Glasses for the Ears

I got a call last night when I was in the shower, and no, no one died this time, so I turned it off, got out and picked it up and, honestly, I didn't quite understand what her clattering was about. I mean ah, her words were as confusing and blurring as my ungoggled sight. So I was wondering, does the vision have anything to do with the hearing? Could it be that one is more concentrated when one sees better?

Attacking the Alps on A Cycle

Friends sent me links to the Taiwan Cyclist Federation's 2006 Taiwan tour page asking me whether it's the one I'm going with. The answer was no, I don't do group tours. But, well, this is not saying that I hate cycling with others, just that the way they advertise their tour is unattractive, if not unacceptable, to me.

Let's see some facts: 1) they have SAG wagons (support and gear) carrying all your shit and fixing your rig should it break, 2) they give you a certificate once you've triumphantly cut through the finish line with tough upper lip, 3) they've got every dodgy details sorted out, including the tricky accomodation and nasty food so that you can race like Lance.

The problem is clear, isn't it? They don't promote bicycle travelling, but cycle competition (I do love cycle competition though). Because when everything's taken care of there's no travel, the uncertain elements are gone and people are just cycling preprogrammed following the circuit. And once the nature of bike travel, i.e., the luggages and the uncertainties, is being stripped off, there's no genuine appreciation of the land your cycling on because the effort you're making is not authentic, you're actually cheating, made believe cycle touring. And they give you a certificate and a medal, making the 1000km unloaded ride (well, not exactly, you're still loaded with your heavy credit card and incredibly weighty cellphone) sounds like attacking the Alps on a fully loaded cycle.

What worries me is that it will promote the rider and general public's false understanding of cycle touring and once this mode of cycling is being accepted as the norm, the traditional cycle touring will be persecuted as not being safe enough thus should be cast away and forbidden. Just like the newly constructed Qinghai–Tibet railway will marginalize the hapless Tibetans under the righteous banner of economic development. It reminds me of neoliberal globalization.

This whole focus on competition annoys me, but what really gets me is that the pamphlet says that it will be a once in a lifetime experience with some fella says that he hopes to do something in his 20's that will make him smile when he's in his 80's.

The Train Ran out of Railroads

An unwelcomed yet expected phonecall came earlier tonight when I was having dinner. It was strange actually knowing that he had no chance at all yet harbouring the miraculous breath, not appreciating the great prospect. Now that breath is extinguished and I feel strange again. It came true.

Just before the call dad was saying that my cousin and others saw the spirit of my uncle when they were burning paper house and stuff for him. If that was true then spirits do exist, where do they go? Yeah, I know it's an age old question as to where do people go when their time's up, still I find myself wondering. As you know, I'm not a man with great religious faith so I can't claim that you'll be reborn or go to heaven or hell. I can't be sure, how can I? I can't affirm something that I don't believe.

Newton (or was it Galileo?) made a model of the solar system and his disciple asked who made it. 'No one', he replied. But of course someone made it and we know who. But, is it the same in the world we live in? Which one is real? Reincarnation or heaven or hell? I don't know, but I do know that when I die I want to see my old friends. And I hope I do see them.

Will You Cry for Me if I died?

Two days ago(22) I was talking to a friend about going to see another friend who was in the hospital because of a car accident. Today(24) we went to the Intensive Care Unit to see the friend with whom I had the conversation precisely two days ago.

It happened at 0300 and 24 hours later he's still unconscious, they removed the tip of his skull so the increasing pressure inside his brain will not kill him. I didn't expect to see him like this. After I put the pink shirt on and passed through the second sliding door I saw a body breathing in time to one of the machines next to the bed. His eyes were open, but nothing excites the dead cells in the brain. I don't know if it was from the angle that I was looking at them, but they look sad, ultimately sad. A sadness I couldn't describe.

He's just 20 years old, I wondered if his family will regret ever letting him come all the way here to study and become a vegetable? But, what can we do about that? No one knows what's the shape of the next minute. At least he had already enjoyed his life so far, there're lots of people who have never enjoyed life. But it's a lame excuse, it doesn't justify the fact that he has to die this way or, if lucky, live out the rest of his life in such a state. Yes, you can say that he has brought joy to his parents with his company, but there must be a meaning behind all this. A meaning of the existence.

The Unstable Link of Modern Life

Agonizing is the word. Last night at twelve o'clock a sharp pain broke out in my stomach which lasted for approximately 5 hours until I staggered to my feet, swaying a little and made my way to the toilet forcing myself to stare into the wash basin with open mouth. After some foul smelling mushy pile dribbled onto the sink I felt much better, I checked the package and found out that it was expired two months ago. A couple of hours later the shooting pain came back visiting the host and I saw the necessity to pay the doc a visit.

After groaning on the chair and embracing my legs between the arms waiting for my turn for like forever, the nurse finally pronunced the magical name. The doc asked all the typical questions like, you know, do you smoke? drink? eat raw fish? chew betel nut? Then I found myself lying on a bed in a sinisterly looking room and a dark tube was poking around in my stomach. A gastroscope exam. Never expected the coming of this day so soon. He told me that I had an inflammation in the abdomen region and that I can't eat anything except for soy and rice milk till Thursday.

This seems like a warning, while I was writhing on my bed I thought about my future eurasia cycle tour and my smallness was brought to my attention again.

A year has passed since the first entry on this blog, I think that's pretty good for a man without great convictions (except for the faith that he has no great convictions). My goal was not to write a blockbusting blog (well, I'm definitely doing a hell of a job), but only to let my friends out there know that I'm still alive, but think I've failed on this one because only a handful is reading and most of them I've never met in my life. But well, think that's the way it is, besides I'm a proud solitary club membership card owner so that's expected. But you do learn something out of this and you become more washed out and unpredictable.

A ten day vacation is coming up, well, it's about time that I should get away from all these for a while, probably will go home and work on the short stories, dad would surely need some company, or probably will hop on Irma and go to some point on the map if my tummy's alright again by then, how does K2 sound to you? We'll see.

I'm going to stop blogging for a while, I'm growing weary.

This is all I have known

This sunday is the funeral and wednesday the deadline for the paper on Nada of Carmen Laforet, then before the end of this month two short stories for the department publication.

He felt like he didn't even exist when he saw people giving advices and talking so fast and briskly, as usual, today in the department. They went to a café with hotspots so nearly everyone was with their laptops. He felt he didn't belong there the moment he saw them, it just didn't feel right, it's not saying that it was dirty or uncomfortable, on the contrary, the chairs, tea and temperature was perfectly fine and the toilet was spotless, but he just felt so out of place. He didn't like the modern, neat and "intellectual" feel of it. Those two guys sitting next to them talking about how much the whatever costed, every smile and every laughter from every corner seemed so artificial and theatrical, seems so unreal and far away.

Then they had dinner in another place which he frequented and liked a lot, they got some really nice rye breads, jams and vegemite. But tonight he loathed it. He thought he had lost the function to be happy. The paternal smiles, I know, yes, I understands, intellectual and not-so-intellectual conversations, I know it's not a problem for yous, everything, everything! Everything seems so unreal and external and he is but an empty shell roaming around in his vacant hell.

Truth Is,

along with ultra stress come all sorts of hidden problems.
nou have more than 2000 contacts in your cell but,
no one you know you really want to talk to because,
you don't want to have anything to do with them because,
you don't wanna act like you were bright and merry because,
even though they all say they understand but,
they either have their own fucking problems or,
they simply don't want to listen to your shit because,
they only love you when you are easy and,
your only value is being their entertainment but,
you want someone who listens and doesn't judge but,
that someone doesn't even exists for you, my condolences.

Travel Ennui

Last night on the Lonely Planet site I read about this experimental travel thing and my first reaction was, "it's absurd!" But after getting more into it I found out that that was exactly the point - the absurdity. And later I realized that it was precisely this unreasonableness that makes life more wonderful and meaningful. Just what I need now.

Experimental Travel is said to have its roots in the varied practices and philosophies of modern alternative thinkers from the Surrealists to the Psychogeographers, and Joël Henry, founder of Latourex (Laboratory of Experimental Travel) also that the author of LP's Guide to Experimental Travel, is said to have coined the term in 1990. However, being a devoted subscriber to the believe that,

That which has been is that which shall be;
And that which is done is that which shall be done:
And there is no new thing under the sun.

I believe this seemingly ludicrous idea was to be found so much earlier in History. And it does, and more surprising yet not so surprisingly, the very person who is writing these words had quoted them before in this blog. As near as I know, this idea was already present back in 1605 in Cervante's Don Quijote de la Mancha where the ingenious knight said to his faithful squire, "Ahí está el punto y esa es la fineza de mi negocio. Que volverse loco un caballero andante con causa, ni grado ni gracias, el punto está en desatinar sin ocasión."

Joël says, 'Experimental Travel is travel with constraints, that at the same time liberates you from the limitations and expectations of classic tourism. By travelling with the constraints of Experimental Travel, you conversely have more freedom.' But the scope is without doubt so much wider than just travelling, it has everything to do with life itself and life is, afterall, a big journey. Experimental Travel forces you to think form another perspective and this act in itself is liberating. For many, travelling becomes nothing but a acquisition of sights and stuff, something to inflate their ego with and then it bores them, wondering where should I go next? what should I do next? Been there, done that, but no real feelings, no appreciation but a constrained self-deceiving mechanism, like a competition, like regarding one as a hero and the countries the deeds, but life it no competition, life should not be one. I sometimes wonder if I would become like that one day and it troubles me.

The Seventh Seal

I've feared since more than two weeks ago that the cell would suddenly come back to life and Home would be the word that's on the flashing tiny screen of the screeching and trembling machine. It felt more like a premonition than a perturbation, or perhaps both.

Earlier tonight they rang, he died yeaterday. Later, I called and I was told that it happened much more quickly than expected. She went back to Taipei to take care of something thinking that they still had time. They called her at the first moment when he came to claim him. They said that his pulse was getting thin at an alarming rate, nevertheless he was still there. Then she darted across the door. Then for one last time he came back to life.

Thought Constipation

Luckily, I haven't yet had the pleasure of coming face to face with the traditional, substantial and sonorous grimace of intestinal obstruction so far in the first 24 years of my existence, but I'm suffering from another kind of occlusion that is no less traumatic than the well-practised.

Minor yet recurring syndromes includes going downstairs and forget about for what purpose thus standing there for a couple of minutes staring around for a clue; having no idea of the ideas on my head just a few minutes back; going 500kms to the market just a few blocks away and don't remember what I'm suppose to buy and only to remember it timely after I inserted the key into the hole. etc. etc. They are annoying, but not life-threatening. The worst kind, the most poignant type of all that I'm about to utter is a torture beyond imagination, and curiously the other day while reading El amor en los tiempos del cólera I came upon this phrase,

...mantenía la vista fija en un muchacho de rostro sonrosado que lo saludó con una inclinación de cabeza. Lo había visto en alguna parte, sin duda, pero no recordaba dónde. Le ocurría con frecuencia, sobre todo con los nombres de las personas, aun de las más conocidas, o con una melodía de otros tiempos, y esto le provocaba una angustia tan espantosa, que una noche hubiera preferido morir que soportarla hasta el amanecer.