Curse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.