Obituary: an age is a reversal of an age

My grandfather was a charming man-- an incredible dancer, talented in languages, and on top of that, a very handsome man.

An age is a reversal of an age.

The Macrocosm and the microcosm. The rain was also pouring last week this time, during which I was thrilled  with a childish joy-- looking outside the window, I had a longing for running out of the classroom, I wanted to sing and dance in the rain, I wanted to spin until my dress fly, I wanted my hair to be soaking wet.

This week this time, the pouring rain. I found it especially difficult to concentrate in class. Opening up the poetry book, we started the discussion with Parnell's funeral. How fitting.

Looking outside the window,  the tree was swinging, bending, raindrops dripping from the end of the branches-- was it mourning my grandfather? Was it the cry of the paternal lament?

On Sunday the 24th, nine o'clock at GMT+8 time, my grandfather passed away in sleep. The same time, across the Eurasia continent, three o'clock in the afternoon, I was plucking cherries in Potsdam. I did not bring water to rinse the new plucked cherries before eating them, and I joked about death. "I hope i won't die from this." I joked about death.

An unexpected shower. I was sitting on the ground of the cherry orchard, having lunch, oblivious to the rain. It was a rather unusual day. I was surrounded by Taiwanese people, for the very first time in three years, I didn't have to put any effort into deciphering the floating semantic lingos. At the same time across the Eurasia continent, the family was surrounding the death bed. It was a serene death, according to my mother in her very brief text messages.

It's almost miserable that I was notified of my grandfather's death through text messages. Yet how else could I have been notified?

I woke up at eight o'clock from uneasy dreams this morning, as usual the first thing I did was checking the messages. Flashing green push messages from an apple gadget. The hanging fear was confirmed. After all, my family did not keep me in the dark. I was hereby released from the emotional limbo, but should I feel relieved?

Closure. An Eurasia continent away the family must be busy with the closure. Will they host a Buddhist funeral? Will they keep the coffin at hall for three days, with the black and white picture of my handsome grandfather, burning incense accompanied by paper lotus, each folded by members of the family?

Will my sister be able to be there? I know far too little about my culture. Will a pregnant woman be allowed to participate in a wake?

Death and new birth. My sister is carrying a baby girl. The baby girl will be born in July. First child of the new generation. Soon the whole family will be over the death, soon rituals of welcoming the new birth will take over. Life completes death, death completes life.

An age is the reversal of an age.

25.06.2012

ghost letter: herstories

Did you shed tears of anger, when you married into this "prestigious" family, only to find out that your husband had already kept a mistress in the mansion, even before the wedding? A dumb  opera actress she was-- did you also find it absurd, like I do now, decades and decades after, even after the death of your husband, that a dumb woman could actually become an opera actress, that a husband could have a mistress even before getting married?

Oh Grandmother, do not be surprised. I know the histories-- or more precisely, the "herstories". You told Mother, and Mother told me. Such absurdities of the era should not pass on unnoticed. You were not fortunate enough to receive proper education. Oh Grandmother. Do not worry, I will write your stories.

Was it love at first sight when you encountered that gentleman from Shanghai? Did you feel the warm and fuzzy feeling taking over your body, as you finally fell in love for the first time of your life, after five years of a loveless marriage? Did you know that was love? Did you develop the yearning for the continental China, which you are presumably related to yet sounded absolutely foreign? Did you envision starting a new life there with him, in that vast continent, when he asked you to come with him?

Oh Grandmother, I believe you hesitated, you did. Was it the fear of the uncertainty, or was it the sense of familial responsibility that kept you home that very afternoon? Did you feel your heart wrenching when you were home, keeping yourself busy in the kitchen, knowing that he was waiting for you by the river-- where you met for the first time-- waiting for you to start a new life in China? Did you imagine the disappointed look on his face when the sun set, and he finally realized that you were not coming?

Did you shed tears of regret, when you saw your husband coming home that day with the same rough demeanor, asking what was for dinner, and then you knew what you had given up for?

Oh Grandmother, how history has cunning passages! Should you have gone that day, I would have never been born. Yet here I am, in an even more foreign continent, retelling your stories in a foreign language.

Oh Grandmother, here I am, telling your herstories.

word recycling project ii

(using words from the right page)

"No one is to blame. Sometimes it's just impossible to goal." I said to Jeoffery, as he was lying on the sofa dejected, his body bruised all over after an intense football match.

"But our win is predicted by the myths." refuted Jeoffery, grasping this old shabby black book supposedly passed over by his "ancestors". "The victory should've been mine!"

"Yes you can choose to believe in myths. Or you can get up and move on with this defeat. Who knows? Maybe people read the prophecy wrong." I was trying very hard to stay patient. I decipse crazy superstitions. In the past, I would have just walked on him. But Jeoffery is still recovering from a severe brain damage, it is not sensible to argue with him while he is still reconstructing his memories and identity, however insane the stories might sound to me.

"Are you tired of me, Leslie?" Jeoffery seems to have sensed my frustration and asked somewhat timidly. 

"It should not be you. It's 'us'. You and me, getting over this together. The dark days will pass, and things must be OK again. I know the pain seems infinite, but each one of us gets through that. The night will pass. Glory will be attained. We shall create our own future."

"Like the prophecy said?" asked Jeoffery hopefully.

"Yes, like the prophecy said." I smiled.

I will never give up on Jeoffery, my dear dear brother. You are all I have now.

word recycling project i

(using the scattered words from the left page, left to right, up to down, fill in the blanks)


To San Franciso I shall go, 
the long distance will not intimidate me
From Manhattan I will start--
the heartless metropolis of vacuity.
Will you, oh, will you come with me?


The smell of her hair opens the gateway to memories.
Painful yet sweet memories.
In front of such absolute beauty people suffer,
as Troy did not withstand Helen's beauty.


We've taken over Manhattan,
to San Francisco I shall go;
Will you, oh, will you join me?


We are the only ones left;
will you come join me?

zoom in/zoom out project

The cat is staring at you with its emerald eyes, almost judgmentally. It frowns, ears sticking up. Its furs glow from the sunlight, warm afternoon sunlight dancing on the windowpanes, which bounces and softly envelopes the feline body.

Under the window the kids are playing at the yard. Birds chirping, laughter heard, happiness represented. Should be contagious, the chuckling of five year olds. Should bring a smile on your face. Should remind you of all the warm and fuzzy dandelion blowing memories. Should trigger a longing for a peanut butter jelly sandwich. Should be reminiscent of a sudden "the floor is the lava!" frenzy.

Yet you remain seated, turning your back to the window, ignoring the jovial afternoon symphony of an insolent Berliner Saturday.

Yet you are looking down on the table, trying to sort out all the official documents you need for prolonging another year of your stay, for the possibility of many other insolent sunny afternoons like this-- alone at the balcony, just you and your cat. Staring at each other motionlessly.

The cat is staring at you with its emerald eyes.