The Virtue of Writing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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