12.30.01.
Sunday worship. God is cute, I often think. Sometimes, I think God's like someone who lets me cheat in dictation. He keeps giving hints to tell me how to walk my life. Daddy, you know, you are so darn obvious in your work on me. I can't help smiling and marveling at you. In a week, I came across the book of Ecclesiastes, similar verses, over and over again in different occasions. You are so cute. 11:1 [hb5] 當 將 你 的 糧 食 撒 在 水 面 、 因 為 日 久 必 能 得 著 。 [kjv] Cast thy bread upon the waters: for thou shalt find it after many days. [bbe] Put out your bread on the face of the waters; for after a long time it will come back to you again. 11:2 [hb5] 你 要 分 給 七 人 、 或 分 給 八 人 、 因 為 你 不 知 道 將 來 有 甚 麼 災 禍 臨 到 地 上 。 [kjv] Give a portion to seven, and also to eight; for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth. [bbe] Give a part to seven or even to eight, because you have no knowledge of the evil which will be on the earth. 11:3 [hb5] 雲 若 滿 了 雨 、 就 必 傾 倒 在 地 上 ． 樹 若 向 南 倒 、 或 向 北 倒 、 樹 倒 在 何 處 、 就 存 在 何 處 。 [kjv] If the clouds be full of rain, they empty themselves upon the earth: and if the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falleth, there it shall be. [bbe] If the clouds are full of rain, they send it down on the earth; and if a tree comes down to the south, or the north, in whatever place it comes down, there it will be. 11:4 [hb5] 看 風 的 必 不 撒 種 ． 望 雲 的 必 不 收 割 。 [kjv] He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap. [bbe] He who is watching the wind will not get the seed planted, and he who is looking at the clouds will not get in the grain. 11:5 [hb5] 風 從 何 道 來 、 骨 頭 在 懷 孕 婦 人 的 胎 中 如 何 長 成 、 你 尚 且 不 得 知 道 、 這 樣 、 行 萬 事 之 神 的 作 為 、 你 更 不 得 知 道 。 [kjv] As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones do grow in the womb of her that is with child: even so thou knowest not the works of God who maketh all. [bbe] As you have no knowledge of the way of the wind, or of the growth of the bones in the body of her who is with child, even so you have no knowledge of the works of God who has made all. 11:6 [hb5] 早 晨 要 撒 你 的 種 、 晚 上 也 不 要 歇 你 的 手 、 因 為 你 不 知 道 那 一 樣 發 旺 、 或 是 早 撒 的 、 或 是 晚 撒 的 、 或 是 兩 樣 都 好 。 [kjv] In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good. [bbe] In the morning put your seed into the earth, and till the evening let not your hand be at rest; because you are not certain which will do well, this or that--or if the two will be equally good. 11:7 光 本 是 佳 美 的 、 眼 見 日 光 也 是 可 悅 的 。 Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun: Truly the light is sweet, and it is good for the eyes to see the sun. 11:8 人 活 多 年 、 就 當 快 樂 多 年 ． 然 而 也 當 想 到 黑 暗 的 日 子 、 因 為 這 日 子 必 多 、 所 要 來 的 都 是 虛 空 。 But if a man live many years, and rejoice in them all; yet let him remember the days of darkness; for they shall be many. All that cometh is vanity. But even if a man's life is long and he has joy in all his years, let him keep in mind the dark days, because they will be great in number. Whatever may come is to no purpose. 11:9 少 年 人 哪 、 你 在 幼 年 時 當 快 樂 ． 在 幼 年 的 日 子 、 使 你 的 心 歡 暢 、 行 你 心 所 願 行 的 、 看 你 眼 所 愛 看 的 、 卻 要 知 道 、 為 這 一 切 的 事 、 神 必 審 問 你 。 Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth; and let thy heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thine heart, and in the sight of thine eyes: but know thou, that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment. Have joy, O young man, while you are young; and let your heart be glad in the days of your strength, and go in the ways of your heart, and in the desire of your eyes; but be certain that for all these things God will be your judge.Ecclesiastes is the book I like the most in the OT. Many, whenever think of this book, will pop up with the word--meaningless. Is life meaningless afterall? Why does pain befalls? What do money, fame, love, knowledge all mean to us? Afterall?
Thanks God for showing me what's the most important in life. Nothing means anything if we lose sight of Him. P.S. My friend, Hans, may God's love embrace you.12.29.01.
EveningA poem from Emily Dickinson keeps waving in mind. His last words this morning to his friends were sinking. God. Cuddle him please. FASCICLE POEM 9 My Life had stood - a沒上班
在冬日陽光中祈禱
感謝主在最合適的時候 總白白地給我
傳: 3:1 凡事都有定期、天下萬務都有定時． 3:2 生有時、死有時．栽種有時、拔出所栽種的、也有時． 3:3 殺戮有時、醫治有時．拆毀有時、建造有時． 3:4 哭有時、笑有時．哀慟有時、跳舞有時． 3:5 拋擲石頭有時、堆聚石頭有時．懷抱有時、不懷抱有時． 3:6 尋找有時、失落有時．保守有時、捨棄有時． 3:7 撕裂有時、縫補有時．靜默有時、言語有時． 3:8 喜愛有時、恨惡有時．爭戰有時、和好有時。 下午回到辦公室
上網
看到朋友道別言
Neruda的深邃 或許埋藏不了友人的痛 那個女孩笑靨還在 至親的影子久久不散 有時候 亦問主 為什麼 為什麼 我要的 你拿走 為什麼 不敢盼 卻給我 歌前: 13:12 我們如今彷彿對著鏡子觀看、模糊不清．到那時、就要面對面了．我如今所知道的有限．到那時就全知道、如同主知道我一樣。 只希望主的懷暖 暖 暖
主祐12.28.01.
All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten by Robert Fulghum[This little article is what I like most in the book, share here with you]
Lesson No. 11 Giants, wizards and dwarfs was the game to play. Being left in charge of about eighty children seven to ten years old, while their parents were off doing parenty things, I mustered my troops in the church social hall and explained the game. It's a large-scale version of Rock, Paper and Scissors, and involves some intellectual decision making. But the real purpose of the game is to make a lot of noise and run around chasing people until nobody knows which side you are on or who won. Organising a roomful of wired-up gradeschoolers into two teams, explaining the rudiments of the game, achieving consensus on group identity -- all this is to mean accomplishment, but we did it with a right good will and were ready to go. The excitement of the chase had reached a critical mass. I yelled out: "You have to decide now which you are - a GIANT, a WIZARD, or a DWARF!" While the groups huddled in frenzied, whispered consultation, a tug came at my pants leg. A small child stands there looking up, and asks in a small concerned voice, "Where do the Mermaids stand?" Where do the Mermaids stand? A long pause. A very long pause. "Where do the Mermaids stand?" says I. "Yes. You see, I am a Mermaid." "There are no such things as Mermaids." "Oh, yes, I am one!" She did not relate to being a Giant, a Wizard, or a Dwarf. She knew her category. Mermaid. And was not about to leave the game and go over and stand against the wall where a loser would stand. She intended to participate, wherever Mermaids fit into the scheme of things. Without giving up dignity or identity. She took it for granted that there was a place for Mermaids and that I would know just where. Well, there DO the Mermaids stand? All the "Mermaids" -- all those who are different, who do not fit the norm and who do not accept the available boxes and pigeonholes? Answer that question and you can build a school, a nation, or a world on it. What was my answer at the moment? Every once in a while I say the right thing. "The Mermaid stands right here by the King fo the Sea!" says I. (Yes, right here by the King's Fool, I thought to myself.) So we stood there hand in hand, reviewing the troops of Wizards and Giants and Dwarfs as they roiled by in wild disarray. It is not true, by the way, that mermaids do not exist. I know at least one personally. I have held her hand. P.S. This article is especially for those who don't wanna give a damn to others, who keep going on his/her own pace, and path. All the mermaids out there. 衣:clothes
In no time, if I still refuse to bring my two laundry-bag-load of dirty clothes to wash, I will have to wear pajamas to work.?I have already taken out any possible wear in my closet, so that I could avoid stepping into the laundry room, a place I never enjoy going.?Oftentimes, The duck is fond of慯he creative part of an action, but the autonomous wrapping-up stage.?People拎ho lived with me before knew that too well.?This silly duck饊oves to cook, but慯o wash賷ishes; to write,�but to translate/edit; to buy clothes, but do laundry; to take shower, but wash bathtub.
For the past few days, no matter how much I wore, I still felt freezing at some point.?Gradually, a passion is developed--to wear thick jumpers, sweaters, jackets to make the already-not-slim figure of mine looking more like a dumpling. I love to wrap myself with lots and lots clothes in winter (while summer in only tanktop, and sandals). This morning, I took out a FILA pinky color jumper to wear.?It's a bit small already because it was put it into the washing machine, something I should not have done, but couldn't care less either.?And I realized: oh man, this jumper has been with me for 14 years already.? Anyways, time doesn't wait.?
Another dumpling-like jacket I sometimes wear犲s the one you will see in backwaters girls in Zhang Yimou's movie.?The orange one of mine is not as eye-catching as the pinkish jacket Zhang Ziyi wears in THE ROAD HOME. ??#060;/font>
EAT 食:
Milk is the first thing I need every morning. But there's none in the fridge :(.?I walked to Franklin cafeteria.? No milk, sorry.?I walked to Coffee Corner on campus.? No milk either, sorry.?The bizarre Maxim's bakery near University KCR station sells all kind of drinks, but milk.?A bizarre world.?Only orange juice.? ?
Last night, a little verse I wrote last year came under eyes--COMFORT FOOD. ?
Comfort Food ?
Two freshly baked cookies, not yet crispy ?
? ????warm and soft in the center Milk in a mug, right from the fridge
??All on the coffee table next to the sofa
??? television was on, but no voice
It was a sunny afternoon, the slash of sunshine turns the milky carpet into an autumn wheat field
?Reap, they swing slightly and slowly along with the September breeze
They aren't for anyone.? They sit comfortably on the table
??I want to be laid back till sunset roll on the body of mine lying on the narrow sofa to laugh out of nothing till the night falls and to linger till the cookies no longer warm milk no longer chill my heart no longer lingers with loneliness ??
LIVE 住:
Since 17, on and off, I have been living away from home.?Skippy Daddy, my mentor, calls me sometimes from Ozzy.?Yesterday he said: Have you ever thought of moving to Ozzy? I replied: No.?He asked: Why not??I replied: I don't care where I live (I mean what country).?He said: But if you have kids, you have to think for them.? I replied: All kids need is love.?
Having been in different places, I gradually could not care less about where I will end up living. This is perhaps the sad part --I don't develop any sense of belonging to any place.?No attachment to either my family, the 700-sq.ft. apartment jumbled with 9 family members, Aberdeen, Chinese University, Hong Kong, Denmark, Canada.?
Even worse, I grow on people, like vine.?My attachment grows on people, scary.?
Where next??Not really know.?G.O.D. is a kind of IKEA-transformed household store.?Moew colleague's bf works there.? The store does not impress me yet the name does.?G.O.D.?My home is nowhere, anywhere.?My home's back to God. ?
WALK行:
行與不行－that's the question. Why am I so hesitating when marching towards Aphrodite?
12.27.01.
8:38p.m., still in my office, unwilling to leave. And I know I am panic, for something.
Panic. Interview next Thurs. Lots of questions. Why counseling. What about journalism. You change your mind, eh? Oh, tell us why we should give you the money, in three minutes. Gui Mui's suit. Newspaper. Bin Laden? what the hell! You plan to come back. Why in the states. What do you think of this. Tell me about that experience. Oh, your brother. But why this suddenly pops up. You think it's possible. okay. thank you. 15 minutes. half a million. I hate this. I hate to panic.
Daddy. I like to see how daddy of various kinds deal with their little ones. Canopy daddy, I met once, in TimeSquare, Causeway Bay. Canopy daddy is tell and strong, who has twin daughters, both about two. One was sitting on Canopy daddy's shoulders, the one climbing on his chest. Looking at them, I thought of Canopy in Tropical Rain Forest, with the little monkeys leaning all over. Giraffe daddy, I saw once, outside the KCR station at Chinese University. Giraffe daddy was a Caucasian, tell and thin, like bamboo. He talked with his daughter, who's one-third of his height, with his back bent at right angle. Like a giraffe drinking water in a savanna. Ice-cream boy's daddy, I met, a week ago in McDonald, North Point.?Ice-cream boy who could barely reach the counter wanted to order ice-cream, but to no avail.?He stood there, mute.?Failed to order, the little 3-year-old just waited and waited there, tongue-tied.?After a while, his dad came, and was furious: "you're useless (mo yun)! don't even know how to order an ice-cream."�The little soul bursted into tears in no time.?Oh man.? A future daddy. Two daughters-to-be of someone will have a dad, who aspires to fetch them from schools. He said that's the dream of his.?Fetching kids from school.? Skippy Daddy.?Skippy Daddy lets his baby daughter and son slept on his chest at night.?
(A little poem to little skippy)?
Joyfully lying
On your warm and firm chest, he is a
New gift sent from heaven.
As he presses his little ear on
The heart of yours, beating fast,
He feels utterly loved
At many starry
Nights.
Leaving mama’s womb, he spends, days
And nights,
Melting your tenderness.
Cold. These few days have been warmer than Christmas, yet my hands are icy cold, always.?I never learn to wear what fits the weather.?At the age of 25, I still shiver from time to time.?What am I shivering indeed? sometimes I wonder.?I should feel warm in this loving season.? But I feel cold.?I am afraid of falling. In love.
Very fine is my valentine.
Very fine and very mine.
Very mine is my valentine very mine and very fine.
Very fine is my valentine and mine, very fine very mine and mine is my valentine.
b) Spirited Away
Dec 25, after a hotpot dinner with some dudes in KL city, we walked down the road and arrived at the already-dormant Kai Tak Airport, the derelict "flea market" in which you could hardly find a flea, let alone human shadows.
It brought me right back to Chihiro (or Sen), where she got into in the movie Spirited Away. A once-crowded-and-noisy funfair place turns into a ghost-like place. The movie was not as good as I expected (though I was not sure what I was expecting), yet the multi-flaceted themes permeate in mind. Sometimes, ambitious directors unload too much onto a movie, mingling too many themes together: parental love, friendship, love affairs, environmental conciousness, even the bubble economy plus devilish human desires.
What keeps me thinking, though, is the idea of name. Does the name possess who we are? Had Chihiro forgotten her real name and adopted the name Sen, she would have lost herself.
At Primary School, I once asked my Chinese teacher: Mr. Ko, why was cow named cow, grass grass? why can't we call cow grass, and vice versa. He chuckled a bit, and said: Go home and ask why your dad named you yuet-lan.
This question got answered, finally, some twenty years later when I read Genesis (I marveled at Adam's task: imagine, sitting there picking at the animal, Adam raises his voice: "oh, this is deer; oh, this is zebra; oh, that should be named cat; hm... that lazy bastard should be called ass, or donkey perhaps. It takes superb linguistic creativity to come up with so many names).
Bruno, the loyal movie companion, said on that night, he would name her girl 夢凝-- we, nasty friends of his, did not let go of any moment to pick at the name. Too bad I was, as I in my mind thought it's gonna be a nightmarish name for a girl.
I oftentimes felt my parents have given me the wrong name--moon orchid. I am never calm or pure as moon, nor dignified and pretty as orchid. This very artistic and feminine name is more of a caricature, than a reflection of myself.
Name often carries parental aspirations on the little souls, rather than what the kids are gifted with when sent to this universe. What will my kids be like, sometimes I wonder, only if I would have any.
P.S. Hans for your little dedication in your web. Only thing I resemble an angel, I guess, is that I have two wings, though I don't fly.
12.24.01.
發熱的小石
杏花村是一頭小烏龜, 原籍非洲, 現居羅省. 杏花村的名字是我取的, 杏--是朋友名字中取; 花村--是活了二十五年光景, 常愛放在背包的話:
山窮水盡疑無路, 柳暗花明又一村
花村只有掌心般大, 一來歲; 牠不愛水, 只茹素. 杏花村管理員將小龜放在盤子中, 蓋上小木屋, 讓牠在晚上作息. 花村很怕冷, 羅省柔和的冬天, 已叫牠按捺不住, 許久足不出戶, 老是留在小木屋, 不喝不吃, 像剛失戀的人.我叫管理員用厚厚的褥子, 將花村裹住; 他說花村已經有一塊發熱的小石, 花村冷了, 會把掛著小勾鼻的臉, 緩緩貼近發熱的小石上. 當年在學校小賣部, 買了熱騰騰的維他奶, 我總是把發熱的瓶子貼在臉龐, 手心紅紅, 臉紅紅.
嗖嗖的寒風中, 耶誕之際, 人們和花村一樣, 總想找到那份似曾相識的溫暖.
發光的小星星
在電話筒這邊, 我問: 星星為何會發光?
太平洋那邊的你說不知道, 續說: 你知道嗎, 你看到的星星, 全都已死了.
死了!? 我有些詫異．
你嗯了一聲, 說： 你看到星星的光, 是經過幾十萬(千萬?!)光年, 從宇宙很遠很遠的地方來到我們的眼簾. 當我們看到星星的光的時候, 它們都已經死了, 不再發光.
那種存在著卻實不存在的真實, 叫我疙疙瘩瘩.
我說, 那豈不是IL MARE 的橋段嗎? 倆個人, 活在不同的空間, 卻有似是真實的接觸, 男的在三年前死了, 就是死掉的星星; 女的活著, 看著星星的光. 永遠捉不定的真實.
我說那感覺著實很真, 很接近; 卻真還是很遠, 像夢.
12.23.01.
Writing in Chinese: Every now and then, some friends will wonder and ask: "Ducky, why don't you write in Chinese." I tried to muster some sort of excuses. This morning I had an urge to write in Chinese, only to find that I got paralyzed when I attempted to type in Chinese.
A lazy bone, I am. I never pulled myself together and learned to type Chinese in a reasonal speed. For some friends who have received my snail mails, they should know that I do write in Chinese, only in letters though.
I stop to explain from now on. I write and write and if you don't wanna read. Help yourself.
Magaret Atwood: The CanLit Queen. I read something from Atwood this morning.
"Wanting to know an author because you like his work is like wanting to know a duck because you like pat谷."
肥瘦園丁: every morning when I arrive E.L. Building, I meet two workers, weeping the floor near the road junction where petals from a blossoming brush have been falling since Nov. One of them is lean and around 50. The other chubby, around 40.
When I wore short-sleeves, they said, "oh, watch out, you're gonna freeze tonight." I chuckled and just said: Morning! When I wore turtle-neck, they said, "ayah, too hot for today la." I kept chuckling, and said: Morning! Every morning, I have two daddies telling me what should be put on the day (better say, two daddies giving me hard times).
This morning, as usual, I said: Morning! and unusually, I chatted a little more with them.
Lean: "Oh, you finally wear something fitting the weather!"
Duck: "heheh....how long does it take you to weep away the petals every morning?"
Chubby: "hm...half an hour, but after Christmas you will have a surprise!"
Duck: "What surprise???" "Fruits from the brush?"
Chubby: "Nope, silly, you have to petals so thick like cushion, coz no one will be working during Christmas."
Lean: "Yes, yes, you will not hurt even when you fall onto the floor."
The duck immediately thought of the high-school bird in American Beauty, the one bathing in a bathtub of rose petals.
| 12.20.01. Ducky's morning woke at six, got washed, got changed, ran down to the bus station, took cross-harbor bus, boarded KCR, went to Regal Hotal in Shatin,霡etched 8 scholars, settled them in a shuttle bus, took them to a conference, rushed to the dentist, had the dentist rampage my teeth, rushed to my office, photocopied some documents, rushed to KCR, sent out the very final application materials (done! I said, finally), ran back to campus, took the campus big bus, went to the university service center for Chinese studies, attended a luncheon with a talk on NGOs in China, listened to a bunch of researchers talking and presenting while I was trying hard to pay attention, my mind flow away from the talk from time to time, stayed for two hours, left, went to the library, picked up some reserved books, went to the supermarket to get some drink, walked down to the office again, and sat here in front of the PC.... Oh man... never ran around on and off campus so much in one morning ... the duck's old .... ? Yellow
Submarine Yellow Submarine In
the town where I was born The Duck Can't Talk, only Quack Once a while, I like to attend a "grown up" party.. like seminar or conference that I have no idea what they are about.?This afternoon, I went to a luncheon. Before it started, the speaker asked everyone to introduce him/herself and state the kinda research they are doing (everyone, I mean, they are mostly researchers or PhD candidates on campus: one by one, until finally it came to the duck. The duck spoke in broken mandarin: "hmm...I only work here .. not doing any research of my own... my professor asked me to come and so I came." All others: (chuckled at the very frank and shameless duck words).?A few asked with the corners of their mouth waving upwards: "Who's your professor then?" The duck: Professor Lamb ABC (I am sure my Mandarin was terrifying when I came to pronounce his name). Yet, out of the blue , they understood me! Or my professor really gets quite some fame here. Luncheon is a strange thing: a speaker speaking with all audience focusing on the lunch box in front of them.?Worse even, the duck was the last one appearing in the conference room and only curry-chicken lunch box was left (no choice :( snuff.. snuff...) I don't dislike curry chicken, but I do prefer something else, provided that there's a choice. The presenter talked about his research on Voluntary Organizations in China saying about 82.5% of Chinese last year have joined some kind of voluntary work. The listeners were very doubtful: Audience A: "Impossible... 82%.?" Audience B: "How do you define Voluntary work?? Does helping a blind person to cross the road count?" Audience C: "What? Hongkongers... 60% too? Impossible... HK people never do so much...." Audience D: "Yeah, right... only should count those volunteering in institution... helping mum to wash dishes won't count, of course." They went on and went, I tried hard to keep my mind from drifting away to LA. I wondered why they hell they should argue what "voluntary" means? I almost wanted to be nasty and asked (hehe): let us also do a little survey here all together,犲n the past 12 months, how many of you have been involved in any voluntary work? I day dreamed a bit thinking what's their reaction be if I indeed posed such question. But I did not voice of course because they all knew my boss. Don't want them to tell my professor that he has a sick RA. |
12.19.01
For a while, everyone's been in the trend of reading Harry Potter. In Queen's Cafe, Festival Walk, a 40-something businesswoman was sitting there, reading Harry Potter. In subway, you may run into a few OLs, holding Harry Potter. My students, in Primary school, were reading. My nephew was as well, at least, talking about reading them. A friend of mine, a solicitor, has just finished the collection. Ms. V from the office announced she'd finished all four in two weeks. Harry Potter is in cinema, in bookstores, in trains, in bus, at school, at home.
Harry, you make me think of Portugese egg tart, phony Japanese cheesecake, and tiramisu.
Give me a break, will you?
12.08.01.
Uncle Vanya: friends who read your soul and mind often do little things that really tickle you. On Saturaday, in bus#170, I was about to get ready for my tutoring class. Out of the blue, my crippy cellphone rang, and there came the voice of Winnie.
Winnie: "Are you free this afternoon? I got tickets for a play!" Yazi: "hm.. gotta tutor this afternoon :( ... but what is the play about?" Winnie: "Written by Anton Chekhov, called Uncle Vanya, it's about someone chasing after dreams but in vain... something like that." My heart was rippled already because I do like Russian writers. My first English novel (or better say, novels in English ... better say, novels translated into English) is Tolstoy's Anna Karinina. Since then, I began to read pillow-thick Russian novels. I love the complicated Russian names; love the exiles and absurdity in Serbia; love the humanity often raised by the novelists. Unable to resist the temptation, and thinking my student indeed loves dramas a lot as well, I rang her mum and ask if I could take Janice to the play.
Of course, I am always a lucky girl~~~ ho ho ho~~~
Holding Janice's hand from Pacific Place to Central Hall, we were running and running along the rain-wet street.
Not knowing what the play was able, I sat there with no specific expectations.
I'm not a good theatre audience, and I don't know how to enjoy the whole narrative. Similar to my taste of novels--I am not fond of novels with strong plot, but poetive and light narrative, minor parts of a play attract me more than the whole.
Act I: Astrov ( doctor); Marina ( nanny)
Astrov: I sat down and closed my eyes--like this and thought--will our descendants two hundred years from now, for whom we are breaking the road, remember to give us a kind word? No, nurse, they will forget.
Marina: Man is forgetful, but God remembers.
Act II: Alexander (professor) and Helena (his wife, step mother of Sonia), Sonia (daughter of Alexandr)
Alexander: I have spent my life working in the interests of learning. I am used to my library and the lecture hall, and to the esteem and admiration of my colleagues. Now suddenly I find myself plunged in this wilderness, condemned to see the same stupid people from morning till night and listen to their futile conversatiion. I want to live: I long for success and fame and the stir of the world, and here I am in exile!
..........
Sonia: One more question: Do you wish your husband were young?
Helena: What a child you are! Of course, ask something else.
Act III: Vanya (protagonist of the play)
Vanya: Wait! I have not done yet. You have wrecked my life. I have never lived! My best years have gone for nothing, have been ruined, thanks to you! You are my most bitter energy!
Act IV:
Sonia: What can we do? We must live our lives. [A pause] Yes, we shall live, Uncle Vanya. We shall live through the long procession of days before us, and through the long evenings; we shall patiently bear the trials that fate imposes on us; we shall work for others without rest, both now and when we are old; and when our last hour comes we shall meet it humbly, and there, beyond the grave, we shall say that we have suffered and wept, that our life was bitter, and God will have pity on us. Ah, then dear, dear Uncle, we shall see that bright and beautiful life; we shall rejoice and look back upon our sorrow here; a tender smile--and--we shall rest. I have faith, Uncle, fervent, passionate faith. [SONIA kneels down before her uncle and lays her head on his hands. She speaks in a weary voice] We shall rest. We shall rest. We shall hear the angels. We shall see heaven shining like a jewel. We shall see all evil and all our pain sink away in the great compassion that shall enfold the world. Our life will be as peaceful and tender and sweet as a caress. I have faith; I have faith. [She wipes away her tears] My poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you are crying! [Weeping] You have never known what happiness was, but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait! We shall rest. [She embraces him] We shall rest. We shall rest.
.............
A family of unsatisfied souls: a doctor's plagued by pains and lament if what he does would be remembered; a professor aspires to get fame and respect but in no avail; Sonia, a girl who cannot find her love; Helena, a proud beauty [Oh boy, why does Helena, this name, equal to beauty? Still in Trojan War?] who's stuck in a miserable marriage; and Vanya, a man who devotes his life time to identify with the professor, but find himself totally lost at last. Each character reflects some aspects of human agony--we strive for something we don't have, and we mold ourselves into someone we're not. In return, what do we get? Despair?
What is the last resort?
At least, lots of Russian writers, when facing unsolvable human problems, when seeing the plight of serfs, gear the hopes on religion. I don't know how to answer this, but the play is too blue.
Sky is blue, ocean is blue, my jeans are blue and he is blue.
12.07.01.
Muffler and Cross: Being the youngest child of my own family, I sometimes feel absurb when friends look up on me as a big sister. Recently, a friend, Susan, 2 years younger, tends to treat me that way. It brings some uneasy feelings. Guess I still like to be treated as the youngest spoiled brat at home. Last weekend, this little sister in God's family handed me a Christmas gift, first one this year, a muffler she knitted.
"Dora, Merry Christmas, it's for you," Susan gingerly handed me the little package. I took it, with a big smile, and touched on the muffler. One side was a bit shorter than the other, I observed.
"See, it's different in two sides. Look, there's a cross on this side. It's Christ who keeps you warm," she chuckled. Never had I recieved a "hand-made" scarf; so I was indeed thrilled. .
This morning, when the weather turned cooler, I had my usual casual wear on -- blue jeans and green sweater. And I took the colorful muffler out of my closet and put it around my neck. Walking down to my office, I felt incredibly warm. At the same time, I kept looking at the cross on the muffler and felt something heavy. Wearing it reminds me of Christ's words in Luke (9:23): "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me."
Take up the cross, not only that. BUT DAILY!
The love is accompanied by the cross. That's what I have been trying to learn and understand as a baby Christian.
Once I asked a friend if it's difficult to be a Christian. He said: Yes or No. Yes because God takes the load for us if we are to let Him to be in charge; no because Christ does tell us to carry the cross and follow. The muffler kept me noticing it: the warm and the weight. The Grace and the sacrifice. To receive and to submit.
Years ago, a friend's Dad, a 60-something experienced business man, said to me: "Dora, young people in these days always want a magic key. A magic key that will open the door of sucess in split second. Magic key never exists, remember." His words were imprinted on my mind. In my spiritual quest, I do notice my desire for a magic key. I want to gain yet resist to let go the belongings I cling on.
When I accepted the muffler, I did not know there's some weight on it indeed. I thnk it's like how we began to come into our Faith.
When many of us proclaim: I BELIEVE. We weren't very clear the profoundness of the claim. Sometimes we did not even know exactly what we meant by we believed! It takes patience, time, effort to truly understand what we choose to accept. And it takes more effort to follow what we choose to believe.
| 12.04.01. Journey to Ixtland: The Lessons of Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda |
Journey to Ixtland also reminds me of one of my greatest loves, language. It's hard to classify the book: a bit of an ethnography, a bit of a literature, a bit of a spiritual journey. Written in the early 70s, the book centers on Castaneda, an anthropologist who was to research on a special herb used by the Native Indians. He then comes across Don Juan. Juan, instead of teaching him anything about that herb, takes him a spiritual journey, a self discovery through teaching him how to become a hunter. The dichotomy of Don Juan's world and Castaneda's world (our world) fascinates me most. Gradually, Castaneda becomes able to meander between the two worlds smoothly. While reading the book, I constsant got new insight into the word-- "reality." We grow up in what-we-believe-our-"reality". Or reality grows on us embedding us with various notions--people have to work, marry, raise kids, save money, make a fortune. All the presumptions we have about what "reality" are ingrained; yet Don Juan, the Shaman, offers another "reality" to Castaneda: flower can talk, deer can talk, a pebble can be as big as a universe. More, the book advocates something very Zen Buddhist--life is not a prolonged chase, instead "we have to live everyday as if it's the last battle." I wonder, if there's a "reality" at all. If there is, such "reality" will be highly constructed by languages. We learn our "reality" through listening and reading about how society (this society) has created to us. Castaneda does not understand Don Juan because Juan's beliefs aren't embedded in our "language". Yet, we creative human beings are actively creating "reality" as well. In "Conversations with Isabel Allende." Allende, the Chilean writer, also mentions that in her "autobiography" Paula, and her interviews, she constantly creates reality. So it's hard to say what's fictional what's real. It comes down to the point I thought often as a youngster: is fiction real? or if reality a fiction. Like the lyrics in Faye Wong's song, Eyes On Me: Was It Real, or Was it Just a Fantasy? |