, but that doesn't lose the fact that the past stays within you all the time, and you sense the beauty because the beauty of a landscape resides in its melancholy. What's curious is that part of you longs for moving around, yet the other half aspires the contrary, it's as if there's a never-ending struggle happening right inside you and you're constantly bleeding for the wounds they cause.

A Contrast

2009-02-26T11:37:00.005+08:00

When you speed past them in your car the question just pop up: am I worthy of all this?

Quite often you see these lower caste of the Eskimo guys on long stretches of the highway pushing their carts just to get someone to buy their ice creams.

There're people bearing the sun standing in the middle of the road cleaning your windscreen, selling you water, fruits, beans, pets, steering wheels, sun glasses, cell phone cases, slingshots and whatever else you can imagine. There's no age limit in this booming industry.

You used to wonder why can't you do something about it, but then you came to realise that by simply buying ice creams from them don't really change the situation and that after a while you just don't see them at all. You knew the world is not fair, but there are times that you just feel more so than ever. You should rejoice at your good fortune. There's a life, you think, and here's mine, two totally different worlds coexisting within such a short distance. At this, you can't detect a trace of smile on your face.

Overlaption

2009-01-18T16:40:00.001+08:00

The remembrance of Nuria and the Spanish department transported you back to that place and time, and at that place you would remember - with fond memories - Nicaragua. So, while you're still in Nicaragua, you experienced a sensation of being at the same moment in two places separated in both space and time. This mixture of times confused you for a moment, therefore you were somewhat at a loss, and for a fraction of a second you actually thought you were back there thinking about where you are at right now. But, of course, that only lasted for a fraction of a second. What dawned on you was that you will inevitably miss this place, hence you were happy to be here.

Murmurs

2009-01-11T17:17:00.001+08:00

The skeletons of two adults and two children lie curled-up, perhaps to save space. Alongside them are pots: gifts placed in the grave to use in the afterlife.

I wondered what were their stories and what will be mine.

The Analysis

2009-01-07T00:20:00.006+08:00

While you were not saying a word or looking at her, you were trying to figure out why you acted in such a way that would accomplish nothing but your own suffering. It's all tangled up and you're too lost in your contradictory desires.

Everything was still quite okay until she turned, headed back to the gate and begged them to take her along. That decisive moment cast a shadow upon your impression of her. Hence the analysis began and you were searching frantically for pieces here and there, doing your best to put the fragments together to form a better picture. However, your, shall we say, doubt, began much earlier. That doubt brought back some bad memories, memories of your being used simply because you were of value at that time, and then discarded away when that usefulness was gone. And so when you saw her asking them, the rich guys, to take her along you instinctively associated the two things together. Comparing to them, you were of no exploitation values, which made her not giving a shit about you at that moment perfectly understandable. She didn't fancy you nor like you in anyway at all, you were merely a thing to entertain her.

You felt that she wasn't as innocent as you'd thought, she was so much more complicated than that first impression of yours, and you felt that she was rather smart, social-wisely, and that you were just a pawn out-played by a dominating queen. The temporary conclusion echos the first judgement which conjured the unpleasant past, and so this reasoning is doubly fortified, and thus your love transformed into hate.

But, alas, the tragedy lies in that you are already in love with her and at this stage the reason has little power here to set your mind straight, to get you out of this fucking mess. The analysis neither offers any comfort to the burning soul. Therefore, in a perplexed state, as a desperate and last measure to save yourself from falling any deeper than you already were, you chose to ignore her. However, here resides the contradiction, for you were also using this strategy to protest against her, to call upon her attention to your feelings, you were doing this because you knew no other ways of expressing your sentiments. You wanted to see her reaction to your attitude, so that you can guess whether you matter or not. You wanted, at the same time, to save and to torture yourself; you wanted her to know, yet you dread to let her know; love and hate just got mixed up once again, and so you are witnessing the latest reincarnation in the perpetual circle of disappointment and frustration.

Fix You... 12 Months Later

2009-01-03T00:26:00.002+08:00

You knew instinctively the moment you saw her that this was the beginning of yet another tough period of suffering, and you couldn't be any more unerring than that. Despite the premonition, you are willing to fall head over heels for her, so who is it to blame, eh? Now she's there dancing with him and you're sitting here pitying yourself thinking oh it's happening all over again and having no way of expressing your frustration but writing it on your blog. Super.

But it's too late, you're already in deep water and can't pull yourself out of it. Therefore what we are witnessing here now is the classical case of love turning into hate, and the more you loved, the more you will inevitably hate. At this stage of the process, you don't really care if hate does turn into suffering, it's a force that you can't fight against because deep inside you want to hate, it's also a way of demonstrating your love for her.

Évidemment

2008-12-21T10:13:00.003+08:00

Contingency is an interesting thing. The past is easily reawakened by an image, a smell, a song or simply a sensation. This "image, smell, song, sensation" is tagged to that memory by chance. Picture this, you were at home and your flatmate was listening to France Gall's Évidemment. Six years later, in another foreign land, you came across this song in your iTunes library, and so the familiar tune brought you back to the good old times and helped you to reconstruct better this bygone epoch, or simply that living room where the event took place. But note that this past could very well be related to another song, image, smell or sensation, Évidemment is not so evident as it might have seem.

Nevertheless, you did were transported back to that place and time, and along with this you remembered other things as well. A tour back to the past is always welcome, however, like what we'd said the other day, it brings both joy and melancholy. And as you are remembering the past with a mixture of feelings, you realize that the present will inevitably be memory in a future time, and that you will remember one of these days with "both happiness and pain" or of this particular morning in Managua in which you came across the song that made you remember Salamanca, and so in an attempt to pass that memory forward and to include her in it, you sent it to Ka.

Strangers in the Night

2008-12-20T00:30:00.005+08:00

19:30 05.10.2008

It was good to get the hell out of the boot camp, even just for the duration of the day light. Kelly picked me up at the train station at around 0930 and we went for a coffee before lunch. As soon as we entered the establishment I noticed her immediately, she was sitting there by herself, but with more than one cup on her table, she'd also perceived my presence. The place was pretty full, only about 3 tables were left unoccupied and Kelly happened to pick the one right next to her, and then I happened to sit in a direction that offered an open vista of her. The only way I could be any luckier was for me to be sharing the same table with her, but of course, silly me, it was wishful thinking. However, it might not be as all that wishful as it might seem for I caught her constantly casting furtive glances at me!

The first feature that caught my attention were her bright, beautiful, shy, firm and elusive eyes, they expressed the kind of yearning that inspired heartfelt admiration and begged you for gentle caresses. After I overcame, momentarily, the spell her eyes had casted on me, I was able to continue with my observation: her hair was short, about level with her chin which gave her a cute appearance that went just about perfect with her eyes and face. She wasn't exactly the kind of slim and shapely sheila, she was a bit chubby which was reflected on her white t-shirt. If we follow the force of gravity, our sights would be met with a flaring, multi-levelled, light green coloured skirt with a length of about 15 centre metres below the knees which was quite popular on the streets. Further down we see a pair of gardening shoes which didn't count as sexy as the bracelet around her right ankle.

All of a sudden my cell started to ring so I excused myself and made for the door, and upon my return Kelly was at the counter thus leaving me alone with her. It was my chance. I then sat down, looked around, and at last at her, and she at me, elusively. My eyes searched again for Kelly, she was still at the counter. I stood up, out of courtesy, thinking I should help her with it instead of just sitting there so anxiously trying to get the phone number of a stranger, but I stopped midway, my head told me to do one thing, but the desire aspired otherwise.

At this moment of indecision her solitude was broken and was joined by a middle-aged woman and a kid, they seem to be a family. I was relieved and overjoyed to see them instead of a guy joining her. By then Kelly also returned to the table. Despite the changes to the situation I managed to spy on her from time to time, and a while later, thanks to the boy attracting Kelly's attention and affection, I was able to openly direct my intention at her, then as if answering my call she responded likewise. So for the duration of a few seconds that felt more like an eternity we indulged ourselves in a world constructed by the glances of two strangers.

The Wandering Man

2008-12-17T12:36:00.003+08:00

I'm on my way again, but this time not for pleasure, but duty. It's like the kind of posts that people covet because you get to fly to another country free of charge. Contrary to public opinions, I'm a bit reluctant to go this time around, I suppose I'm tired of moving around without having a place or person to call my own. I've spent a good chunk of my time moving from one place to another. Well, it's not that I don't like it, I do, I like the sense of freedom and the ability to see the world with my own eyes, but I guess I'm somewhat weary of doing it by myself, I reckon that I want some company.

But the reality sometimes shows no mercy, and you don't get to see your wishes realised, at least not for anytime soon. I'm on the move now, and I've forseen some more years on the road before I should, if fate will, settle down. Settling down might not sound like the thing a young man of my age would say (or am I wrong and that this thought is actually quite commonplace?), but for someone suffering so constantly from loneliness I suppose it's quite normal, and that loneliness is made worse because you don't look like one that has this kind of problems, on top of that you find it difficult to express it anywhere but here.

State of Emergency

2008-11-28T01:21:00.003+08:00

It’s well into the night and you stumble upon songs from the past. The past just reincarnates with the melodies. You feel both the happiness of seeing old friends, and the pain of being aware of the fact that they will never return. You need to talk to someone, someone who had been to where you’d been. You need someone to alleviate that pain, or to share that burden. It’s an emergency, and you suddenly realise how much you miss not just Spain, but also the uni.

The Impotence

2008-11-21T22:06:00.002+08:00

You can live in a complete state of happiness when you don’t know a thing about this world, but once you are contaminated by the mundane matters, no matter how minute they are, there’s no going back to the good old days. You first wonder, then question, and in the end you want to do something. However, the reality is something far more complex than you’d ever imagined, and you find yourself shackled, unable to move or to act, but only to watch. Being forced into playing the role of a bystander is no joyous task, nor it brings any conscience to the mind. You see the injustice going on around you, you see the brave souls out there braving the elements fighting for their believes and their causes, you see the intimidation from the higher places, and you feel the urge to join them, to fight for something you can relate to. But you are also very aware of your current situation which impossibilitates you from carrying out any forms of tomfoolery.

You think to yourself with resentment of such perfect timing, how could this be happening? The situation is deteriorating around the clock, yet you're bound to leave for another land. A sense of powerlessness doesn't have to go over you to make you understand just how impotent you are. It's by no means like what they say in the telly ads, where a bunch of sunny fellas turn to the camera while dashing into the ocean waves crying cheerfully that you can decide how you want your life to be. I'm sorry, but it's just not like that at all. Sometimes the wave is just too strong and you get swept away so easily like blowing a dust off the table. Some congratulate you on your travelling to another country free of charge, while others think it's lucky to get away from the shit that's already been going on for months, but you just want to stay, as a freeman (in its relative sense, for you are never free), to fight for what you think is right. It's as disheartening and demoralizing as seeing what you've so painstakingly built over the years being destroyed in no time.

The Beehive

2008-10-22T23:34:00.007+08:00

10:28 24.09.2008

Prioir to entering the boot camp I made a visit to Taipei, there I caught up with some old friends. The age range is 22-26.

***

J'd been busy studying for the past 6 months for Ministry of Foreign Affairs' diplomat exam. He looked sort of busy and content, somewhat uneasy at times. We talked about life in the boot camp, the rules, the ought-tos and ought-nots. After lunch the subject turned to future plans. It seemed a bit odd to me that he was seemingly happy with the direction his life was heading towards. He told me, back in the uni, that he was doing this exam just to please his mentor and that his true intention was in another one of Phd. scholarship. But this time around the only plans for a Phd. that was being mentioned was mine, I had a rough idea of the kind of Phd. course I wanted to do, but any furthur ideas was yet to be formulated. I figured that I still had some miles to cover before I reached a conclusion. On the contrary, the contentness of J showed that he was either lost or had already found what he wanted to do in life (or at least for the moment).

***

V, like me, was doing the army soon. The conversation was mainly about the army, and because we were going to serve overseas so we also talked about the experiences of those before us, the salaries and things relating to this military service of ours. Plans of what was on our minds regarding the future was briefly mentioned and then cast aside.

***

After graduating from the uni, Gua Gua found a living in a trading company in the capital, so we could only meet in the evening. During the course of the dinner, several subjects were brought up, the army of course, what ours friends were up to, and the not-so-distant past. But most of all we talked about her job. She complained what an asshole her boss was and how much she wanted to quit. However, the reality bites, so she would probably stayed for at least an year before moving on to the next or any other plans she had on her mind. She also expressed the desire to continue her education, a master course perhaps. But, the problem was that she didn't quite know what she wanted to study, and I wanted to help her with it, to discover where her true interest lay.

***

Zih-Guo stayed in the Ministry of Education after finishing his service. We didn't chat for long because he had to work the next day. His grilfriend resembled some acquaintance of mine back in the uni. When I rang him they were watching Cape No.7 in the mall, so it was agreed that we were to meet there. We talked about our friends back in the uni, but there wasn't actually that much of them to talk about because we were never that close to them. There were always those little groups and we mainly maintained good relations with each and every one of them, but nothing furthur. I suppose it was because I'd never identified myself with 'em, therefore I didn't dedicate my time in entering their circles. So everytime we talked about them we only mentioned the main figures. Then we moved on to the following subjects: his job, the army, and plans for the future. He was preparing for the functionary exam.

***

It seemed like everyone was in a great hurry in the capital, Shiao-Yen had to run for the metro in 2 hours so we met in the Main Station and chatted over a cup of coffee on the second floor. From our current geographical position, the metro would be reached in about 30 seconds' time. Highly time-saving and efficient. Big metropolis. The cafés and restaurants were mostly full so we made a round tour first.

The conversation started the moment she called out my name back there on the first floor, was interrupted at the counter, and resumed when we were seated. I was surprised to find her still doing her master thesis, so for a good part of the 2 hour that we had she explained to me things behind the smiles. It's not unheard of the unethical practices of some professors: capitaling on the investigations, researches of the students, deploiting them for completely personal means, etc. etc. Anyway, the situation was not in her favour and she was in her fifth year. Then the conversation moved towards the old classmates and teachers, and I was again surprised to find her praising with all the rhetoric she could possibly muster certain professor, whose reputation in the department was quite the contrary, which made me revaluate the way I see the prof, she couldn't be all that negative as rumoured. Before long, as if by nature, future plans were brought up. She was thinking about doing a Phd. in the states and her enthusiasm shone through her expression. She's got that radiance in her eyes while talking about these plans of hers, and at that moment I somehow envied her for it. Then before we knew it, time was up and we parted way.

Paul Newman (January 26, 1925 – September 26, 2008)

2008-09-28T10:57:00.001+08:00

All I know about Paul Newman is that he was a famous actor, so while I was reading the news and staring at the picture of him holding some trophy or something I experienced a surreal sensation going over me, it was the same sensation I felt while reading Nuria's email.

She said that the other day in the office someone brought up my name all of a sudden, so everyone started to discuss about my life in the army and imagining how I would look like with a butch haircut, then little by little the discussion died down to daily shores, and the subject was forgotten.

Vivaldi - Nisi Dominus, RV608 VII

2008-09-28T10:44:00.000+08:00

09:50 23.09.2008

The world was set with a retro-futuristic style... We were a merrily newly-wed couple... One day she was violated... I sought revenge on the perpetrator... I failed in my vendetta... He escaped... He returned with more sinister intentions and minions.. Our lives acquired a fugitive tone...

It was blurring enough trying to remember it in the morning, let alone at 0855 of the next day while listening to a lecture. The thing about being in the army boot camp is the great deprivation of physical freedom - not being able to freely move around, not being able to move without getting an order. Every movement is conditioned, turn left, turn right, sit down, stand at attention, stand at ease, look straight ahead, eat, applause, jump, run, stop, drink, stand up, sleep, wake up, sing, gather, refill your water bottle, pee and shit, clean your plate, move forward, salute, go down stairs, change clothing and wipe the sweat off your forehead.

The picture of how openly and wholeheartedly you would greet and embrace your family and friends surface to your mind's eye and you take great pleasure in envisioning these images. You also think and dream(literally) about the sheilas. On the bus into the camp you looked out of the window thinking not about the days ahead, but about Evl, you knew why you thought about her at this particular moment, but that was a secret that you could never reveal to her - for maintaining your friendship's sake. The picture of her happily holding her niece by the beach turned you oblivious to the changes to the scenery and the dynamics on board the bus. You see her face, you hear her voice, you think about her life without you, and you sense two roads that will not cross path.

The other night you dreamt about CM leaning joyously in your arms. You were in an elevator that was going up. The setting was also retro-futuristic, just like Lang's Metropolis. Interesting.

The recurring images of them made the idle moments not only easier, but also blissful despite sorrowful at time. They offer a means of detachment and bring up genuine smiles upon your face. What's so curious about this fact is that the deprivation of physical freedom somehow brings about temporary freedom of imagination.

Face/Off

2008-08-14T01:19:00.002+08:00

Let me tell you this: it's all about the appearances. Some fella showed the world what a dimwit he was by saying that China was a peaceful loving, tree-hugging country which maintained harmony with surrounding countries(!). He must've been living in a cave. Throughout the history of China we see a great abundance of examples of cruelties against one another and against one's own people. Examples of such merit not a mention here since you can come across plenty of them in any history books on China. This is a statement of facts (many times we need to seperate the actions of the government from its people, David Wallechinsky puts it well in How to Protest the Beijing Olympics).

The same applies to today's Chinese regime, it's anything but peace-loving. Deception is its best trick. If you think positioning a thousand missles in the east coast all directing towards Taiwan is a manifestation of the peaceful goodwill, then I really don't know how to define belligerent. Of course, this is the natural feeling of someone whose country is being threatened, and the world exists no justice at all. "Justice" exists only when 1) you're strong, and 2) you're of any meaningful use to the others. Shameful, but that's how it is. Like I've said only someone whose homeland is in danger will feel this way, people in the "free world" don't give a shit about this because Taiwan is too far away so they just don't feel it.

Deception. Lies. That was how the Communist Party of China (CPC) tricked the IOC (International Olympic Committee) into awarding her the grand prize of hosting the Games. The cases of violations to her promise to allow more freedom of speech out number the amount of existing planktons (another great achievement of the Chinese government), Tibet, Xinjiang and a long list of etceteras, just google them and you'll get more than what you bargain for, enough to keep you busy till London 2012 and beyond.

They do are good at faking things, aren't they? Fake tiger photos, fake journalistic photos of piegons which then won a prize, etc. etc. And today as usual we got some more coming in: fake ceremonial fireworks (which turned out to be CGI), and some Sleight of Voice according to the New York Times. Why would someone do such a thing then? The answer can't be any simpler and straightfoward - it looks good! It looks good, but in reality, there's no real substance to back up the pretty face, but it doesn't matter, because in the end what counts is what's on the surface and that is because that's what we see and believe and, most importantly, that's what we only care about.

I dreamt about you

2008-07-11T02:32:00.003+08:00

And in that dream I held your hands in mine, something's odd about you though, probably it was the hair, they were shorter I suppose. We were good and happy, it was sweet. However, despite that I was holding your hands you didn't seem to quite realize how I felt towards you, you treated me just as a good friend. Coincidently, that was how I believed I'd felt about you too, just a good friend, but the great frequency of you popping into my thoughts and the yearning to touch you told me otherwise, which troubles me a lot because your boyfriend is also my friend, and being true to friends, I'm thus prohibited from doing certain things which spell disloyalty.

Then, as if something suddenly hit you, you withdrew your hands slowly and consequently the distance between us grew, both physically and mentally, you became a stranger to me. I didn't know you anymore. I watched you keeping your distance without looking at you. God. Then I woke up, and I couldn't get that haunting image out of my head. It's too hard to tell, I don't know how to interpret your actions and words, if you were single I would have no doubt in my mind that you loved me. But I suppose much guessing is useless now as I'm leaving this place on Sunday, and then on a jet plane next year.

And then you will also graduate and go your own way. For the time being, I don't see that our path will cross, we don't even live in the same town. What makes this time around tough is that you know something about me that others don't, and most importanly, you are you, you critize when you want to critize, you show your love towards the animals with your big mouth and actions when you truely felt it regardless of how others would think about you. You are you, genuine, in my view. You don't wear fancy dress or high heels just because people think it's prettier or sexier that way, you don't put on something that makes you uncomfortable. There were times that you made me angry, but you bowed down and apologized. Then, unlike my usual self, I told you what was it you said or did that made me angry. But when I saw you cry, I felt horrible. And I knew at that moment that my suffering was just about to begin for my feeling towards you was clear and unquestionable.

Lord of War

2008-07-09T02:18:00.003+08:00

Tuesday night, you went home 7 hours after you accidently left the door key inside with the lock on. It's been raining these couple of days after the 4 o'clock barrier. You finished your thesis before the semestre ran out of time, and one month later you're still here doing nothing, or probably just desperately trying to take in the last view of the place that you've ever stayed longer than your parent's place.

Tuesday night, you stayed in your room by yourself, as usual. But something's different this time around, you're watching tv. You don't watch tv. Something's wrong, you got too much time on your hands, and you're at a loss of what to do. You like to read, but now is not the moment. Your computer is on and connected to the internet, as usual. So many names are there hanging on the thin line, some are available while others are either idle, busy, away or plain invisible, like you. The fact that their number equals the number of names in your cellphone does little to help you in conjuring up a single smile.

Tuesday night, you turned off the tv after the final line of the credits escaped to the upper part of the screen. You guided your glance towards the pictures of sexy chicks on the monitor, paychecks for your multi-hour "investigative" hard work in front of the computer. They turned you on, of course they do. Still you can't manage to make a smile surface onto your face, you just stare at them cold. You can only stare lifelessly into the emptiness of your life.

And it's moments like this, Tuesday night, that reminds you what a lonely person you are, despite the glorious academic radiance, the charm emitting out of solo cycling tours, quick thinking, brilliant ideas, and your witty remarks. None of them come to your aid at this state of emergency. The one that does, and always has been coming, is an overwhelming feelings that fancies to address herself as Solitude.

Tuesday night, you are desperate, and you have a feeling that you've forseen the future. A future full of nothing but Tuesday nights because you are what you are. People come to you when they need you to do something for them, a question they couldn't figure out for example, or when they were in a dire need to be entertained by something to make this senseless life easier to forget. Apart from that they don't even think about you, out of sight out of mind. Cruel, but every bit as real as the pain produced when a projectile hits you. And just like scars, they never fade, rather they amass, and one day, probably a Tuesday night, you will realize that you are in the inferno that you can never leave.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

2008-05-31T23:41:00.003+08:00

Monday would be the thesis defense, and now I'm doing the final touches to the powerpoint presentation. I'm rummaging through my travel pics, trying to locate something ideal, then I couldn't for the life of me figuring out why on earth I was so mad at them back then. Well, I mean, I know why I was angry, I know exactly what the problem was, but now the issue seemed quite trivial to me. Perhaps it's what most things will appear to be when it's time to leave this world. It doesn't really matter whether it's because the distance or time makes everything more beautiful than they actually were or rearranged in another sequence. I just miss that time a lot and wish that it could end in some other way even though it's impossible. I have, on top of fond remembrances, great remorses.

Los lunes al sol

2008-05-20T01:38:00.003+08:00

Watched Los lunes al sol last weekend for the second time since the first viewing some 5 and a half years ago in Spain. I then went with no particular reason, without knowing much about what the film was all about except that it had won tons of awards here and there, went purely because she wanted to see it. When the credits started to roll I was literally on my knees tearing out of pure joy to be able to get the fuck out of Van Dyck and back on to the streets and the fresh air.

I have the habit of trying to acquire every film I'd watched, every song I'd listened to, or practically anything that I can remember that reminds me of that time, during my stay there, in a apparently futile attempt to recreate the past. Then came one day when nostalgia hit me hard and down bowed I went searching for it among the DVDs, but alas! It wasn't there! Desperately, I sought the answer in my head, but memory was against me, it wasn't like what they say at all, it wasn't found. Lights were out.

Nevertheless all was not lost, for the uni library harbours a fucking copy of it, completes with a goddamn extra disk of interviews, the making of and other stuff! Enraptured I was, and with the first appearance of light in the sky off I went towards my salvation. And much more than my expectation of quenching the thirst, the second time was surely a blast, a blast form the past, and I can assure you that it wasn't just because remembrance, like alcohol, makes everything so much more beautiful, but that I actually loved the film so much that literally was on my knees tearing out of appreciation of it. Then I thanked her for wanting to see it some 5 and a half years ago.

Popularity Can't Buy Life

2008-05-06T23:07:00.000+08:00

Little did he know that he was the one who got once more lonely nights to spend now that the thesis is done. Nothing to do, no reason to stay up late in the study room, no where to go but home after the library's closed, but there's no one home to go back to. There're times that I love it, and there're times that I loathe it, but I pass through them one by one on my own all the time.

Reasons why I don't call people whose numbers I have in my cell when I'm caught in the mood is always the same: I don't feel like being funny, I don't like big noisy music nor smoke. I just want someone who can sit with me without words, without looking for a topic, nor excitements.

Conclusion

2008-04-19T00:36:00.004+08:00

Well, I've just penned down the last letter to the conclusion and I thought it merits a word or two, after all I've been in grade school for 4 years, it's the single biggest event that changes the status quo. But just as I announced the news, I immediately felt pity for him for the lonely nights he still got to spend in the study room.

How to Recognize a Caveman

2008-03-26T00:54:00.003+08:00

This task is by no means anywhere near something that would bring the slightest meaning of the adjective "difficult" to any logical mind at all. We can affirm with all certainty that the Olympics chief Cunt Jacques Rogge is a caveman. The proof came out of his very mouth, on the 24th of March 2008, in Olympia. The following is a faithful reproduction of a fragment of what he'd said (scroll down to look for the link to the full speech): "the Olympic Torch Relay and the Olympic Games must take place in a peaceful environment." Two possible explanations to this remark exist, the first is that this man is blind, and the second is that he dwells in a cave. Well, we know his eyes are functioning for sure.

Curse

2008-03-23T00:58:00.002+08:00

Sometimes I really do envy the Palestinians (or anyone in a similar situation for that matter), not for their current political situation nor the disastrous living conditions, but for their recognition of themselves as Palestinians.

Democracy is but a bloody farce when the populace is a brain-washed, slogan following mob. Are you aware that our gravestones were carved on the 22nd of March when your ballot was cast?

Karakter

2008-03-23T00:23:00.001+08:00

My civil communicating ability was temporarily shut down and I was left with groaning while listening to my old man on the other side of the line giving me instructions on what to do once I finished my errand. I suppose I was furious because he made me felt like a kid, and maybe because upon my return I would then be forced to act contrary to my normal behaviour and that would make me feel awkward or perhaps embarrassed even. This got exacerbated by the thought that it will be the pattern that I'll probably be following for the years to come, perhaps because that's how the world is in this part of the world (I can only attest for how it works in here, since I don't know much outside it). A game of interpersonal relationships, an age-old tradition. And maybe I was angry because I suddenly realized that I found myself couldn't agree more to what he was saying, but did in fact failed to realized that by myself and thus had to be "reminded" only now, I was, I suppose that was how I felt, humiliated, a miscalculation too great for my ego.

I've become quite complacent over the years, wielding my knowledge as a leverage control and got myself elevated to the high places. A lesson was placed upon me, and I didn't fancy much the taste of it. I've acquired the habit of holding myself in some pretty damn high esteem. Who am I after all? The profes love me for my thoughts and words, the colleagues and students love my for my professional knowledge (well, they always over-estimated me, all I've got is bluffing) and witty words, and I was foolish enough to fall for all that, and mostly importantly, to be conceited by myself and my vanity, I wanted myself to believe in what I made them think of what I was. I remember reading someone somewhere saying that it was like some kind of inferior complex... fuck, now I have a sodding complex! And I thought I was so sane!

***

I thought I was going to read Pamuk's The White Castle, but instead I am lying on my sister's sofa penning down these words on the notepad that I carry with me anywhere I go. I'm just about one third into the book, but I thought it was interesting so far. So after "talking" to my old man (it was he who was doing all the talking, I was responsible for the groaning-back part), I fetched it and thought I was going to read it, but in the end I chose to sit and write. Why am I writing anyway? What's so cool about it? Is it more interesting than the story of the Hoja and the young Italian scholar who became a slave? I often ask myself why do I write and why the things I choose to write about. Sometimes the answer it to improve my writing, but I know (at least I think I know, I'm a skeptical, you know) that I do it because I have to, I need it to clear my thoughts which are entangled a good deal of the time and free myself from the demons which are myself. Man needs and outlet, and so far writing is mine. Does that mean I'm a lonely person? Well, fuck, we're not so pathetic yet as to be needing it to tell us. We simply are lonely! But, is this a lonely man's prerogative? Will I stop doing it, I mean reflecting, should we one day wake up to find that we're no longer lonely?

They Do Can Control Human Mind

2008-03-17T00:46:00.002+08:00

While China is saying that the death toll so far is only 10, the reports from the other sources like the New York Times tells us that the actual number is at least 8 fold. China, synonymous with bad quality, poisonous stuff, totalitarian government, zero human rights, minus zero news transparency and rampant official sanctioned piracy, has quite a surprisingly large gathering of sympathizers, well, we can surely understand if that's from another totalitarian regime, but it would surely be puzzling if they should come from a country whose existence is being threatened by China all the time.

No, I just can't possibly figure out how could there be anyone, I mean anyone at all, in Taiwan that's pro-China, are you so fucking blind? Have you been living in a sodding cave since the day your mama gave birth to you? Or are you so goddamn retarded that you don't see that your country is on the verge of extinction courtesy of the China that you love so much? Soon your rights will be ripped away, just the way you've always wanted I'm sure. How can you not see China's ceaseless effort at wiping you off the world map, at seizing every opportunity they have, let it be diplomatic, academic, commercial or athletic? And then they say don't mix sports events with politics, how ironic, but that's exactly what they're good at.

Dalai Lama said that they cannot control human mind, but allow me to correct him - they do control human mind. Here I must congradualate the KMT, China's sidekick, for having done such an awesome job at turning people into walking moronic dimwits who can be so gullible as to believe all their flagrant lies and ignore the oh so obvious contradictions in their words, who are so brain-dead to even consider China as the big brother that will take good care of you, to consider China as the mother land (traitors), to consider China as the greatest country on earth, when it's going to be, in fact, the biggest dickhead in the near future. China doesn't even have to launch an attack on Taiwan to take over it, economic dependence alone would do the trick. It's a more economical option anyway, and one that won't be met with too much obstacles.

The Dark Seed

2008-03-10T00:42:00.004+08:00

This woman, who wore an expression not unlike the one when a writer penned down the last letter to his masterpiece would find it hard to suppress, stood in her backyard next to the railroad with her baby, I suppose, in her arms came into view. She swayed gently and talked to the infant in such a way as if she was doing it an introduction to the train that pulled out of the station.

I suppose that if I had snatched that moment with my seldom used camera it would be a hell of a picture, one that's worthy to be put on the desktop as a remainder of the love that exists and surrounds us, of something worth fighting for. I also suppose that everyone is doing precisely the same thing, conscious or unconsciously, which ironically produces, or takes a part in its making, something called conflicts.

Ironic, eh? The child of love is conflict, this is where the arithmetic fails to reflect the reality, it's but abstraction. One plus one equals two, but love plus love equals not greater love but conflicts which in turn bring about destruction, death and the negation of love itself. Lives are ruined, hearts grow weary and peace is unattainable for everyone is dead focused on giving the best to their loved ones, or sometimes just the minimum survival. Again, we see that 1 the best for the loved ones plus 1 the best for the loved ones equals not 2 bests for the loved ones, but conflict, a struggle to get the upper hand so mine gets the best or gets to live. Well, we're not saying that there's anything wrong with fighting with your kids or whoever on your mind, hey we're all just doing it! but just that this alone attains not peace.

Hey Jude

2008-03-07T18:02:00.005+08:00

Well, I just rang earlier to see how was her mom, who had an accident a couple of days ago, some kid on a scotter hit her from behind on the red light, and I was told that she died 2 days ago. Of course, it's not the first time someone died, but the feeling remains weird, gone out of existence just like that. I've been thinking about it again, well, it's always there on my mind, just that recently the frequency of its waves is on the rise.

Prior to the phone call I was on the fifth floor of the library, sitting next to the window with the sun infiltrating through the glass in a luminious yet not intrusive way, it was around a quarter to 4. The place was spacious and warm, it was cozy, my books and papers littered across the round table as I was the only master commanding it.

This question about "what's the point?", as you may very well have noticed in my earlier entries, has been one of the centre of focuses; this futility of being, this if we should return to a state of nothingness, which shouldn't be even called a "state" because being non-existent is not existing at all, is not occupying any unit whatsoever in the universe, is simply not there, and since this supposed "it" is not even there, how shoud "its" state be? to which "it" are we referring to exactly? that which is not there? which is that which? Anyway, it's a sodding dead end, man has been asking this same question since the dawn of History and still he cannot come up with a satisfactory answer, one that puts his mind to rest in peace. He has so far failed in his attempt, it's futile, and not going anywhere but to embitter onself, yes! embitter oneself! Despite the fact that I knew it all along, I didn't quite realized that what I've been doing was assassinating myself!

So with this not so novel realization came two choices, I could either go on like this for the rest of my life, or I could let go and enjoy my life (well, it's not that you can tell from the appearances, but appearances hardly matter). By "let go" of coure I'm not insinuating giving up completely of pondering on it or doing something so totally stupid that puts my very existence on the verge of extinction, on the contrary, I know I'll keep thinking abou it, that is something which is still beyond my power to change, but it should not prevent me from enjoying my life.

Scent of a Woman

2008-01-29T01:17:00.000+08:00

Went to the library today as usual, normally I would walk the length of the hall, pass the row of computers, turn left, and take the elevator up to the 7th, 8th or 9th floor, but recently I found myself stopping at the 3rd. I don't know what it is that makes me linger there, perhaps it is the light, somehow it feels cozier.

After an hour or two I went down to the ground-floor, and there I saw her. She was just standing there, eyes fixed on the monitor. I was caught off guard again, I wasn't sure if she was her, but I would not forgive myself if I didn't even tap on her shoulder.

She came back to fetch some books which she couldn't find in Spain. And I can't give you a reasonable explanation as to why when I reached the 3rd floor, turn immediately right and walked along the walls of books towards my seat, I picked up an aroma of Spain.

Scenic

2008-01-28T00:09:00.000+08:00

I took the train back home a day prior to the election day. Before I reached the station I thought it would be packed with heads eagering to carry out their rights, instead I was shocked to find out about the state of political apathy, well, I can surely understand the dislike towards politics in Taiwan, but the unwillingness to hold on to one's own right is beyond all comprehension, and don't justify yourselves with exams and papers or that kind of shit while watching your goddamn stupid telly programs where a bunch of stupid teens make fun of each other or like rubbish, because I'm not less stressed than you're.

Anyway, let's get back to the train station. So I got this nice window seat for all my through-the-framed-glass pleasure. The train pulled in one of the stations, the curtain slowly disappeared and revealed the scene - a deserted and partly darkened bench next to a lamppost. Then among the lot that walked into the stage was a female character who first vanished to the other edge, but then decided to come back looking to both directions as if she was waiting for someone, or probably just unsure about whether this was her train, with a look that tells you that that someone failed to show up.

Upon not getting a satisfying answer from her cellphone, she stood there for a while, not knowing what to do, and kept her glances to one side as though trying to avert eye contact with the audience, an attempt to hide her thoughts from the outside world perhaps, out of gloom or custom we do not know, for masquerading our feelings is no alien practice. So, what do to now? That is the question. And then perhaps a decision had been made, for she sat down on one edge of the bench. Then with a humming sound, the platform was brought back to life and slowly pulled the scene away while she still looked to the side, and filled it with darkness.

Fix You

2007-12-31T01:38:00.002+08:00

In the classrooms, in T109, in T120, in L315, in the corridors, in the office, in the library, in the study room, in Frog Mexican restaurant, in MSN chat transcripts, in the night market, in sih hai dou jiang, on my scooter, the dew on my scooter, in your room, in Idoya's room, in my room, on the floor, on the self-inflating mattress, in front of the computer, my burin, my wooden apple with three legs, your blood, the bamboo dragonfly on your fingertip, Henri Cartier-Bresson, your text messages, the movies, your cheerful cry, your asking me out, Entre visillos, the pink mug, the note and the chocolate, your earflap hat, your lost dictionary, the concurso de teatro, the concurso de villancicos, in my work files, in ELE, in Es Español, in Concha, in your city, in the parking lot, in front of your place, in the garage,... I see you. But you are not there.

Sometimes it hurts so much that you can't help wondering would it be better if you'd never loved.

Pollinosis

2007-12-23T18:27:00.000+08:00

It has been quite some time since it last rained, yet this afternoon shortly after I left the library, the world was covered in a haze of gray drizzle. Why do you cry, Azure?

The colour of the ground acquired a darker tone the moment it was touched, and before long, it turned completely dark. Above the ground, crow shaped clouds patrolled the sky and the sun was forced to retreat to the distant horizon and to the unattainable higher dome which was nothing more than a few unstable dots sparsely spread on the black shroud.

You looked down and saw people the size of ants going about their business. In spite of the loftiness generated by the vantage point, you are no greater being, for your every emotion was subject to the will of the one ant.

You only realized how much you loved her when it was already too late. It was too late. Your thoughts drifted to the past which was gone so swiftly like the zephyr, it caressed you and then slipped through your fingers like they didn't even exist at all. But you knew they did exist because their legacy was too much for your lachrymal to hold back another tide.

The Trajectory

2007-12-23T12:58:00.000+08:00

Doubts stops you short from doing certain things, so does Fear. Yet Fear manifests in the wake of Realization which in turn rises out of the ashes of Doubts.

They say that Truth will set you free, but it's a step taken too fast and too far which doesn't take into account the important role of Fear and its reign on Decision which is the critical agent leading to the possible Liberation. It's only regarded as possible since you don't have the final say about things.

While you're waiting for the verdict, sitting in the front row alongside Fear and Decision, you are under the custody of the sadist Anxiety.

Then, after much wrestling with the devil, you decide that you have had enough with all this passivity, and Action would be then called upon.

A Two-Colored Brocade

2007-11-11T02:07:00.001+08:00

Sometimes I burn like a
candle from expectation;
sometimes I weep like a
spring cloud.
You see the candle's
radiance and are happy,
but you don't see the fire
at its head.

It's one of the things which you wouldn't notice normally, something which you live with day by day, but you just sort of ignore its being there. Just like the air, so evident yet so transparent. You wouldn't see it unless it's coloured or pressurized. When you leave the library and walking down the hill towards the parking lot at around 2245 with 18 books in your arms and less than 2 months till the deadline you feel what you've always known, that you are by yourself.

Hands

2007-11-01T23:48:00.000+08:00

My uni staff email account expired today, 3 months after I left the position. I knew it was today, but I didn't realize today was it. It's gone, just like that, following the contingent nature of all things ever existed, are and will be brought into being. You reach out your hands in a futile attempt to contain the water falling from the shower nozzle high above. They stayed there for a while and the next second they showed their obedience to Gravity. You may ask "why?" even though you've already known the answer.

Magdalena asked me last year whether I would feel sorry should I failed to get the position. I said I wouldn't for what was there to sorry about that was never yours? Like if you were never born, you wouldn't be sorrying about your non-existence, would you? But, well, it's not an appropriate example because you do feel sad regarding, say, relationship that never has the chance to materialize which is of course never yours.

Sleeplessness

2007-10-27T07:45:00.000+08:00

I couldn't fall asleep the other day, had absolutely no idea why really; I was sleepless again last night, this time the reason was not alien to me.

It was a mixed feeling which you are probably familiar with. It encapsulated both excitement and fear. You finally had a wonderful opportunity to actually get to know her, it has been quite a torture of not having any constructive means for doing so since you first saw her. But just like the nature of any hopes, it terrifies you for the other side of high hope is high casualty. You start to analyze again, yes, every single word, action and look.

The trembling text-messaging fingers are back, and the anxiety in between is once more so familiar. You need allies which can provide you with life-saving informations. You don't know how this will evolve, the only thing you're sure of is that you can't get her out of your mind.

The World is Not Enough

2007-10-08T00:40:00.000+08:00

In this world in which we inhabit we are unable to express ourselves truthfully, or at all, and an alternative is thus required because man's heart is not content. Throughout the history it found its outlet in art under its various forms. In recent years, it found in blogs an ideal, free and most of all, least time-consuming means to compensate the incompetence. Express yourself, the motto of all blogs is thus because that's what you are incapable of.

The virtue of virtual reality lies in its nature- virtual, which inherently disconnects it from the non-virtual. Hence all virtual expressions of the sentiment is to be disengaged automatically from the individual, which is non-virtual, the moment it is typed. The daily interaction between men ceased to have significances of any kind for the virtual has taken over the non-virtual as the supreme contender in this game of communication.

In consequence, the virtual becomes the real, and vice versa. And man, despite being aware of the substitution taking place, is powerless in this regard for he knows not how to express himself in a real setting occupied by equivalents. The counter measure cunningly devised is that of frivolity. Under its guise, man is to survive the day and head back for the safety of virtual reality. As a result, there is nothing left in the world but the virtual, ergo the world is not enough.

Port Augusta, South Australia

2007-10-07T02:10:00.000+08:00

Yesterday I came home early from the library, around 1730 because I wasn't in the right mood for my thesis- sitting there the whole afternoon and can just barely squeeze out a couple of shameful lines, despite the glorious 2 pages the day before.

Today, following last night's dedication of searching for good free Mac games on the internet, I stumbled upon Oberin, a Mac only online multiplayer role-playing game (I know, I shouldn't be playing games but studying). Unlike any other games that I've played over the years, in Oberin the name of your character needs to be approved by a Game Master before you can settle with it, and that gives me quite a lot of headache. First, it always takes me ages to come up with a name I like. Second, my first bid for an official name, Skotos, was met with I'm sorry.

So right now I'm trying to come up with a good one and somehow my thoughts found them drifted towards Australia and the places I'd been while I was there. Well, if I should go to the Game Master with an Adelaide, Darwin o Sydney proposal I would surely be sent back to where I'm now. It's got to be something less heard of.

Then there's Aileron, I wonder if Mike's still working there on his giant statue or has he moved somewhere else? I scrolled down the map and saw Port Augusta. Funny how such a tiny sector on the map would take me such a long time to cover on my pushbike, boy, I did spend quite a while there, didn't I? Long enough that I greeted the librarian the way I would to my neighbour and vice versa, so you're off to Coober Pedy tomorrow eh, son? I got acquainted with the local doc so well, that I even rang him to say goodbye.

I remember the way the commercials put the name of the locality at the end, like blah blah blah Aussie Bloke Pharmaceutical, Port Augusta. They were the kind of low-budget, fast-talking, appearing-3-in-a-row-or-alternatively types. The wounded kangaroo wrapped in a blanket in the backseat of the car; chatting with the seemingly tired girl who went out for some fresh air while I was cooking dinner in the car park next to the cheap hotel; and the two... Blast it! I'm back in my usual in-search-of-lost-time mood, I shouldn't travel so much because that will inevitably produce more "lost times", but the world is too big and the desire to see them all too great, so I'm hopeless.

Bin Laden says US should convert

2007-09-08T11:18:00.000+08:00

Saw the headline on the BBC site and upon seeing it my first reaction was to laugh.

Gee, it has already been more than half a decade since the one morning that I stared at the telly with disbelief. 6 years later I would think about Kelsey and her tears while she narrated, 5 years ago, her personal account of the event.

Tour Report: 9th to 20th of August, Day 3 to Day 14, Taipei

2007-08-30T00:37:00.000+08:00

After 6 days working as an interpreter for the Honduras U17 football team I found myself back in my sister's place. I was planning to leave Taipei and head for Keelung this Friday(17), but the idea was being postphoned by typhoon Sepat, the third that coincided with my journey. So I waited and waited till I finally got to leave the capital by the 21st.

By the 19th of august the sky was cleared of all ill temper, but my resolution was shaken. Well, not exactly resolution, but rather the willingness to keep cycling. Too much rest days and the unstable weather had taken its toll on me, it was just so meaningless, I didn't like leaving home just to stay in another house, I was suppose to be out there sweating and all that, and not watching the telly or surfing the net for days on end.

So by the 20th when the weather was clearer than ever, my thoughts, on the contrary, were overshadowed by the idea of hitting home. 12 days off the bike really had an enormous effect on me, I had somehow sank back into the sedentary hole from which I managed to escape some 14 days earlier. That was when you realized that you were not so strong psychologically as you liked to imagine.

My willingness to quit was doubled by the news that another atmospheric depression was forming some 2000km to the east of Taiwan and there was the low but possible probability that it might effect us. Therefore despite that the 20th was a glorious day for some jolly decent cycling, I stayed in Taipei, indecisive of what I should do.

Still, I couldn't quit just yet, the reason was simple - 177k was just so shameful. At least I had to make it to Ilan because the forecast said that for the next 3 days the weather seemed to be still quite good. However, that wasn't the real reason behind my reluctance to go home at this point, the real reason behind was that I couldn't go home like that! I didn't feel like going back, you know, it was just a feeling, I knew that I wasn't ready to go home, and even if I did I wouldn't be happy to settle down to concentrate on my dissertation, my mind would still linger on the trip and of what could have been.

I can't go home just yet, it wasn't the way to put an end to this. I had to keep going. I need to go to Ilan.

***

八月九號至二十號

在六天的隨團翻譯工作結束之後我再次回到我姐家。本來是想要兩天後（17號）繼續上路前往基隆，但是天公不作美，馬上又給我來了一個聖柏，這已是我這次環島所遇到的第三個颱風了。聖柏對我之後的旅程造成了決定性的影響，因為它把連接宜蘭和花蓮的蘇花公路給弄壞了。

到了19號時颱風已過而且天氣晴朗，但是我卻不想繼續騎了。太多時間待在同一個地方沒有進展再加上天氣不穩定好一天壞一天使我動身的意願動搖。照這樣騎下去的話一點意思也沒有，我不是因為要住別人家才離家的，我應該在太陽下騎車、前進，而不是在別人家當宅男。

20號，風和日麗，但我的心情卻烏雲密佈。天氣因素加上太多的休息使我佇足不前，我又安逸了下來，而這安逸又使我變得沒用了。這時你就會再次地了解到自己並不是像想像中的堅強。但這也是只有一個人時的優點：不管你喜不喜歡，你都被迫要面對它，沒有別人可以依靠。

連日無謂的休息加上預報說台灣東方海面2000公里處又有低氣壓形成，機會不大但有可能會變成另一道颱風侵襲台灣。所以縱使20日是外出愉悅騎車遊玩的良辰吉日，我卻待在家裡，猶豫不決。騎還是不騎？這就是問題所在。

但，不論如何我不能如此輕易地就打道回府。原因很簡單：177公里實在是讓先人蒙羞的少。就算蘇花斷了，我最少也要騎到宜蘭，因為氣象預報說之後三天應該會是好天氣。但其實里程數的多少並不是讓我繼續的真正原因，真正的原因是我不能這樣就回家！我並不想回家！這是一個fu的問題，我還沒準備好要回去。因為我知道即使我真的在台北就結束玩樂坐車回沙鹿，我也不會甘心就這樣坐下來寫論文，我並不想讓它就此結束，我全部的心思會繼續留在環島而不是課業上，我會坐立難安，我會不停地想那未完的旅程。這樣就回去一點意義（實質或非實質的）也沒有。

我不能這樣就回家，我會終結這次的旅行，但台北不是結束它的地方，時機未到。我必須繼續，我必須去宜蘭。

Tour Report: 8th of August, Day 2, Hsinchu - Taipei, 93k

2007-08-20T11:38:00.000+08:00

The wind outside was playing the imperial march while I woke up. I didn't have to look out of the window to know that the trees were all bowing down before its presence. But I did anyway, and they were. Still haven't made up my mind as to cycle or not to cycle, so I packed my gear without much haste despite it was already 7am. By the time Irma, the bike, was loaded, I was delighted to find out that the weather was better than superb. According to the ecclesiastical chauffeur, following the then coastal Expressway No.15 all the way to Taipei was without the slightest doubt so much faster than the Provincial Highway No.1, contrary to the comparison I made on the map. But I decided to have faith in the locals.

However, as time went by, my faith dwindled. Then it went through a complete crisis after I found out, about some 40 minutes later, that I was just approaching NanLiao. Only now did I finally realized why the chauffeur said it was faster: despite being the longer route, it bypassed the major towns and big cities, so thanks to that it was indeed much faster - for a motored vehicle. But I was on a pushbike you see.

When I was exchanging information with the roadside truck drivers, one of them offered to give me a lift to Taoyuan, in 2 hours you will be there. It was a very enticing offer because, first, it was around 10am already and I wasn't on the right track; and, second, it started to drizzle again. But I wasn't to give up just yet, no matter how much my legs liked the idea. So I pushed on and took the County Road No.118 to Jhubei just before Sinfong. After an idyllic 5k I was back on Provincial Hwy No.1.

It felt superb to be back on the track, but it was a short lived one. The seemingly short distance between Jhubei and Yangmei was heavily guarded by headwinds. The ambush started there, and they just kept blowing and blowing and blowing at my face till the sun went down. I was quickly worn out by their persistent blows and the pathetic little hills, which would normally pose no threat to my stamina at all. Even my downhill speed was reduced to less than 10km/h.

It was noon, the sun was high in the sky, and soared likewise was my temper. It was frustrating this ultra slow haul, and on the way up yet another hill I finally had it, mustering the strength I had left, I jumped off the bike before a crew of road construction workers.

While I sat there hiding from the sun and replacing the lots of liquids I'd lost, one of the workers, a middle-aged woman, approached me with bags of rice in her hands. Later she also brought me several bottles of water enough to fill the Shihmen Reservoir. So there I was having lunch by the side of the road with a bunch of dirty workers, but I couldn't be prouder to be side by side with my benefactor. When I was done, I was ready to confront the wind.

Reality showed that the wind was commited to take up the challenge, it was a test of wills. Slowly yet steadily I made my way towards Jhongli and then Taoyuan. I was thinking about ringing Benita, but later figured what good would it does anyway, she was in Guanyin, some 20 to 30k to the west, while it was already 1700 and my destination was still some 3 hours to the east. So I pushed on. By the time I reached Jhonghe, where my sister and brother-in-law lived, I had not a trickle of strength left in my body and I can only cruise on my smallest gear (the smallest ring in the front and the biggest ring in the rear). I was beat after 11 hours on the road.

***

八月八號.

當我醒來時窗外的風正大肆的吹奏著帝國進行曲，不用想也知道外面的花草樹木都屈服在它的淫威之下。我還沒決定到底要怎樣，是要坐車，還是要騎？但我其實已有坐車的打算了，所以我慢慢的整理裝備，但是當我終於整裝待發走出教堂時外面的天氣卻是萬里無雲。根據教堂御用司機之言，走濱海15號快速公路會比走台一線快到台北。雖然這跟我在地圖上計算的結果不同，但我還是決定相信當地人的話。

但是差不多40分鐘之後我對 "當地人之言" 的信心完全粉碎，因為我才剛要接近南寮！直到這時我才完全了解到為什麼御用司機會說走濱海公路比較快：因為它閃過了很多大大小小的鄉鎮和都市，所以縱使它比較長，往來的車輛卻會比較早到目的地。但問題是我騎的是自行車，這對我一點好處也沒有，只會讓我花更多時間走多餘的路。

就當我在路旁和大卡車司機討論路線時，其中一位自願讓我人和車撘他便車去桃園。只要兩個小時就到了，他說。這當時對我來說是個妙到不行的主意，因為幾乎整個早上已經被我在這裡瞎逛逛到沒了，而且現在天上又開始飄下雨來。但我還是不能接受他的好意，我要先試過在說，反正路上車這麼多，真的不行時再撘便車就好了，我不能連試都沒試就給他放棄了，我不是吃飽太閒來放棄的。所以我繼續回到車上，於經過南寮之後我右轉走縣道118號接竹北。之後在騎了5公里令人心曠神怡的小路我終於再次接上台一線。這是令人振奮的一刻！但那高昂的士氣很快的就將消失殆盡...

在竹北跟楊梅這短短一段等著我的竟然是永無止盡的逆風。那些小山丘也因逆風的關係而壯大聲勢，變的有如喜馬拉雅山似的，連下坡時我的速度竟然也超不出每小時10公里。不久(但感覺起來像是過了一輩子)，我也因此而疲憊不堪。當我在那裡緩慢地拖著我笨重的車前進時正好日正當中、艷陽高照，相對的，我的脾氣也節節提升。

就在我緩緩的攻上那一個接一個的山坡時我終於受夠了，我聚集所有剩下的力量跳下車來。而不偏不倚地，就在我停下來地方的旁邊坐了一群正在休息的修路工人。其中一個中年婦人看我坐在那裡喝水吃餅乾的樣子就爬起來，朝我走了過來。她的手中握著好幾包的白飯和一包鹹菜。之後她又帶了多到可以讓石門水庫潰堤的礦泉水來給我。所以我中午就在這一群全身是土的工人旁補充精力。雖然是坐在塵土飛楊的路旁吃那不起眼的飯，但我卻因為可以坐在那婦人旁而格外感覺驕傲。

當我再次爬起來時，我已經準備好要來跟風作面對面的對抗了。

而事實也證明了那風也是有備而來，這是一場意志力的對決，我唯一的出路就是咬牙騎到台北，因為它是不會主動退出這場競賽的。緩慢的，我一步一步地騎過中壢，接著桃園。當我下午5點在桃園時本來是想打給貝拉，但後來想說觀音離桃園還有一段距離，再者我現在離今天的終點尚有三小時的車程(就平常的速度而言是不用三小時的，但現在我已經很疲憊了，兩天下來的平均時速差不多12.2公里，所以三小時是合理的估算。兩年沒騎車，體力的差別很明顯)，所以我略俟休息後就繼續趕路。

因為天色已黑，再加上在忽然所有的房屋、商店都不見了，剩下的只有黑漆漆的山壁及昏暗的道路，所以在迴龍好幾公里的下坡時我不安的想著說如果走錯路要調回頭的話我就真的要騎到12點才會到。好險事後證明這是庸人自擾。當我騎到中和時我體內已經沒有任何力量，我只是撐著用最輕檔(齒盤前面放最小，後面放最大)一路雙腳慢慢地旋轉(spin) 到我姐和姐夫住的地方。在經過了今天的11小時之後我已經精疲力竭。

Tour Report: 7th of August, Day 1, Shalu - Hsinchu, 84k

2007-08-19T03:03:00.000+08:00

It was 0940 when I took the right turn and slid out of the front gate of the uni with grace. The shocked and consequently dumbfounded expression on the guard's face was priceless, I couldn't help grinning. The first stop was the Japanese department, followed by the Spanish and ended with the ATM of the post office. There concluded the short trip to the uni and the beginning of the proper ride.

In a little more than an hour I found myself entering Dajia. If my memory services me right, it had already been like 6 years since the last time I was here. Didn't linger for too long, just pedalled through, but the impression it gave me wasn't too bad. However, it could be just me for I was fresh setting off and the elements hadn't had their hands on me yet.

Shortly after lunch in a roadside FamilyMart somewhere between Yuanli and Tongsiao, it started first to drizzle and then shower down the road. The weather forecast man surely wasn't bullshitting this time. After a gentle round of verbally versatile rhetorical exchange with the rain under the shade of a grocery store, I put my sleeping bag in the heavy duty black garbage bag courtesy of the friendly folks over there at the Arigato gozaimasu department, and my handlebar bag in another one. With rain and safety (reflective vest, thanks Grace!) gear up, I promptly got out of shelter.

Guaranteed To Keep You Dry™ my ass, about an hour into cycling in the rain I was soaking wet, not from the rain breaching the outer shell, but from the gathering moisture and sweat imprisoned inside the barrier, let alone my rain pants which were just normal nylon. At the end of the day I was as wet as the result of a galactic orgasm.

Then before me the road bifurcated into two separate ways all leading to Hsinchu, one followed the faster coastal Expressway No.61; and the other was the originally planned route, longer yet faithful to the old Provincial Highway No.1 through Toufen. I'd been trying of no avail to get in touch with A-Pe ever since I past Tongsiao trying to tell her that I was in the vicinity. So I rang her again and waited for sometime at the bifurcation. Upon not getting any replies and the hour too late I decided to take the No.61 and head for the day's destination directly.

Just as I was taking a break from the uphill made incessant by the rain and chatting with the farmer, Mi-Er and A-Pe rang. But calculating the extra kilometres, the hour and the strength I had left, I knew it was already too late for me to turn back at this point. When I reached Toufen I wouldn't be able to do the remaining 18k to Hsinchu. So I pushed on and when I finally hit Hsinchu the moon was hanging high on the sky.

The church charged me an extortionate NT500 (US15) for one night, surely the nun was passionate about ripping off sincere, talented yet short-of-fund youth. Hsinchu strikes me as an odd place, it didn't feel like a city at all, only later did I found out that I hadn't entered the city yet, I was still in the outskirt. That night it rained and the wind blew so that alone in the spacious room inside the church with only the cellphone connecting me to the outside world, keeping in touch with any real human beings, my thoughts were overshadowed by the following day's ride to Taipei.

***

八月七號.

早上9點40我優雅的做個90度的彎衝出學校大門往清水方向快速推進。當我8點半緩緩騎進學校時，站在門口校警隊工讀生那像看到神經病的表情真是讓我想到就好笑。校內拍照比耶的第一站是日文系，接著是西文系，最後是郵局的提款機。

約莫一個小時之後我人已經在大甲溪橋上。如果我沒有紀錯的話，最近一次來大甲已經是6、7年前大二或大一的事了，我對自己國家地理的不熟悉也不是完全沒有理由。我並沒有在大甲逗留太久，但是它給我的印象還不算太差，可是現在說還不準因為我才剛開始騎不久，速度不錯，士氣還算高昂，也還沒有遇到任何狂風或是暴雨。

像是預言般似的，於苑裡和通霄中某處路旁的一間就是你家吃過中餐後不久毛毛細雨就開始在天上隨風而飄。起先我還不是很在意，但當它倏地變形成磅礡的天殺大雨時我只好落荒而逃趕緊找地方躲起來。在和從天而降的生命泉源低聲辯論過一些有關長輩的議題之後，我把手把袋用塑膠袋包著，睡袋則放進日文系熱情贊助的黑色大垃圾袋裡。我也穿上雨衣、雨褲和反光背心繼續前進。

在雨中騎了差不多一個小時，我因為穿雨衣濕氣跑不出去加上流汗而全身溼透，當我騎完之後我就濕的有如剛看完A片似的。“保證讓您乾爽”，再一次證明了廠商的廣告總是誇大不實，而且價格貴的嚇人。

不久，台一線分叉：一條比較長，經過頭份通往新竹；另一條比較短，接西濱61號快速公路直接連新竹。自從經過通霄之後我便一直打給阿pe，但都沒有人接，我在交叉口又等了一會兒卻也是沒有回應。最後因為時間的壓力，我當下就決定走較短的西濱跳過頭份。但就當我於騎上那因雨勢而更顯永無止盡的小山坡而疲憊不堪在路旁和農夫交換有關天氣的訊息時，她們打了過來。但這為時已晚，等我折返，再到頭份時我早就沒有精力再騎到新竹，而且等到那時天色勢必已晚。

我一向不是很喜歡晚上趕路。在冰島有一次因為朋友早上六點多的飛機，所以我就摸黑拔營動身前往差不多30幾公里外的機場送行。不久，當地的朋友聽到這件事之後，卻跟我說我走的那條公路上傳言有女鬼出沒。

所以我就繼續沿著西濱走，當我抵達新竹時月亮已經高掛在天邊。當然，我不是因為怕遇到阿飄而毅然決定走西濱，這是原則的問題。

經過路人指點，我住進一間教堂裡。那修女我不用懷疑，直接認定她是掛羊頭賣狗肉，因為她竟然跟我索取500元住宿費！這簡直是土匪搶人，現在就只差她頭上戴著絲襪、手中握著棒球棍我就可以叫警察來抓人了。但因為我又髒又餓又累只想洗澡吃飯睡覺所以保護費繳一缴就給他進去了。當晚狂風大作，而雨就像洩洪一樣撲天蓋地淹了下來，獨自坐在空蕩蕩的教堂內寬敞的房間裡，我唯一跟外界的聯繫就是我的手機。看著窗外，這時我心理已經有需要坐車去台北的準備，但是問了好幾間客運它們都不能帶腳踏車，阿火車又不能同時和人一起到，於是我就在煩惱著明天到底要怎樣去台北中睡著了。

Tour Report: 6th of August, Kilometre 0

2007-08-18T03:31:00.000+08:00

I'm officially starting the trip tomorrow. Came home rather late tonight, it'd already last 2400 when I started to pack, and when I was done it was 0300. Didn't feel sleepy though, I was a bit worried, hoping that I'll be catching the first ray of light rising up the horizon, but I was also aware that it was pointless to wake up so early because I was going to the uni to bid farewell and only till after 0830 will everybody be there, so an early start will be impossible.

Woke up about 3 hours later, so astronomically punctual I was as precise as an atomic clock. Guess I was a bit nervous. Of course I'm no newbie in cycle touring, but it'd already been 2 years since the last time I was on the road on my loaded rig, think I was getting a bit rusted, the sedentary lifestyle was having an undetected negative effect on me, I was taking things for granted with or without realizing it. Yes, I was nervous and excited. I was about to mutter with stiff upper lip "why the fuck are you doing this for, punk?" again on the road amid the pain in the left knee, lower back, bottom, wrist, palm, neck, rain, sweat, headwind, heat, uphill, thirst, hunger and the sun.

The somberness of leaving behind the job and my students was temporarily gone. I was soon to be on the road again, to be on the move, I felt full of life. And likewise so full of life were a series of typhoons that were gearing up for the rendezvous in the days to come.

***

八月六號.

明天我就要上路了。去年沒能騎的環島今年終於有時間去了。今天有點晚才回家，這讓我想到Angeliki在西班牙的最後一晚，她的飛機是早上7點或是8點多從馬德里飛回希臘，但她這傢伙到了3點多還在那裡爛醉說她連行李都還沒打包。想起來還滿有趣的。當我發動引擎從逢甲飆回家時已經是晚上12點多了，我飛快似的整理裝備，一搞就是兩三個小時。雖然我一點睡意都沒有但還是上去躺個意思，因為幾個小時之後我就要上路了，但其實我沒有要這麼早出發，因為我還要去學校跟人道別而他們要到八點半之後才會全部都在，所以可以多睡一點。

早上六點我精神飽滿地出去吃早餐，躺不到三個小時卻一點睡意都沒有，自從課程結束之後我再也沒有這麼早起來。我想我有一點緊張。想不到吧，平常時看不出來，但我的確有一些不安。我雖然不是單車旅行的菜鳥，但是最近一次騎已經是兩年前在澳洲的事了，兩年來不動的生活方式已經讓我安逸下來，讓我變的有點沒用了。我需要出去碰觸，那感覺，讓我知道我還活著，還沒腐爛到無可救藥的地步，想到這裡我那因為丟下工作及學生而悶悶不樂的心情也稍微好轉。

的確，我有點緊張。再過幾個小時之後我左膝蓋、下背部、臀、手腕、手掌、頸部的酸痛以及雨、汗、逆風、熱浪、上坡、口渴、飢餓和大太陽將誘引我再一次咒罵自己白痴為甚麼出來活受罪。我就要上路了，再次靠自己的力量前進，我感覺充滿活力；在東方地平線的盡頭，帕布及其尚在娘胎中的兄弟們也蓄勢待發準備上路。

Tour Report: Cycling Taiwan

2007-08-15T23:58:00.000+08:00

Well, this is the first entry for this year's tour, actually this trip was planned for last year, but since I started to work last August as teaching assistant in the uni it was unfortunately post phoned. Last month I quit my job and the masochistic voice within told me that it was time to be back on the road again. My sorrying ass was longing for some cursed soreness.

Today is the ninth day into the trip and I'd already covered 177k... eh? What the hell? I know, I know it sounds pretty lame, even the 90 year-old grandpa of your neighbour can do better than that I know, but just let me explain the whole thing, yeah?

Day one, started from my garage in Shalu and ended in Hsinchu in the north-west of Taiwan, following the Provinicial Highway No.1 and then the coastal Expressway No.61, 84k.

Day two, from Hsinchu to Taipei, mistakenly took the No.61, headed back midway to pick up No.1, 93k.

So far so good, eh? So what was it that kept me here in the capital for such a long time? Well, there was this interpreter job for the Honduras football team which came here to get ready for the FIFA U-17 World Cup 2007 in Korea. So after resting for one day which I desperately needed, detailed descriptions later, I headed to the hotel where they lodged. So since the 4th day of my trip I was temporarily off the bike working and having fun with the team till today - day 9.

To be honest, I didn't like the idea of breaking up my trip at first, besides I wanted to see my students off in the airport, but after a moment of pondering, I reckoned it quite beneficial from a working-travelling point of view, something which I'd desired for sometime, you know the romantic view of being on the road with the money you earned along the road. It wouldn't be such a bad idea after all, and I can always take the bus or train to the airport if I failed to end my journey before the flight to Spain and come back later to pick up where I left it anyway.

So here I am entering the 10th day and still 177k, averaging 12.2k/h... Hmm... Looks like I got some more explanations to do, but it's going to be the next time, probably tomorrow or sometime after that when I have connection to the internet again. I know 12.2k/h looks ultra lame, even the 90 year-old grandma of your neighbour can do better than that I know, but I'm no weenie, there was a very good reason behind that. Oh, blast it! My cycle computer is broken, I tried to pry it open but to no avail, I hope it's not too expensive to get a new one.

Alright, guess I'll stop the intro here and tie up the loose ends the next time. After that, the posts will come up chronologically and in both English and Mandarin. See you then.

Ingmar Bergman (July 14, 1918 – July 30, 2007)

2007-07-31T23:38:00.000+08:00

Caught the news earlier tonight while I was having finner. Today was my last day at work, during the whole day I'd been busy tying up loose ends, the final frantic hour after almost a month of ease came somewhat unexpected.

Trying to get through all the procedures of the resignation process left my occupied mind little room to manoeuvre, it wasn't after 1600 when most of the people were gone and me found myself closing the doors for one last time that I was capable of appreciating the fact that it was the last time I was doing it, the thing I used to call, with no little amount of disdain, "routine". I didn't want it to end here, I liked the job despite some of its less than desirable elements. If it wasn't for my blasted thesis, no, if it wasn't for my incapability of studying while working, I would still be seeing my students merrily in less than 2 months...

It's too late for that. The future will not be avoided. One more extra year or not will inevitably meet its end, and you'll see yourself bitching about the bloody routine again and tying up the loose ends in the final frantic hour.

A couple of days ago I accidentally came upon Bob Marley's "No, Woman, Nuh Cry" and it brought me immediately back to Spain, to the smoke, to the strolling quietly in the beautifully illuminated streets under the moon, to her, to them, to memory, to me bitching about my flatmates, to the sky-high dirty plates in the sink, to spending too much time wasting it, to being in a bad mood constantly, to fooling around aimlessly, to finding the end fast approaching, to leaving on a jet plane, to moisturized cheeks, to remembering it fondly afterwards.

To remembering fondly that in the best year of my life I was bitching about nothing of critical importance. Of course, I didn't know during that time that it was going to be the best time of my life. But it was. And now I can only remember it. Would it be better that I stayed in that place and time complaining about things for all the eternity than remembering it, recreating it in my mind, with such fondness in years to come without being able to actually relive it?

Sometimes all you can do is laugh

2007-07-24T00:32:00.000+08:00

When I saw her this afternoon in the office I thought my mind and my eyes were fucking with me. Dumbfounded, I stared at her incredulously... But it was her!

The realization didn't came with a light punch, it literally knocked me off my chair. Few years back shyness prevented me from talking to her and I paid the price for that afterwards. She disappeared, and I thought it was the last time I was going to see her.

This afternoon, despite being caught off guard, I initiated the conversation with feigned ease, and to my surprise, she knew my name and stayed there chatting with me long after everyone was gone.

But neither of us is going to stay here for too long, about 2 months or so for her and 2 weeks for me. Then it would be years before I had a chance to see her again. In between, there will only be recreations of her in my head.

What if this is as good as it gets

2007-06-22T22:15:00.000+08:00

What's so incredible about your life so far is the fact that you only fall for those that will send you back into the self-pitying hole from where you've just managed to dig yourself out. Of course it's no comparison to the sufferings in, say, Darfur or Iraq, but it's just so fucking frustrating. Knowing that someone's dying of hunger, diseases, bomb attacks, or whatever somewhere in the world right now does little to help you feel a little bit better.

The outside world ceased to exist and a wave of tiredness rise up and enwrap you and you can only hear the music of sighing. It's pathetic, you know it, but you're helpless when frustration gets to you. Then you see that it's more convenient to blame the society, the world, life itself, and with every disappointment you become more and more cynical, and it goes on like a perfect circle.

You see a cockroach on the darkened floor, scuttling hurriedly to safety as you draw closer, and you think to yourself how easily you can squash that tenebrous piece of shit, no effort at all. In fact, all you have to do is to just lift your leg somewhat, reposition it, lower it and the bottom of your shoe will be juicy with roach rest. It's that simple. But in reality, you're no more robust than that piece of shit and someday you'll be the juice under somebody's boots, or probably, your own.

Cluttered Space

2007-06-19T12:12:00.000+08:00

The act of navigating through the WWW is no longer suitable to be described as something as exciting and enjoyable as surfing, but rather as being stuck in the traffic jam. This is what I don't get - is it so much better to squeeze all that irrelevant informations into a single page?

Here at the uni we have like 2 glassfibre connections, 9 ADSL and VDSL (abbreviations for FAST, other than that, Google will appease to all your inquiry needs) and still sometimes I'm witnessing less than satisfactory pageloading performances.

While back home we have only 56k dial-up.

So these couple of days, to make the most out of the annual Dragon Boat Festival, I was back home watching the telly and playing computer games for days on end. However, as you may well know, nothing good lasts forever, my gamepad-grasping paradise was then relentlessly shattered when I switched the modem on and wait for the dialing shriek to die down. What followed was worthy of death penalty, or any of the cruelest form of "twist-and-turn"s ever devised by man - it took literally ages to open just one blog.

So what's wrong with blogs? You might ask. Well, nothing's wrong of course, it's your personal page and you're entitled to do whatever you please with it. But, I just have enough with those that force you to listen to songs and whatever else when you just want to see whether it's been updated. Besides, these pages look utterly ugly, not at all user-friendly, unaesthetically designed, or perhaps made with cunning criminal intents conceived to fill you with rage.

Firefox crashs quite often when I open them all in tabs, looks like it can't stand it either.

What We See and What We Seem is But a Dream - A Dream Within a Dream

2007-06-04T00:18:00.001+08:00

Apt in Brooklyn

2007-05-23T00:50:00.000+08:00

It's 5 o'clock in the afternoon, the smell of rain is in the air, it's quiet, cool and surrounded by a light tinge of blue. I like that. It's not saying that I'm addicted to sadness (or am I?), rather it's the feeling that I'm familiar with. The impending onslaught of rain, the darkened land, the odor of rapidly moisturized atmosphere and the actual descent from heaven. I like looking at nothing in particular through the weeping glass.

It's one of those times that you are so occupied, yet without having the slightest urge to comply with the obligations. You're not in a great rush to go anywhere, you're content with staying right where you are (but of course, it would always be much better if she was here with you. Unfortunately, it's rather unlikely, of which you are aware). Maybe we can coin this mood something like ah Pacific Islandish, hmmm... Pacific Islandish... or perhaps Oceanicish... anyway, doesn't matter, you get the idea.

It's the kind of cozy and lazy afternoon feeling, like you've just had a cuppa, some sandwiches, ham and cakes on a nice shaded lawn ah what a lovely afternoon don't you agree my dear while soft breeze murmurs lullaby at your ears, inviting you to sink into a world of unchained fantasy. When you find yourself caught in this kind of mood, you know you're not necessarily happy, just sort of not-completely-of-the-negative-side-of-inactive.

Got an email from Rebecca the other day telling me that she was looking for someone to share the flat with. And even though Brooklyn was not among the most exotic of places in the world, it is for me at this very moment. It seems so distant and faraway, so unreal, it's one block from Prospect Park and the Brooklyn Library, with the Brooklyn Museum and the Botanical Gardens a few blocks away. On the 2, 3, B, Q subway lines. I have no idea what that translates into geographically, but it hardly matters. It feels so totally from another world, and, well, it is, after all, which helps me, for a while, to forget about my own troubles.

Monsoon Wedding

2007-05-19T01:55:00.000+08:00

I find myself overdosing on motion pictures these couple of days. Motion pictures with emotions that I myself can't manage to muster. Gloria said that she'd been in the mood and that she'd cried. Well, I told her that it was something worthy of celebration because she was still capable of crying, for some of us can't. It's a luxury that is not to be luxuriated in by some.

At 47 minutes into the movie I checked Ailing's MSN alias, damn fool you're torturing yourself. At once, an overwhelming wave of vomiting sensation hit my brain and I was force to cut off every moving motion, I knew I shouldn't have looked, but I did, and the remaining 67 minutes of film seemed like 67 million years.

***

Fictions are magical, they present you with a world that is faraway, objective yet at the same time intimate and exotic, not matter how miserable and familiar the world in which the story unfolds is. That's why I love it. And you get to cry, despite being cinematographically induced, that's another bonus.

She said she was afraid of my dark side. Yes, she was being honest, I appreciate that, but I did scare her away, eh. I just screwed it up. Yes, the opposite of sex loves you when you're easy, and they're out of sight faster than the ray of light at the faintest hint of something foul. I know I shouldn't be cynical, but once you made a mistake you don't get a second chance, like you simply can't step into the same river twice.

Implosion

2007-05-04T18:56:00.000+08:00

I've failed in foreseeing the same reaction. I didn't see that her presence would trigger such an inward rage, a rage of not foreseeing the forming of the same result. It's a rage that's hard to explain, whose shape is no easy task to grasp, nevertheless I will try to do so and hopefully in the process would be able to achieve that now sitting alone in the office with the residue of that rage.

It's, what can I say, irrational. It's a mixture of many things, but mostly her constant refusal, her unwillingness to express her thoughts, the lack of information and my nonstop guessing. Among them, I suppose it's the guessing that finally gets to me, it's endless and tiring. And I think I'm finally over quota.

I need a confirmation from her part, yet am unable to do that. Her attitude is ever ambiguous and this ambiguity is making my already troublesome organ even more troublesome. The sad thing is that I can't just go knock on her door and tell her that I want to die because I'm in love with her. But I need her to know that I'm suffering. So I didn't do anything, not the least reaction at all, when she said that her legs were killing her and that she was tired. I didn't do anything, not responding to her question why I was in a bad mood, not greeting her, no smiles, not looking at her, nothing.

Of course I know that this attitude of mine is stupid and won't achieve anything but the contrary, because he who plays it cool to make his world a little colder is a bloody fool. And I'm, most of all, angry at myself for being one, for not being able to care about her when I find myself getting caught by such emotions. The residue is nothing but remorse. It's like setting the hard works of your whole life aflame and see them disappear amongst the dancing flare in front of your very eyes.

What I need now is a truck that goes at 100km/h. One that is overloaded and comes towards me.

Contaminated

2007-04-30T02:29:00.000+08:00

After going through all the mid-term exam papers, I squeezed my I-want-to-retire-to-bed-right-now head into the headset and rang Ma to wish her a very happy birthday. She recognized my "hola" immediately and cried out my name, even though we haven't seen each other for almost 4 years.

She said that by the end of 2007 she was not going to be in Salamanca anymore because the contract will end by then and her heart yearned to go somewhere else, the north, she said, San Sebastián or Bilbao.

Then after a couple of goodbyes, if you know how spanish goodbyes are, which are generally made up of at least 2 or three or more "goodbye"s interlayered by more but not exactly related conversations, to my head's content, it finally hit the pillow. But it was a short-lived one because I kept thinking about her leaving Salamanca. And I just can't get over it. It's not just her leaving that's bothering me, but everyone else's.

By the time I do get back there, there's not going to be much people, if any, left to walk the familiar streets with me, to be in the piso, the resi, the campo de San Francisco, the bus station, Madrid, and other millions of places that had been contaminated by memories. Yes, I will get to know someone new, but as you know the new can never truely replace the old.

So, despite the threats from the head to stage a strike, I got out of comfort and woke up Argo, the iBook, which was sleeping, and spend more or less 2 hours in front of the desk in the middle of the night (still have to work tomorrow) keyboarding this latest entry which is not going to be read by too many people on earth. Think about the facts, the chances really aren't that high that you will come across this blog, first you'll have to go through billions of years of evolution, then make sure that all of your ancestors reproduced at exactly the same moment with exactly the same person, and when you've accomplished the mission impossible to be born into this world you will have to accumulate an extraordinarily rich reserve of patience to put up with all the shit that I've written to reach this final word.

Obituaries

2007-04-13T00:25:00.000+08:00

It's a morbid habit of mine to read about people's death. And, no, it's not like what you might think, I don't clap my hands or let out a joyous cry nor does it arouse me in the way you might be thinking, of which I'm of course not referring to anything.

Kurt Vonnegut (November 11, 1922 – April 11, 2007) died yesterday and then I found myself spending hours reading about the man and his work. Well, of course I knew who the hell Vonnegut was, but who he actually was only till now do I know. Interesting, isn't it? You have to be dead to catch the attention and interest of certain people who would otherwise never spend a damn second on you.

Why is that? Is it hindsight? Hypocrisy maybe? Probably both. It could also be that you're just too small to notice something that is not in the immediate precinct or of any actual tangible advantages. Just too damn bogged down in your goddamn little world and imagining and fabricating the world of wishful thinking. Once in a while the death of someone pulls you out of this shite and for 5 minutes you're all enlightened and all that, then you slip back to the hole, till the next death takes you out for another ride. So life goes on like that until one day it's you who would be taking someone else for a 5-minute-ride. And it ends there, as far as we know scientifically. Bravo.

The Color of Desire. The Color of Despair

2007-03-28T00:06:00.000+08:00

They say it will make you go crazy, some say it's pathological, and you know that waiting is difficult. It is difficult because your appetites are ripped away while you could eat a horde of horses. You couldn't concentrate because your concentration is fixed solely on one spot which could be the cellphone, the email, the live messenger or the slightest movement of the wind.

One trait of this color is the immediate regret following the dispatch of a text message, an email, a line of conversation, thinking oh I shouldn't have said that, wondering what you're going to reply, what you're going to reply, awaiting eagerly yet afriad to see the words emerging from the other end of the line, from which jubilation or lament springs.

The whole spectrum of colors could be encapsulated into one single minute, although the sequence is ever-changing, it is predictable. The tension is high enough that the earth feels the tremble of your heart even at the notion of calling her. The mood of the day depends heavily on whether her showing up or not, whether she was looking at your direction or just walk past without turning her head, and were you the one her stealthy glance longed to see?

Your unwanted sensitivity is multiplied by a million, and it's draining you of all energy. You are excessively tired, and are made even more so by the fact that you can't make that information public to her. You wish that you were dead. First ecstasy and then downfall, and you need more afterward. The green-eyed monster puts you down in its register book. Her careless words and indifferent attitudes sting like hell, encompassing and devouring you like hungry infernal flames, and you want to scream and smash your head against the wall because that's the natural reaction when one was burnt alive - to scream.

The Organ that Regenerates

2007-03-21T00:23:00.000+08:00

Is liver, I had absolutely no idea of that, I thought it only existed in the movies and comic books, till I read about it earlier tonight. As if by magic, the liver actually grows back, you know from tiny little pathetic scrapes to a brand new one, one that is complete, you know a liver, in about a month's time. All I can say is magical.

In comparison, the heart is no match for its neighbour. It is a particularly weak organ under certain circumstances, and a very troublesome one. The causes of the wounds vary from mindless and unintentional jokes, a simple "no", a careless look, an indifferent attitude, to something unfathomable.

When parts of the heart got chipped away, gently or violently, it doesn't go back to its original shape or maintain its function, which is to pump blood into every corner of the body and keep the organism breathing. Instead, with every slash it bears it releases venom into the veins and these unwanted bitternesses stay in the tiniest of cells and accumulate. Accumulate, amass, gathering its force in the gloomy depth till that one day the whole body is so poisoned and the heart so laden with cuts and scars that it no longer bears resemblance of any kind to a heart. And then we can pronounce that the heart is broken or, dead.

Googlewashing

2007-03-18T00:10:00.000+08:00

The other day when I returned to the office I found the keffiyeh, or shemagh, which Esther brought me, lying on my desk. Exhilarated, I wrapped it around my head revealing only the eyes. Then, at the end of the day, apart from the "oh my god you look 100% more handsome now!", I'd harvested tens of thousands of "who you are going to bomb?" just as I expected.

The thing is nothing is so naïve these days (maybe they had never ever been), when you're in an age in which the results of a simple search on the internet could very likely be manipulated, in an age in which words get twisted and redefined and redefined and redefined till the end of time, how much credibility can you give to what they say on the telly, on the newspapers or anywhere else, like this blog?

The Appreciation

2007-03-09T22:17:00.000+08:00

If you've been following my blog for a while (yo Kevin, you're probably the only devoted subscriber and commentator) you've probably already discovered that I'm somewhat a skeptic, I doubt things, too many things for my own health perhaps. But there is one thing of which I have absolutely no doubt, and that is I can understand and, most importantly, appreciate, why some popular figures gone mad.

Popularity is addictive. It's like drugs, it takes hold of you gradually, you know its effects perfectly, but you just can't fight against it. It digs further and further down, deeper and deeper, you know you're sinking, but the more you struggle the quicker you're being drowned.

You soon realise that you're caught by yourself, that you're being the hunter and hunted at the same time. That there weren't two, but just one: you! Surprise, surprise, the prey against which the arrow is released is yourself. The one screaming under the crushing weight of the mighty tank is the one operating the beast from within. Sounds like fantasy, but it's one hundred percent reality.

You're being defeated by your own humour, they love you for that, they love you because you're funny, and that is also the thing that will bring about your demise. The thing and your incapability of introducing the dark side to the public. That's why comedians are so eager to show and prove that they are also capable of other sentiments. They need to, because they'll perish otherwise.

You've had enough with compliments and admiring eyes. You're fed up, hasta los cojones, with assumptions of a trouble-free you because you're excellent and exceptional, but the thing is, the higher you reach, the colder it gets, and when you're up there, you are completely alone, phisically and spiritually. And that makes you want to leap off the edge and put an end to this bloody farce.

Study and Work

2007-03-03T18:08:00.000+08:00

So the vacation of the lunar new year faded into the air, but the hovering stress murmurs still at my ears. It shows no sign of wear, but simply takes on another shape, sitting in its chariot, it's as powerful as kismet.

But, of course, not everyone believes in fate. The world conforms with your conception of it, and the stress is the consequence of your own making- it exists only in your imagination.

An Apology

2007-02-19T02:20:00.000+08:00

As indicates the title, in this entry we are going to look at the first mistake that I committed in the new year. Well, this mistake, which we will elaborate in stunning details later on, was actually the inevitable outcome of what we’ve become, ah… I mean, what I’ve become lately. Through the many daily encounters and such, I’ve noticed that I’ve become quite complacent, because of my petty accomplishments so far, even somewhat stuck-up you can say. From time to time, I picked up traces of it, but it wasn’t exactly my cup of tea so I turned my back on it and pretended that I wasn’t becoming like that, that it was a thing of the fairy tales which didn’t exist in the real world, something to which I was immuned.

This situation lasted and wound like a spring which was destined to reach its climax and release the tension, or like a bow persecuted by a thousand enemies and clings to the balance with only a shivering arm trying with all its might to hold back the tide.

Hark!

The arrow shot through the sky with an unmistakable cry and the only thing the trembling arm could do was to bid it farewell, it knew it was no accident, it knew it had to give in, like a dam surrendering to the overwhelming aquatic pressure, first a leak and then disaster.

So the arm released that arrow and the archer wasn’t bright enough to know at that moment that he had committed something which, as a consequence, would make him sorry and then putting it on the internet for your viewing pleasure in a desperate attempt to free himself from his guilt and, mostly, humiliation.

The SMS message, characterized by inadecuate question and imprudent manner, generated a powerful answer, and immediately upon its arrival, it provoked annoyance and a bit of anger, indignant at who the hell you think you are to talk to me like that. So, in less than 2 seconds, Hermes carried back the one word reply. But, as soon as the archer sent the second arrow on its way, he finally scented his previous errors.

The sole reply to his messages was of industrial strength and humiliating, he was chided like a child, something which haven’t happened for years, and now by someone younger than he was.It was so embarrassing, so unforgiving, so oh why the fuck you said that for you stupid git? that it shook him out of his complacency and forced him to face the fact – that he was a complacent prick. So hastely, he mounted a third arrow and dispatched it to the othe end, carried by an apologetic air. However, more than two hours has already passed and he hasn’t yet received a sign that would release him from his anguish, the hour too late and the torment too great, so all that he can do now is to finish typing, retire to bed and hope that by tomorrow the cure will arrive.

Disconnection

2007-02-14T23:18:00.000+08:00

All was quiet the other day in the office, jolly afternoon with soft breeze and tender sun. Then out of nowhere the unexpected came- a blackout, accompanied by simultaneous mournful cries of mouse manipulators who had not yet mastered the art of save and load, grieving over the sudden death of their loved ones. At the funeral, the once stilly office was now populated with voices.

Althea

2007-01-25T01:31:00.000+08:00

Water of rem’mbrance didn’t I defy.
To recollect afresh pictures foregone,
Since not time be rewound, embeded my
Mind be with the smile of your eyes at dawn.
Time and Distance ran futile with their scheme,
To rid you off your throne. Yet forgetful
That the heart of heaven reigned not supreme,
Its rays dimmed by your eyes lure and dazzle.
From somewhere the roar of an earthquake came.
At the cry, echoed the land with a blue.
With its great flame, the sky it put to shame,
Cons'quently, I was drown'd in waves of You.
With it I shall journey on till the doom,
For this rhyme stands even the greatest fume.

Die Berliner Mauer

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

Been lurking around people's blogs, and my investigation so far leads me to the conclusion that no man is happy. Yet, they all look so merry. Yes, so joyful and animated, jolly good.

The other day at work they talked about one of the students losing control over himself and yelling something incoherent with a desperate and suicidal air. Funny how sunny he looked normally. But, after a second thought, it's not all that strange. When you make a mistake and try hard to pretend that nothing has happened, it just gets all the more obvious. No matter how good one is at pretending, you can always catch him off guard, provided that you know how to look. Provided that you know how to look at yourself.

Frustrating it is when someone tries to escape from this hell and his every attempts been met with doors shut tight, doors of false images, concived by himself and those around him.

In order to breach the wall, one must not harbour clouded vision for it only lures and misguides. Fear is another major benefactor in the construction and maintenance of this abyss, like a well-trained watchdog, it keeps one at bay. It sinks its teeth into you and leaves you bleeding to death should you tumble upon its territory. And if one fails in the task of breaking free, then the downfall is destined, it's just a matter of time and the way it is brought about.

درس فارسی

2007-01-17T22:29:00.000+08:00

Well, in two days the first semestre of me working as a teaching assistant is about to end. Though this doesn't mean vacation it does spell something else. I have to say I've had a great time with my students, although with most of them we haven't really done anything together yet, I'm not sure if I should maintain the status quo because only one more semestre is left (if I'm not keep working that is).

With this half year gone, the five months just transformed into a weight heavier than 16-ton and pressing me from every possible corner. It's the one thing that haunts me incessantly right now. I can't do anything without thinking about it. It is particularly disturbing when you're in a time trial against the clock.

And disturbing it is for precisely because of it I have to quit my Persian lesson. The other night I felt like shit when I walked out of the classroom with my final-term exam and Manouchehr wishing me good luck with my thesis. Well, the thing is, first, I don't like quitting, the act itself is demoralizing, but unfortunately, necessary, you just have to bow down sometimes. And second, I feel like I've been wasting his time for not studying in the last few weeks of the semestre. The hardest part is that he's a devoted teacher and you just feel bad when you're not doing your best to match up with his enthusiasm. He came done all the way from Taipei more than once, made recordings, Skype sessions after the class and things like that just to make sure that I can follow.

The last time he came down, if my memory serves me right, was during the documentary festival. Now thinking about it, funny it's already been a while. The weather was quite good back then, unlike the bleaky sky we have right now. Yeah, the grass is always greener, eh?

Man's Crisis of Identity

2007-01-09T20:41:00.000+08:00

The bookmark Gloria gave me smells like her, or is it vice versa?

The Meanings

2007-01-01T18:40:00.000+08:00

of some meetings are obscure and elusive. It's like driving in the thick fog.

Subject: First Reminder for Luis Sotto's Birthday on Saturday December 30th

2006-12-24T00:27:00.000+08:00

I was completely taken by surprise when I saw the title in my inbox. Says on the page that appeared, after I clicked on the link: "Schuma - Which card will put the biggest smile on Luis's face?" "None of them, because he's dead." Or, more precisely, he's been dead for almost half an year.

***

These days I've found myself following closely to the ongoing Ipswich murder case and checking the BBC site at every given moment for the latest news and the identities of the last 2 victims. Sincere and strangely, I was hoping that Paula Clennell wasn't one of them. When the police identified her as the fifth girl dead, I found myself letting out a great sigh, staring expressionlessly at the monitor, same reaction when Dennis Rodman made that goddamn 3-pointer againt the Jazz in the finals. Disbelief and a sense of total powerlessness. Well, this reaction was probably shared by many because we have seen the anguished look on her dad's face and in his words and we're all imagining what kind of torment he is going through right now. We suppose than we feel it, supposedly. Masking and fabricating ones feelings.

Depressing news are always in stock, unrest in Somalia, in Iraq, in Gaza, murders, suicides, and what eles? umm, let me see... poverty, diseases, nuts, whatever the fuck, etc. etc. Eveytime, in the face of such news, one just can't help wondering, for what?

Why all these sufferings? These happinesses? Why all these feelings at all? If one should vanish into nothing in the end then, what's the point? Gary Tarn, the pom director I met in the documentary festival, said that the meaning of life is life itself. But I just can't help wondering what if life itself is nothing, then what's it all about? If life is nothing then the lives of our children are also nothing, and the same applies to all life forms on earth because when they reach the end of their life spans they all turn into nothing, then it's just an endless and meaningless continuance of nothingnesses which amounts to, naturally, nothing in the end (where is the end?). Nothing at all. A thriving planet, full of lives would be nothing but empty words. Philosophy, knowledge, education, love, a better future, all cease to have any significances for if life is nothing, all is nothing. It's all in vain, and a better future, for what? For nothing.

Someone said nothing will come out of nothing, it's quite true, but it's rhetoric in essence so it could also be false, depending on the context. It's just too buggering all these nothingnesses and it makes life unnecessarily harder because living without knowing for what, without knowing the Answer is no comfort at all.

Withering Flower

2006-12-14T23:07:00.000+08:00

The freshness of blogs got worn out sooner than expected, but that's probably not such a bad thing considering how busy I'm right now. I've deleted almost all my blog bookmarks, except those that belong to my friends, you know, spying on them and such. There was a minor resurrecction these couple of weeks, but now it's all quite again. I don't know, it could be that because I'm busy so I can't spend the usual amount of time reading blogs, but that's self-deceiving really because I also spend an aweful lot of time on news and Solitaire.

Hahn said she had already given up on blogging for it had become too mainstreamish. I guess that was probably one of the reasons why I stopped my blog-reading activity, too mainstreamish, too full of shit. However, being mainstreamish doesn't necessarily make it crappy. Probably it was all that plug-ins, musics and clips and stuff like that, too dazzling for me, like an exquisite yet empty firework, a lack of creativity. Perhaps it was because there simply is too much information out there and my brain suffered from blackouts from time to time. Or maybe I was tired of this futile attempt to find some communication.

Incomunicación

2006-12-04T23:45:00.000+08:00

Employee of the Year

2006-11-30T15:39:00.000+08:00

Long Johns was named employee of the year for his dedication and devotion to the rule book. Numerous are exemples of his fidelity. We'll just cite one of these to illustrate that. Here writes a local newpaper,

At the height of the bloody war againts the rebels, the government call out to the lost boys and girls, offering them amnesty if they should hand over their weapons and return to society before 31 of August, 2006.

Later, on that fateful day of 3 of September of the same year, 300 individuals queued up in front of the window in the Registration department with their rifles and balaclavas. The tension was high in the office and in the stairs leading downwards, because Long Johns, risking the possiblity of turning his wife into a widow and 2 sons into orphans, refused to stamp on their surrender form because the offer expired 72 hours and 24 minutes ago. So he sent them down the stairs and back to the mountains where they came down from.

"What a bunch of irresponsible hooligans missing dates like that! How do they expect people to do their jobs if everyone behaves like that?" Said he.

Protests nationwide sprang from the episode, and the civil unrest started once again. The government, recognizing his contribution to the state, named Long Johns employee of the Year.

"Je crois entendre encore" (Nadir)

2006-11-25T22:32:00.000+08:00

Tonight she showed up on the desktop, she was fixing the little decoration thing I bought her to her cell. We were in Café Paris in Reykjavík a day prior to my departure. The day before she told me she was a bit scared by how serious I was about the whole thing and I didn't know what to say or to think about it.

I've never asked because I didn't expect to receive an answer to why she fell for me in the first place and how could she be so objective or, cold, about it, or was it bravery, or maybe self-protection?

We were roaming the streets of Reykjavík and all of a sudden she clung to my back with such a force that I stumbled a bit. She didn't make it explicit, but she was telling me that she was not exactly happy back home, bad memories, family problems and probably more. However, she refrained from giving the whole story away and I've kept wondering why, was it because of the fact that I had to leave in a few days and she didn't want to be sad? Or was she just looking for a good time?

I have no answer, despite of the uncountable analyses I've made. The last time we talked she told me that she was going to Bangladesh, I wonder whether she was ok. I'm afriad that she would be upset if I told her that I miss her a lot.

Downsides of Documentaries

2006-11-13T00:25:00.000+08:00

The documentary festival ended seven days ago and its devastating effects are ever present. These buggers leave you wondering how their subjects are doing, a yearning to know that they are well, or at least, to have some news about them. You don't just walk out of this like you would with a film or a novel because they're real people with a real story in a real world, their world. You feel a kinship with them no matter how mundane and dispicable they are, curious, probably you are mundane and dispicable yourself and that's why you identify with them.

Or probably you're too coward to recognize the real you in real world, even though you know that you all along but keep dressing yourself with books and ideas. An intellectual! The world of laughter and friendship seems so out of reach and you're so poisoned that you can't laugh like a normal person would and this academic robe is too heavy to be shrugged off. Probably you're just a detestable little man who claim that you are a lover of books and ideas so that you are spared of yourself, so that the world don't get to hate you, so the world will love you and that you're funny and desirable.

No wonder you have no friends, you don't want them. You're afraid that they will discover the other side of you and decide that you're not cool at all. Your prestige, something that you've worked so hard unconsciously along the years to achieve so far, will disintegrate and your world will crumble and you'll be reduced to less than a maggot. It's like standing stark naked in an open field plagued with onlookers, humiliating. No wonder you always keep a distance from the world, lest they should spot something foul. So you keep playing the game, the game with no way out. Trapped and lost in the labyrinth unable to rid yourself of it even if you want to.

And what's the meaning of a blog telling the world how hateful you really are? Are you trying to make up for what you can't do in real life? Well, the internet is surely a good medium to talk, just as good as a confession booth, it's liberating. But also quite useless the moment you walk out the church.

The picture of Germaine Greer and some others scared you because you see yourself walking towards the same path, the path of total self-delusion and self-importance. You wonder how has it all come to this? You sometimes wish that you were just a simpleton living happy and ignorantly in a backwater world, but that's just another excuse really because you are not and you can't be just like that, and you know that. Or is it all just a big fat lie you make up for yourself, to cover the fact that you like fame and power? Saying that "ooh I'd love to lead a simpler life, to find the innocent child, the nostalgia...", to cheat yourself, pretending that you are not doing what you liked? To make youself believe that you're not bad, but just another poor victim of the sick society? You don't know, being a skeptic makes you unable to say much for sure, including your own thoughts and feelings, you can only say I don't know. That's why you envy those who can say and believe in something wholeheartedly, because you can't and you don't like it at all.

Me Tarzan, You Jane.

2006-10-28T23:25:00.000+08:00

The documentary festival started today. One of the morning sessions left me with a bit of a headache, well I'm not saying that it was bad, instead I liked it, just that my eyes are not adapted to the way it was presented on the big screen with all the flashing and blurring images, it was about someone going blind so this technique is quite understandable, though I don't fancy it at all.

Concha was in the neighbourhood around the same time so I sought her out to kill the gap between sessions, but in fact I was considering giving up and go home instead because the world was still spinning around and I could really use some serious lying down. Still, despite the nausea, I decided to stay because I was really looking forward to the afternoon and evening sessions.

So there I was, standing in line with the ticket in my hand when I saw this incredibly attractive female passing in front of me and "cute" slipped my lips. Now that was something because I normally don't do that, I would say "take a look at that" frivolously.

After I seated myself, I found the empty seat next to me taken by someone, a female, one with curly long hair, and... it was her! What are the chances, what are the chances, mate, right next to me, the incredibly attractive female moments ago!

When the credits started to roll more than 90 percent of the audiences disappeared while the director was open to questions on stage. She remained there, just the two of us in that comfy part of the room, so under the pretext of borrowing a pen I ah officially turned and talked to her, at the same time grooming for my next move. "Excuse me, mademoiselle, allow a burning soul to disturb your peace. The thing is, my lady, that the next one which is about to be shown is Svyato which I heard was worth the trouble. And I've been contemplating over the bold quest whether you would grace my existence by permitting me the privilege of accompanying you in the appreciation of this film, to determine for ourselves whether it was truely as good as I've been told", excited and gleefully I harboured the phrase which was repeated over and over during the whole session.

Then on the way out I finally gathered enough cojones to tap her lightly on the shoulder. She turned and ah, Svyato, Svyato, open air movie, I stammered. "Ah, yes, it's the one at 1930" and then she continued on with her intended course, seemingly undisturbed by nothing, nothing at all. Because nothing came out to change that course. So nothing changed, just one more difficult night and the subsequent torture in the following days till the next opportunity presents itself before my eyes. And round and round and the concentric ruin survives.

Breaking News

2006-10-21T01:50:00.000+08:00

In response to the cellphone terrorists attacks that are currently on the rise and to protect the general public, the UN passed a new law enabling the regional authorities legitimate rights to ban cellphones and like devices in their territories once and for all.

"However, this doesn't mean the end for the telecommunication, nor does it mark the beginning of the era of excommunication" -said the spokesman-. "Instead, during the past few years, with the avid collaboration from the scientists from the ongoing Project Mindvision, we have successfully decoded the data flow and recoded it into human encephalon recognizable patterns so that the brain could be utilized as the direct receiver, therefore bypassing any needs of an external one."

"Moreover, Detecting Poles will be set up within the controlled areas to keep high vigilance and to destory any banned transmission devices if they should be discovered." -reiterated the spokesman, stating to the press their resolution to bring about world peace.

"The benefits of BrainCell-Phone, apart from the instant removal of possible terrorist cellphone attacks, are numerous" -he continued-. "All the existing functions of your cellphone are untouched and the actions of answering, dialing or sending an message are done on a whim. And the best of all is that there will be no delay because the datas will still get through even if the other end is practising reenergizing activities, such as sleeping, their central nervious system will reply without the need to wake up the person himself."

Regrettably, due to the humble size of the present blog, we're unable to present the press conference in its entirety here. But this will without doubt revolutionalize the way people think, the whole world of economics and, indeed, the whole world. Ladies and gentlemen, what we're witnessing here is one of the most important events in human history.

Bad News

2006-10-14T17:47:00.000+08:00

Mao has problem with Nietzsche and he surely makes the most out of his position while on the surface giving him advices, but in fact trying to bend him to his will thus showing everyone that Nietzsche is his subject colleague. He has something to say about everything Nietzsche does: his tone, the color of his shirt, the language he speaks, etc., etc.

Met Mao, unfortunately, earlier this afternoon when Nietzsche was on his way to the library in his usual tomato shirt, and a shower of shells firing from Mao's mortar downed on Nietzsche inquiring him whether he belonged to a specific political party due to the color match. And then he continued with his crap, kindly "informing" him that some students deliberately spoke twanenish to him and he should refrain from speaking that language during the class because it's not the dominant language in Twanenland.

These words filled Nietzsche's chest with rage, all he wanted to do was to slap Mao square in the face and kick him off the bench, but of course, as an employee of the uni and educated decent young man he can't do that, unfortunately. So he just replied, well, I'm a poor guy who can't afford to buy more clothes than the one I was having on me, and I can't really and shouldn't prohibit the students from speaking my mother tongue with me if they wanted to. What would that make me if I don't allow them to speak their language? Besides, take note, if your memory fails to do so, I wasn't speaking twanenish, but wankerin, your so-called dominant language, in my classes, precisely because there're irresponsible parents not teaching it to their kids, not passing on the culture, but only outside of class, that is to say, in my goddamn free time. And don't get too political, the color of my shirt is none of your fucking business.

So Nietzsche argued with Mao, in a lighter tone of course, normally he doesn't argue, but just smile, but this time he had to because he doesn't allow anyone to tell him which language he shouldn't speak. Then he excused himself because he needed to go to the library, just some 20 meters away, but seemed so distant and far away, before it closed in half an hour. As Nietzsche walked away, he had a feeling that something ominous was gathering its force in the dark.

The Accidental Tourist (1988 )

2006-10-09T23:20:00.000+08:00

It has been a fairly uneventful day. I cut short the vacation to prepare for my classes back in the uni, but I haven't really done much intended serious work yet. Woke up at 0900, received some cookies from sites with naked sheilas, and, like their awesome power that never ceased to surprise me, half of the day was gone.

Following my well-trained student habits, I checked the telly schedule and there's a seemingly interesting one on HBO at 2100 so I thought to myself, well, why not? Occassional reunion of the plug and the socket won't hurt that much anyway.

And so William Hurt, Kathleen Turner, Geena Davis and the rest, in a duration of 121 minutes, saw to it that it wouldn't. I would probably regret it if I hadn't seem it, a film that became the latest entry into my all-time favorites list. But, then again, of course, how could I regret something that never took place?

Milky Way

2006-09-28T20:24:00.000+08:00

Stayed in the office till like 1930 preparing for the class at 0810 the next day. Quite a lot of actions out there in the dark, cheering cries of the freshmen and other gatherings of the lot, but before long they left and all was quite, just coolness, the sound recording and me scribbling away.

So I walked down the dimly lit pathway, safely hidden away from the scorching sun of the day and came home to find the reminder of the Milky Way which I found in the land down there.

Fetish

2006-09-20T19:04:00.000+08:00

They saw me and said that I looked worse physically everyday (they've been saying that for only god knows how long) and urged me to take some vitamin pills on a reguar basis and backing their statement up with some medical report shit.

So I snapped their argument in half, without any courtesy at all, because I'd had enough with this sort of shit, that there were 24 hours a day, no more no less, no matter how you use it, and I wasn't going to allocate that time and money to some pills and reading magazines that will make my life more difficult worrying about this and that, get trapped instead of a life. I had something better to do to enjoy my ephemeral existence on earth.

They pissed me off greatly because this whole culture of health food fetish disgusted me beyond words. And, by the way, I feel better now than before because I lead a life with a much more regular schedule, I'm yes physically busier, but I'm happier.

On Bias

2006-09-16T21:33:00.000+08:00

Beware - don't look at just one side when you cross the road.

Serendipity

2006-09-09T22:13:00.000+08:00

So today I went to see the doc, nothing serious, just routine you know, well, the appointment was supposed to be 5 days ago, but these cats and dogs ambushed me when I was on the way to the hospital so, soaking wet, I turned back home fuelled by swearwords and reluctantly rescheduled it to today.

Today I set out for the rendezvous at twelve hundred hours and only 6 hours later was I able to leave the place fuelled by even more swearwords because I was planning to get home before dusk so that I could make dinner for my folks. So there I was sitting in the hospital besieged by the mob thinking what on earth are you doing here? you know, you have lots to do, preparing for your clases and working on the thesis. Miraculously, I had this book about death with me, but the atmosphere wasn't too ideal for some word processing so I went for a walk around the surrounding area, park, shops, etc. and returned after an hour and I was petrified to find out that time didn't even exist in the hospital! I started to calculate should I call it off again and go home now before it's too late? well, I can still take the bus if I should miss the train... yes, I suppose I could do that... So I decided to stay and after more escaping and petrifying I finally saw the doc himself and 5 minutes later I was back in the mob. Upon getting hold of my medication, I advanced towards the train station, fast and furiously.

Inside the wagon I made myself comfortable next to this nice looking girl and pull out my book, she was also having one on her laps. It was magical sensation when someone's hair tangoed with yours without actual skin contact. Then she got out her mp3 player and Tchaikovsky murmured at my ears- I coudn't believe it. It wasn't some cheesy pop music, but Tchaifuckingkovsky! Now that was a drop-dead gorgeous sheila. I asked her if she could played it again with me borrowing one of the earphones. So, sharing one earphones we immersed ourselves in bliss. After the piece was over I gave her back the half I borrowed, but she said we can keep listening together if you want, I don't mind.

Thank god almighty.

But almost ironically, the train pulled into the station accompanied by the last note of the Finale Allegro vivacissimo, prophesying what was about to happen. But she got out too! Crikey! I was looking at her from behind, not daring to take the next move, weighing the pros and cons and the percentages of a yes as each anxious step drew us closer to the deadly exit. And when I finally gathered enough balls, she was gone, out of sight, disappeared under the camouflage of the starless night.

2006-09-09T22:03:00.000+08:00

Regrets, I have regrets. I regret that I didn't do anything tonight when she was still within reach.

I no longer resent the rain that stopped me, nor the crowd in the hospital, for they brought me to her.

But I regret knowing her and not doing anything, now that even if I want to I will never be able to. Nothing I can do will let me see her again. And it's unbearable.

The electricity and the pain. Do I regret ever meeting her? Would it turn out better if I never knew her at all?

No. It wouldn't. And I don't regret knowing her because I liked her company. I only regret not getting the most out of the time I was given. And I'll have to live with it till the memory of her finally fades out of mine, and be forgotten like a sun that will rise no more or the music that will be played nevermore.