02.26.02
失喪的小狗
昨夜六時許已經做了飯，吃了飯，洗了澡，棒槌 了並涼了一露台衣物。了了，草草了事，早早睡了。
清早五時起來，一邊看書一邊等日出。
很愛清曉 的寧靜，更愛日光未明時山麓黝黝的輪廓。靈修時看到詩篇91:11-12
91:11 因他要為你吩咐他的使者、在你行的一切道路上保護你。
頓時有點感動，祂真愛我，路上的確有不住的守護天使。上班時間到了，便輕快走上士林路，在暖暖日光中自由自在地馳騁。不久，便並上了一隻失喪的小狗。
我不是特別喜歡小狗，但不由得緩下腳步與那在車道上的牠談了好一會。不熟悉狗隻的我說不出牠是什麼品種，但長毛、短小、眼大的牠顯然不是流浪的唐狗。我叫牠為失喪的小狗，因牠眼神很迷失，長久沒有修剪及沖刷的毛告訴我，牠應該離開了主人好些日子。牠呆頭鵝般在車道上左思右想，左行右企。
有車行近時，牠不會像流浪太般靈活閃避，牠只是傻傻的前行。遠處有車行近時，我會說: 「狗狗快D行埋一邊，有車噢 !」牠望望我，似乎聽不明白，繼續上路。一陣子，我會問: 「狗狗你住係邊度? 我帶你番屋企!」牠望望我，似乎聽不明白，繼續上路。
路上的司機都耐心停下，等待小狗走過，他們沒有為難牠，卻不時對我投下輕蔑的目光，無聲中似乎在說:「你怎樣養狗呀...沒有狗帶嗎...不會跟狗剪毛嗎...唉唉...」
我心想: 我才不會養這樣笨的狗...這樣難看的狗...
我一邊想離家，喪失的小狗已經百般無奈;失喪的人、不認識或離開了主宰的人更叫我疙疙瘩瘩。
當人家停車問我:「這是你的狗嗎?」-- 我會用力搖頭 (我才不會養這樣的狗!)。但如果撒旦問神:「那亂七八糟的孩子是你的嗎?」神必定點頭，祂愛不完全的我甚於一切。
我最後亦要離開小狗，口中唸著: 「請吩咐小天使、在牠行的一切道路上保護。」
02.25.02
鴨行山
不知是否近日文字比較藍，電郵和留言信箱都有絲絲關懷的說話。鴨子實在游得樂陶陶，害人家擔心，罪過。
星期天早上五時才去睡， 八時便醒過來。鴨子從不賴床，儘管什麼時間上床，都在八時左右起來，在懶洋洋的週末亦如此。打電話給盈，當上機師，說很疲倦，行不了山。身體是疲憊 ; 心卻很精神。吃下鴨媽媽做的稀飯，便發瘋的看和寫。
八時半溜走，早堂祟拜逃之夭夭。一寫便寫至十一時半，向午堂祟拜揮揮手。正午還是咎無可辭，心知要往山上走走，親近神。
沒有再給電話盈，因我要獨處的心。換上輕便的衣服，背上背囊，歡虎兒似的奔上巴士站。心裡沒有必然要去的地方，我愛即興 ; 心想那班巴士先來便到那個山上去，結果 41A 跑出了，再登紫羅蘭山徑。
準備還好，知道可走遠一點 ; 結果作了半個環島游 : 黃泥涌--紫羅蘭 山徑--赤柱--大潭--石澳。
到了大潭至石澳沿海的一段，我打電話到太平洋另一端的他，很想跟他分享滄溟，熒熒的 陽光和柔柔的風。我說行了三個多小時已有點倦，但不太清楚還有三小時要走，還是一小時。
他輕輕帶著像父親的語調問 : 「為什麼您不計劃好一點呢?」
我笑笑，吐吐舌，奔奔跑跑去了。
早上，狐狸電郵問--我在想鴨行山會怎樣?
由我告訴大家罷!
......
鴨行山
鴨行山會束小馬尾
鴨行山會背背囊
鴨行山會跟神說話
鴨行山會聆聽神說話
鴨行山會兜攬人家背著的嬰孩(總是洋孩子)
鴨行山會回頭偷看健壯跑者在陽光中汗流浹背的背影
鴨行山會行會跑會停下看看海看看日落看看無際
鴨行山會得意揚揚
......
他問 : 「為什麼您不計劃好一點呢?」
您知道答案了嗎?
我一直走在人生的路並不在乎那裡是終點結果，我不要富足的生活，不要人家記念我 ; 我只樂此不疲路上的雞毛小事。
或許我不知終點是如何，但神同在。
還有感謝神，叫您在我旅途中出現。
後記:
今早其中電郵說:
「愛上一個人不需要靠努力，只需要靠「際遇」，是上天的安排，但是「持續地愛一個人」就要靠「努力」，在愛情的經營中，順暢運轉的要素就是溝通、體諒、包容與自制」。
Scruples
Scruples mean morals or ethics.
Last night we were playing the board game, Scruples, till two in the morning. One has to ask a question involving a moral dilemma and guess what kind of answer his/her mates would offer when being in such dilemma.
We talked with, laughed at, chuckled at, challenged, mocked at and explained to each other, with great fun, in early hours of the day, detailing the rest what we would do in certain circumstances.
When a woman whom you are holding in bed for the first time suddenly tells you that she's married, would you just jump out of bed or continue? If you find an elderly woman shop-lift some bacon, would you bother? As a researcher who's close to develop a cure to leukemia and to get the Nobel prize, would you agree to collaborate the research with another researcher who could provide you with significant information?
I like this game not because I believe it can tell the truth of a person. I like it because I think the differences between hypothetical situation and reality are interesting, sometimes.
We all like the ask question beginning with the big IF.
What if I get a few millions all of a sudden?
Don't want to do anything.
Feel bad not going to church in the morning. Tell the kids I cannot teach them today. Send a raincheck to Susan for hiking.
I just want to be lazy at home.
Physically I am very tired, my body's fatigue. Yet mind is just too sober pushing me to read and write.
You know, when people are close to dying, they would have a few minutes being extremely conscious. I am like in that situation. I know I am at the verge of falling.
With my face looking slightly around, I said, "I WILL BE BACK!"
The first time she heard of the name, White Spot, she thought of symptoms of a terminal illness or the signs of aging. White spot, not really a nice name, she muttered to herself.
White Spot is where middle-aged, if not elderly, people with Anglo-Saxon ancestry who would like to spend time during morning breakfast. The menu is a fusion of European and American menu. Going to White Spot is like going to a Chinese teahouse in which only singled middle-aged guys, or silver-haired couples will go.
Once a while, she liked the Egg Benedicts in White Spot, with a cup of milk. It's heavy.
Going inside White Spot would end up being with old Brits. They two young people always went there though, being two inharmonic souls among others, like a cellist playing out of tune for some dashing seconds. Dinning in the car in the driving take-out reminded us of the N. American soil they set in. The speed and indifference of food.
The first time they went, they were both speechless. He pulled over. The waitress came. He rolled down the side window. He asked her to give them some seconds. He asked another her what she wanted to have. She said she didn't know. He asked would she like to try country burger. She said anything he ordered.
Awhile, the waitress took a 4-feet-long steel holder, in which all the food was put upon, and placed the holder across the window seals of his car. They sat there, speechless, looking at country burger and milkshake and fries and vinegar and salt and ketchup and HP and napkins. He looked at her, speechless.
They munched on the food. She did not really like fries nor burger. He asked if she enjoyed. She nodded with a smile.
He did not ask her any more why she wanted that. He drove her home after that. White Spot was beginning of the divergent paths.
She often remember him as "White Spot." He is very British in many ways. She should not say that. He would correct her, "hey, it's not British, it's Scottish." He is very American in a way, more American than many American. He is the very few Canadians who would say that Canada is just a pseudo-colony of the US. A Canadian who would laugh at the Canadian complex--as a little ant standing right next to an elephant, Uncle Sam.
He's the kind who never fits in any pigeon hole. Chinese would consider him Caucasian. Caucasian see him Asian. The Deaf find him hear too much. The hearing find him deaf. The Canadian find him too American; the DC dwellers say he's Californian; a Vancouverite, his neighbor, once asked him if he was Portuguese; a Japanese store-owner from whom they bought mintago asked him if he's Native Indian.
He's White Spot because he serves the customers who run into his place, females mainly.
Only to find him losing his own soul, at last.
Fox, Cat, and Duck, the three animals in the forest, keep talking about each other in the cyber world.
Sometimes I think we are more in congruent with life in a mental hospital than forest.
We don't go well with forest life, or nature at large.
On the contrary, we serve better in a mad men home. That's where we should feel more belonged to.
Duck has multiple-split personality who think one thing at one time and one at the other, or ten things at one time or a hundred.
Cat has maniac-depression. One time so hyper, sleepless and restless; another totally depressive and recoiled.
Fox has obsessive-compulsive disorder, who cannot help writing no matter how "terrible" he thinks his writing is, and how many times he claim he cannot write.
It isn't so bad to be locked up in the institute indeed. In Coelho's Veronika Decides to Die, it's suggested that people who have desire to do what they want to do had better be locked up. Not for the sake of society, but the inmates. It's because all the strange things stigmatized as weird and cynical will become normal and acceptable beyond the walls of the mental hospital. Nothing seems strange any longer. All people there respect your choice because they know it's "normal" when they know that you are mad man.
Three Animals, and a Funeral. Funeral to the Forest.
02.23.02
Marry Messy Family
Skippy is an Aussie slang for Kangaroo.
Skippy is a mixture of mentor, good friend, brother, counselor, consultant, joker, caregiver, headache of mine.
I often think Skippy's life story will make a good novel.
The first ten years little Skippy lived under the killing field of Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. Life wasn't so guarantee of course when he was running around landmines. Skippy family smuggled themselves to Thailand, Vietnam and after different paths, ended up in a refugee camp of Australia, where Skippy's new life took root. After Skippy stepped onto the Aussie soul, the first meal of his family was given by some priests--and the whole family converted from Buddhist to Christian ever since.
In the refugee camp, little Skippy met a girl, from Vietnam, a few years older. They became friends, fought, picked on each other for years, and finally, some ten years later, they married and gave birth to two little lovely skippies.
Skippy is someone who tries in all efforts to live up to what he said--his navy training taught him to obey commands even when death befalls him. Skippy is someone who would flunk his license as a medical practitioner for the sake of saving a bedridden dying lady, whom no other doctors would dare to save.
Sometimes, when I ran into a problem, Skippy would often come up with a list of books--so that I could read and seek for the answer.
Yesterday I asked Skippy, "What does forming a family mean?" "Why did you get married?"
This question has been hovering in my mind especially since Chinese New Year days, after I have heard a lot stories about family--a mother ran away from the family and left the kids unattended, and then another mother and father of another family ran away as well leaving all kids to be attended by an uncle; my cousin, who had three kids, made another woman pregnant and had another kid, and the mother of the three kids was upset, yet began to look for another partner, and two kids out of three followed the grandmother to live, and one kid out of three went to live with the mother who has already found a guy to live with (what a mess!); a Susan's two sisters moved out from home before New Year after an argument and did not want to go home for New Year, and the mother of my friend weep over reunion dinner feeling both anguish and hurt.
My question is -- why should people hurt people so close to them? why people lay little patience to family, in comparison to friends or even lovers? why do people get marry or give birth to kids if they cannot live up to what they vow?
And the most thought-booming question: what does a family mean to me? will I ever be capable of upholding one?
Skippy typed me a list of books, and said, "Happy reading, love to share with you all I got and have learned from the past."
......
Last night after I had attended a fellowship meeting, I went back to my dormitory very late, waiting for the last shuttle bus. A little 2-year-old was playing with his daddy, while waiting for the shuttle bus. Out of the blue, the little soul stopped playing, and stared at me.
I smiled to him.
He looked at me and said, "mummy." Both of his daddy and I laughed. His daddy said in English (they are Chinese though), "Your mummy is home." The boy called me mum once again. I chuckled, "sweetie, you must be sleepy now at this hour; I am not your mummy ah."
The people waiting for the shuttle bus beamed.
There were times that I fantasize about becoming a mother. For years, this is more of an idea to replace the somewhat defective family experience (I perceived as such): to create or construct somewhat for the sake of replacing the [ain I had in the past. Yet, the more I march in life, the less I am inclined to feel that way.
I am sick and tired of working hard to prove to parents that girls are as good as boys; of getting the best grades to prove to relations and friends that I can be outstanding, despite my background; of doing things for the covering the past, wrapping up the past Dora with a mask so thick and fake.
I don't want to live for the past, nor the future.
I just want to uphold this very moment. The present.
Yesterday is history
I had better go to the library and look for the books.
I am looking forward to walking in Nature on Sunday again. I am a little tired.
Cast Away
I asked him if he thinks he could survive like Tom Hanks in a forsaken island.
He said such a hypothetical question is hard to say.
I think if they give me pens and papers, I can endure quite some time.
Yet I remember the prolific Taiwanese writer Li Ou once said--life in prison is repetative. Monday's dairy is like Tuesday's. One day's dairy is like one week's dairy. One week's dairy is the same as the whole year. So what people have to do is to write one day and have it xeroxed 365 times for one year.
Perhaps even writing won't help me to endure.
Perhaps one just have to do what Hanks said in the movie--focusing only on breathing in and out.
Melt down your whole spectrum of life into breath-in and breath-out. The the very moment of this moment.
That's what the whole life builds upon.
02.22.02
可以飛得更遠是很多人的夢想吧? 但他們不怕飛得高, 趺得痛嗎? -- fatty asked.
It took me some time in KCR ride, shower, bedtime to try to come up with an answer, but to no avail.
Last summer, in heavy downpours, colleague Berlin rushed to my room and said, "Duck, come and rescue a little bird." Having taken a little box, we headed down to the Lotus pond. Right next to the band of the pond, beside a tree trunk, found we a little wounded bird, bleeding badly, semi-conscious.
Neither of us being a vet, we used the very limited first-aids concepts from Red Cross or St. John's Ambulance training to try to save the bird. Bandages, cotton and amateur physicians' fingers of us waltzed around the little bird for some 15 minutes. The bird was bleeding badly in the head, in which the feathers were all gone. It could not stand but agonize with its eyes closed.
After taking care of its wound, Berlin grained some digestive biscuits with the back of a teaspoon, and we tried, with the capsule of a blue ball pen, to feed the little bird. The bird wasn't able to swallow. I had to push the capsule to almost hit its throat so that the bird would swallow in almost like a reflective mode. It reminded me of baby birds which got fed by bird parents--when the latter push their mouth so far inside the baby's mouth to have the food wolfed down by the former suggesting the bird was more or less an infant.
The very next day, the little bird died.
With a fork, a little box, and the dead body, Berlin and I went back to where we found the bird to bury it. The sky was clear, no more rain like the day before. I could get a better picture of the place we found the bird. I looked up the three-storey-high tree, only to find a bird nest there.
The mystery of how the bird got wounded was explained: the baby bird tried to fly or accidentally dropped down from the nest. Perhaps the rain-wet wings failed it. Perhaps the immature feathers. Perhaps the like of flying skills. Perhaps....
但他們不怕飛得高, 趺得痛嗎?
Fatty, sometimes we aren't so sure about life. Yet, we all have to fly one day because we cannot stay in the nest forever. In love, in work, in life at large, we have to come to make the important decision one day--are we ready to fly?
It takes lots of trials and errors, practice, calculation, and at times guts to open our wings. Yes, it's right--it hurts when we fall. The higher we fly, the greater the pain it is when we fall down. Yet, we never know if we will fly, will glide, will rise, or will drop, will fall, will fail unless we try.
My friend, we all come to the same ending in life at last -- death?
Perhaps it worthies a dive and fly when we know that we all, one day, must die anyway. May as well take the good use of the time we have now, not blindly; yet, fly when you feel ready.
02.21.02
今晨，覺得要用中文寫點東西。
一寫鴨子的媽媽
鴨子的媽媽是隻不折不扣的母雞。母雞很會生小雞，一生便六頭 ; 聽說本來是七頭，但最大的孩子在三十多年前種痘時發熱，聽說母雞不懂如何是好，剛從大陸小農村偷渡到肥土鎮，人生路不熟，不知醫生是耶非耶。孩子死了，母雞從此未提這事。 母雞有了五頭小雞後，覺得夠了; 從此意外有了孩子，都到何二姑可怖的地方打掉他們。每回都是獨自一人到那地方去，頭昏昏獨自離去，母雞從此未提這事。
那年冬天母雞再意外有了孩子，母雞頻喝綠豆水，想弄掉孩子。不知是否此孩頑強，還是何二姑一時失手，孩子意外地在黃梅暑天孵出，是頭小鴨。 小鴨跟其他小雞不同，常常任性地做自己想做的事－－小鴨女孩子人家卻要童子軍，要唸書，中五要到曲奇餅小國住上一年，大學要到楓葉國去，要跟人家同居－－母雞百般無奈，卻給小鴨做小鴨的事，從不迫她做小雞，不迫她做火雞，不迫她做竹絲雞。
母雞沒有得到自己母親的愛，呱呱墜地不久便賣了給人家；但她卻是極為孩子捨己。 母雞不曾唸書，卻讓小鴨沒頭沒腦的唸。 高傲的親友總說母雞的孩子沒出息；母雞卻總在親友病魔纏身時不離不棄的送上湯水。母雞在人家婚禮上送不上最厚的禮；但她卻在人家葬禮上掉最多的淚。母雞做飯很豐富，平常一晚必有魚有肉有菜有湯；但她只等我們嚥下最好的東西後，才起筷．母雞不會教孩子做功課，不懂為孩子安排名校，不要我們作所謂的專業人事；她會保護孩子，叫孩子免受傷害。
小時侯很怕玩麻鷹捉雞仔，很怕作母雞，覺得作母雞是吃力不討好的工作，小雞總難免給老鷹吃掉．
她是隻不折不扣的母雞，因她總拼命與老鷹作對，叫孩子免受傷害．
不屑的孩子可會往花旗國飛，叫母雞哽咽多次．
Many Trivialities
Trivial 001
Last night he said he felt like getting closer to the edge of a cliff. Closer.
I don't know what jumping down means to him. He neither. Yet, all I know is that no matter what you choose to do, I would be happy for you.
Although I don't have atitudinal phobia, I don't feel very comfortable when getting close the any cliff-like area. The best place to look at cliffs is in Tung Lung Island--the renowned area in with lots of Jin Rong's TV adaptations were shot, with actors and actresses flying across cliffs.
Years ago my elder brother went to play bungee jump in Indonesia, and have the whole process recorded on a tape. Coming home, he showed the little movie of his jump to my mother, only to make her almost faint at the spot. I watched it too, and I doubted if I would like to try it.
I am not someone who would get excited about those exciting things such as Roller Coaster, downhill skiing, sky surfing, or bungee jumping. A moment of excitement is not too appealing to me.
If there's a day, with feathers being full, you stretch your wings and jump, gliding along the wind, let me know. I would want to watch you fly high in the sky. I would wish so much you could find where you belong.
Case Closed.
Trivial 002
After learning that one of the referees had not sent the recommendations to graduate schools I applied, I could not waste my time but to find a new referee. At first, I wanted to find out why he did not keep to his words. Yet, I later realized that I should not be so bothered by it. It's only a small matter and I shouldn't sweat it over.
Learning a lesson after another: stop when emotions build, handle an issue with calmness, and it can avoid causing nuisance to others, and avoid lots of anguish to oneself. Happy again.
Thanks Louisa indeed. She's what you would name--a feminist, an environmentalist, rigid vegetarian, and animal/human-rights protester. All those grand names do not make this charming lady fearful. She's indeed a very gentle woman.
I met her through a mutual friend, Hiroshi, whom I am not sure where he's right now. Harvard? UT at Austin? That silly dude once teased that he's the reincarnation of Freud. And me, of course, is Dora--the patient of Freud. Are you doing okay out in this universe? Still helping out people in Guatemala?
Case Closed.
Trivial 003
Angela, the very mother of mother in this office, came into my office with a little email printout in hands, from her nephew in NY, a high-schooler. The little boy was very upset after being called "nerd" by his peers. Angela came in and asked me what she should say to console her nephew overseas.
Sometimes I do wonder if I am an RA in this office, because I get to do more teaching work, counseling work, than research work.
She circumvented for so long, taking me to visit the whole 大觀園, only to let me figure out much later that what she seeked for was someone help her write the email.
As usual, I did not reject a request when I could handle it with my ability. Soon, I should learn to stop smiling too easily when requests are forwarded to me.
Suddenly, I felt a little strange in front of the PC telling a high-schooler that I could understand his confusion and anguish when being rejected by peers. Indeed, I have been there before. The process of growing up is painful at times, especially when people who don't fit it too well with the peers. Although I believe I am a friendly person, I was quite a "folded-up" kid in my school life. I did not identify too well with the beliefs and styles of my classmates. The cost of not being in trend and flowing to them is a little solitude and loneliness at times.
I don't know what really I should say to the boy, but I mustered an email quite long. Writing and babbling are genes I had as a baby.
Angela was so happy when she got my email, and took me three pieces of Seaweed eggrolls, telling me that a few difficult words in the email she could not understand.
I did not and could not do much with my limited knowledge. But I gave a little prayer, a very quick one, so that God will handle it.
Case Closed.
Trivial 004
Finished the lecture notes for Saturday's class for the Fifth-banders! Yeah!
Irene wrote me a short email saying: Dora, you better be careful for the Third-formers, some of them are real naughty!
I never liked my own English teachers throughout my schooling. Perhaps, he's right, it's time for me to pay back the debt I owned to English teachers--all the bluntness, cruelty, jeers.
Money, I cannot deny, is the first motivator for me to take up the post of teaching the notorious students. However, I do have a little desire in my heart to see how much I could handle students who don't behave too well. In my past teaching experiences, students are often very well-behaved. I never meet a nuts-case. No matter how many times Susan said that I could be a GTO teacher, the kind who would get along well with problematic students, I still want to test my patience and tolerance. Will I be the kind being picked on by students, who would go to toilet and weep during breaks? Will I be the kind like a hawker in the market shouting and yelling back? Will I be the kind totally indifferent to whatever situation taking place? I don't know, I still don't know what kind of approach I am to take if anything happens.
I will tell you what I am like, when the real test befalls me later on.
God bless them. Bless the students. I think they are eager to learn, and they just don't get too much encouragement throughout the time.
Case not yet closed.
Trivial 005
Once upon a time, in a forest lived a fox, a cat and a duck. One day the fox shouted for help, asking if there's any animal in the forest who could help. The duck went to the cat. They eyed on each other, only to find that they were the only animals in the forest. And they, despite the fact that never touched media laws, offered respectively a helping paw and a helping web.
Fox, do you still need our paw and web? If yes, just shout ma. Otherwise, once you have passed Suzhou, there won't be any boat anymore.
Case pending.
Trivial 006
Packed schedule: Today, Christian Spirituality with Dr. Wan. After class, wanna finish Nouwen's The Road to Daybreak. Tomorrow night, tutor Janice. Friday night, fellowship. Sat, tutoring Fifth-banders. Sat night, concert. After concert, joining the gang of Perspectives to rampage Teresa's home. Sunday, worship. AND la la la la HIKING AGAIN!!!!!!!!
Many Cases opening.
02.19.02 人言可畏
Everyday I draft a short to-do-list on back an old credit card receipt or a used envelope, carrying it on the back pocket of my jeans during the day. Rarely would I take it out during the day; at night, when I get changed, I would eye on the list again, only to find, from time to time, I have written so many and done so few.
Every night, as such, I carry a list of things unfinished to bed and to my dreams, and I wake up in the morning, just to write more again.
Hardly could I ever finished all the tasks listed because I am someone who always wants to do more than I should, and carries more on my load that I could. But this habit hasn't stopped.
To Do: (TUE)
- wake early, read
It's just Tuesday now; but I am thinking of Sunday. I just want to hike alone.
Don't-List
Don't tell me you are my friend if you aren't.
Don't say anything because I am a naive girl.
I believe what you say.
I may as well keep my mouth shut lest I should say something I don't mean it.
人言可畏
02.18.02 More hikes
Caucasians residing in Hong Kong often take the pleasure walking in many hiking paths offered in the country side of Hong Kong. Some local city dwellers, however, sometimes ignore this priceless leisure of this little island. I spent the six days hiking by myself in this New Year holiday. This time, a new path.
Violet Hill Path
My fervent fever for hiking alone brought me to Violet Hill Path yesterday, right after Sunday worship.
It's the first time I tried this path, but I have long heard that this is a breath-taking path, in the sense that it's not too easy to hike while it offers a scene so charming to resist. To start, you have to go reach Wong Lai Chung Reservoir; on the side of the main gate you would find a little path, leading to the lovely Violet Hill Path.
At the start, a sign was held informing hikers to get well-prepared for the hike because the routes are not very well-pathed and they are just next the some steep slopes bringing you down to the sea if you walk carelessly. Without backpack, nor first aids gears, nor even a bottle of water, I began to walk. Of course, I did not have company neither. This is a very lousy hiker. Honestly, I should take better care of myself. Remember if you go, always bring water, sample first aids gears, and you should hike with at least one partner.
Susan always said I was too gutsy.
I said, "I am just silly."
Violet Hill Path is a place that brings serenity. The path was very narrow and a little rugged; yet, once you turn your eyes into the right overlooking Shousan Hill (壽臣山) , Deep Water Bay (深水灣) , Repulse Bay (淺水灣) and Nam Wan (南灣), you will find all sweats worthy.
After an hour of walk, I ran into a juncture thinking if I should head down to Stanley, or Tai Tam, or hike up to Violet Hill.
I chose the way up.
I am never a strong hiker, especially when going uphill. My breath and heart oftentimes race like crazy when I march up. Yet, that's always why I love hiking--it's a good way to train my mind, to make me more perseverant, to strengthen my will. It did not take me a short while to notice I have indeed chosen the tough path to go, especially I began to feel a little thirsty.
The priest at church said that Jerusalem is located on the hill, not lowland. That's partly why in many books and verses in the Bible, people had to ask God for company when they went to Jerusalem because the mountain roads were not too safe. Sweating, I wanted from time to time to stop a person or two to give me some water; yet, I didn't. I know if I walk slowly, and don't let my metabolism run too fast, I should handle the hill without much problems.
I enjoy being in the mountains, climbing one after another.
Many a times, I wish he would be hiking with me, despite my love of solitude. I want him to enjoy the lovely hike with me. We would be very happy if we walk together. The path is very long, but I will walk with you, just like a life journey.
After some hundreds of steps, I finally saw a trigonometrical pole--an indicator that I have reached the top of the hill! Yeah!
I shouted loud to the valley, just to hear the valley echoes back.
I love this New Year Holiday so much; I love all the hills I have climbed, rocks I have stepped, and words I have shared with you on the phone, with me on the hills, you in the bustle city.
What I like to see most while hiking: a family--parents plus a baby on the backpack, and the little one walking with them. With the background of breezy mountains and wavy sea, the family creates the most charming picture of the universe. If one day I have a kid, I will put him/her into a hiking backpack for carrying kids and to have them get close to Nature, as if to God. Like a little angel flying on the hills.
I begin to get excited about where I will go next Sunday.
Lantau Peak
Wait for him and me
to hold each other
You carry a charm
02.16.02
原來你什麼都不要
作詞：鄔裕康 / 作曲：郭子
我不要你的呵護 你的玫瑰
我不要你的承諾 不要你的永遠
Together with my little sister in God's family, Susan, I spent a lovely afternoon hiking from Parkview in Wong Lai Chung Road to Tai Tam and walked back.
The sun has been too generous in these few New Year days, beaming at me on a regular basis. Every time I got close to Nature, being peaceful and quiet, I would hear clearer God's will.
The first time I went to that hiking path dated back to my Form One, when I was a girl scout. That was an overnight hike at the time when Parkview wasn't even open for residents. Night journey is indeed appealing: all you see is the dark outlines of mountains. You feel completely embraced by darkness.
My passion in hiking began during those years in scout team. A place I frequently miss yet don't quite find the chance to visit again is Lantau Peak. It's the best place in Hong Kong to see sunrises. Usually you have to start to walk uphill at about nine or ten in the evening, and reach the mountain top in early hours of the day. The few times I was there, we wrapped each other in sleeping bags and big garbage bags waiting for the sun to come up. Apart from the awesome sunrise, clouds there were so low that they galloped across watersheds of hills like racing horses.
People, I think, should spend some days watching sun rises in a year.
Sun rises help people to realize how important it is to take things one day at a time: the sun sets, but it also rises.
People living in city get lost in their mind oftentimes mostly because they look too far ahead. They plan for their retirements, they work for their future, they save money for wedding; while, they can't hardly live for the present. Perhaps justifying myself, I believe sometimes we miss out the present if we see too far ahead.
The further I bend, the farther I look, all I see is emptiness.
Susan asked, "Do you think it's possible between you and him?"
I replied, "Anything is possible."
I don't know the future, but I know who's holding it. God's hand. Knowing that is enough.
Love, I don't know what tomorrow will be like, but trust me that I am trying and I want to try. I don't know the future but I do what I can at present. Time will tell.
Boredom Yesterday while I was in Citysuper, a friend asked: What bores you?
I used a short while to think and replied, "I am really quite self-sufficient, and could endure being alone and spending an afternoon reading a book and going hiking by myself, feeling still very satisfied." What I was suggesting is that I very seldom say "how bored it is!"
Recently, with Valentine's Day being around, I heard lots of friends, esp. people without partners saying: I AM SO BORED!
This morning I took some time to think of a list of
THINGS THAT BORE ME:
1) Being lectured on Jin Yong's novels by Jin Yong's "fansees."
See, actually a lot of things will bore me. Having said that, I am going to hike today again, the four times in five days, and having oatmeal for breakfast again, a everyday routine.
Everyone has different Archilles' heels--for some, maybe loneliness; for me, maybe lack of solitude.
02.15.02. Listening When I was young, sometimes my brothers and I would bet on a game--that I would be silent for half an hour. If I could hold my peace for so long, 2 dollars would be given to me.
Seldom would I win.
They knew too well that their little sister was, undoubtedly, a chatterbox.
As time goes by, I am more convinced that it's more important to listen than to talk. Sucking up people's life stories is something I oftentimes do, especially, to strangers one or two generations older than me. A story-thief, I am a.
In the summer of 1997, I was working in a little company called Relocations as a secretary (in jeans and saddles, not heels nor skirts). That's a job that I enjoyed because the whole atmosphere of the working place was pretty relaxing. Once a while my Caucasian co-workers would bring their babies over and have them climbed amid files, documents and wires, like little kittens.
The company was near Lan Kwai Fong, Central, and every morning I would be the first patron of McDonald in Lan Kwai Fong, together with a 70-something old man working near Stanley street.
McDonald always left me alone to read my pillow-thick Russian novels in solitude. Yet, it took a little while to break this solitude because the old man gradually got quite amused by this stranger reading Tolstoy's Resurrection while munching on Egg Muffin.
Mr.70, I would call, opened a stock-exchange company for many years, since he moved down from the Mainland. He spoke in Mandarin with an accent so strong that I could hardly comprehend; I spoke in Cantonese almost immune to his ears. Every morning, we would spend some time talking: he in his tongue and I in mine--while not be sure how much we made the other understood.
Making others to talk is an easy task. Most people are very self-concious, if not self-centred, in fact. The way to open their mouth is to bring up topics that interest THEM. With elderly, the sure-win mouth-opening topic is their kids. Once they begin to talk about their children, they would be like a dam flooded over by rainstorms, so irresistable.
Mr. 70 told me about his only son residing in the UK, with wife and kids. He did not say it out though, I knew from his expression and tone that he would very much to have them by his side.
He had a company and money and respectful workers; yet, he wanted love from his own child most.
I have seen so many: people wearing nicely and living comfortably only wish to have true human love.
A few years ago, the mother of my friend, who's driving two sports Mercedes, told her son that her dream car is a Rolls-Royce. Human desires are incessant. The more people have, the less satisfied they become. Another thing I observe is that when people spend their strength to accumulate wealth and fame, they would often end up depleting love. The more they have, the less they have.
The old man, every day, brought along a small Beijing garlic with him. With the plastic knife of McDonald's set breakfast, he cut the garlic into pieces and put them between two toasted English muffins and the sausage.
"Why are you eating raw garlic? I asked him once.
"It's good for your heart, my doctor said," he replied while cutting some for me, "Put it in your bread."
At first, the burning sensation twisted my tongue >_< After some doses of garlic, I grew quite used to it and indeed began to love it.
Before the summer ended, the old man was gone.
I tried to ask many times if the cashiers in McDonald have seen the old man again. They all said No. More, they said that it's the first time the old man stopped visiting for so long.
The encounter with him left me with unspeakable ponderness. I don't know what I missed. I guess I missed his stories. Every elderly is composed of a lot of stories.
And more of them are so longing for someone to listen to them patiently.
A story-thief needs patience to steal.
To listen.
You
Last night. Night fell to me. I dreamed. Dreamed of you. You cuddled me. I remembered only the comfort in your arms. Arming me. I was held tight. Tight till the day break. Broke my dream. Dreamed I had.
This morning. Sunshine caught on my eyeslashes again. Again I thought. Thought of you. You kept coming in my mind.
Tonight, before the moon climbed. Climbed I onto the little stool in the balcony. Balcony before the sea. Seeing my uncertainties. Uncertained of something I was uncertained about.
They
A once dropped-by stranger wrote, unexpectedly, wishing me a Happy New Year. A wierd person, who have been to twenty-something jobs, decided to become a police. I asked once why he wanted to be a police, after working all those years, and having got a master's degree in Engineering. Why fought a place with the F.5, 17-year-olds. He said: it's his mission.
God's mission.
A once-I-believed-good-friend did not write nor talk no more. Stopped. Friendship's bizarre. Sometimes no matter how strong it seems, it does not tolerate and endure the most fragile pride. I felt uneasy, although I know I did what I should do. Take care.
God never asks me to take more than I should.
I choose not to take the love I don't deserve.
Another friend said he would write no more to express his feelings. Loneliness and saddness befall him. Afterall, one has to learn how to face himself, in solitude and loneliness. Trust the Lord with all your heart and He would make
your path straight. All I have is patient ears to listen.
Me
Sometimes it's a little tired to face dim souls.
You said sometimes you wish I would just be there. You know I am always there. I never left, never leave, and will never. I got the strength I never had before just because I know you were there. Next to me.
I would be the same: patiently and silently next to you, watching you fly. Fly over the sky.
02.14.02.
Simplicity
Day One of New Year:
woke up early, had vegetarian breakfast (a tradition), used my sweet tongue to say sweet things to my family, read a book, went jogging in country park, sat in front of the reservoir talking to eagles circling around the mountains, and spent the evening telling stories to my nephew. So simple. So nice.
Day Two of New Year:
woke up early, yum cha-ed with The Tsangs, went hiking again in country park while having a long distance call. It's him. Nice to walk in nature with someone by the side, though on the phone. Showed him the bird's singing, the wind's howling, the river's running. Described to him the mountains after mountains and the ocean in the distance. Went to Page One. Looked around and did not buy any books. Went to Wan Chai market and looked at housewives busy buying food stuff to serve dinners for relatives. Went home. Uncle has arrived. In bed, read a book, Naughty Shakespeare--about all the grotesque stuff in Shakespeare. For instance, the bloody Shakespeare, in the play Titus Andronicus, has created 1 human sacrifice, 9 murders, 4 executions, 2 rapes, 4 amputations, and 1 act of treason. His lewd lexicon's even more interesting: considering the cultural background of Shakespeare's time, some wordings are quite mind-blowing, and in fact, obcene. In the early evening, more relatives streamed in, totalling a number of over 30 people. I began to work like a "bun bun" helping mum to serve tea, chop chicken, fry dishes. Two big tables were placed in the living room not larger than 200 sq. feet. Some packed on the table, some stood eating--but all enjoyed I guess. After dinner, mahjong time. "Bun Bun" took rest after cleaning up the place. Went back to the nasty Shakespeare. Another happy and simple day.
Day Three of New Year (plus St. Valentines' Day):
Got ready, all dressed up, not for my Valentine. Dressed up in shorts, running shoes and T-shirt for the third jogging and hiking day. I have been hooked by Nature already after spending my holiday from time to time in the mountains.
So many people have complained how boring it's without a Valentine spending time with. Get up and get a life. So many simple and enjoyable little things out there to do.
Happy Valentines, Dudes and Dudedettes =)
02.12.02
Sun Nin Fei Lok Happy New Year!
Jook Sun Nin Ping Ping On On Fei Fei Lok Lok!
As usual, I spent my New Year's eve at home, like in most festivals and holidays. All I did was writing poems as well as reading books, while every now and then answering icq chats impatiently.
99% online people asked: Why don't go out? (sounds like it's wrong not going out on such a night; mind you, they themselves were home as well)
My response: Why not not?
In fact, I could not recall an New Year's night in which I was not home. Going to flower markets, watching fireworks, Christmas decorations, visiting carnivals are things that often turn me off. It could well be a Festival-Euphoric-Phobia.
Instead, I kept reading the book "A Simple Path."
Mother Teresa's work is never too strange to ears. We have kind of heard a lot about her: serving the Poorest of the Poor, love until it pains and hurts, love without seeking the results. For Christ, the nuns and volunteers gave out lots. One new aspiration I got last night was from a little line:
Sometimes when they take the corpse in, they can't tell if he's a Muslim, a Christian, or a Hindu. Since most people are Hindu in the city, they would give him a Hindu funeral.
I stopped and thought after reading that.
No doubt, the whole love work of them is originated from love for Christ. For some years, I heard people say that they are sick of Christians preaching them with the gospel.
I see something different there in Calcutta.
Act of love is not valued by converting people.
Love for the sake of love.
In my evening course of Missionology, the lecturer once said, "To make a Muslim more loving as a Muslim, to make a Buddhist a better person as a Buddhist, to make a Christian more Christ-like--improving the well-being of a person disregard of his religious beliefs--are a kind of new missionology.
In the past, my anthropological training has made me quite disgust of missionary work: rampaging the cultural heritage of indigenous people, and advocating God's kingdom. What a hypocrit! I thought.
Relgion is a difficult subject.
Love for the sake of love is the only cure.
We have people wanting food for survival; yet we have more people being mal-nutritious in love.
May the Simple Path be taken in this new year:
The fruit of comtemplation is prayer
02.11.02. 雜碎 貓友撰文說分手是志學之始，在其留言板引來點點回響。
「怎的也好，化悲憤為力量夠晒積極，值得鼓勵。」甲說。
「真是好羨慕那些分手後更加勇猛的人，我覺得他們太勇敢了。」丙說。
「每次分手後我就好似悟空咁，能力值以倍數上升。」丁說。
真的，這個世界真的大，造就了不同的人。
我可能不是賭氣的人，與別人分離，只是想把傷害，對別人和自己的傷害減輕。那年他爸爸在我們分開時說:「分手必有不快，減輕傷害的方法是要決絕，要快，肯定。」至今仍然覺得那話很對。
不是鮮聽朋友說:「Dora，您真的決絕。」舊同事玲姐，五十來歲的她常常說我看得很透，對分離不會傷痕累累。那不是我看得透，坦白說，那只是我從少養成的性格--凡事別受人影響。好聽的叫有主見，保持自己就是自己，無論身邊是誰，亦不依賴，不順從。小學到初中，老師總要排我坐在班中最討厭的孩子旁，老師說:「因你不易受人影響。」
不好聽的叫任性，不理會別人。
或許我明白--愛人如己--不是發盲地愛人。人們常常意識「愛人」的重要，而忘卻了「如己」的那部分。要「愛人」要先懂得「愛己」。懂得「愛己」的人在得或失中存感謝的心，不會把自己的快樂寄養在別人身上，卻會愛人如己直到成傷，因為愛眾人中最少的，就是愛主。
很喜歡跟小姪兒逛街，他是個明白事理的孩子，不會因為得不到想要的玩具而發怒。他知道不可得到的便乖乖接受，給他買朱古力奶，他總是欣喜地說多謝。小小的他尚會珍惜有的，人們長大，追求更多更大更好，卻少了感恩的心，忘了我們來到這兒，本來就沒什麼。
我都是那老在追求種種的人，但人活多了年頭，明白完整的家庭，生命的氣息，身上的衣物，可聽可說可寫可想等，沒有必然。
昨晚團年飯桌前，我明白感謝的重要，放下心頭揮之不去的種種，感謝我有個家庭。我們沒有很多，十多人在六百尺的斗室中，卻有喜樂平安。看到爸爸媽媽，驀然覺得他們很大很大，付出很多很多，自愧從前的抱怨。
不知我或家人會活多久，人生從不在我們手中，儘管我們常自以為是，以為掌握了自己生命。真的，慢慢明白家人的愛，儘管有不快的時候，但父母會活多少年頭呢?
感謝主。
02.10.02. Snake Year's not a boundtiful year in terms of materialistic goodies. Yet, it's, I believe, the most pivotal year of my past 25 years: I have met Christ, befriended Skippy, Bruno, Teresa, Fiona, Susan, Irene, Winnie, lots of sisters and brothers in Church, thought a lot, contemplated seriously about life issues, enjoyed my family time, told a lot of stories to my little nephew, continued loving friendship with my former teacher, his family, old friends, kept saving money, circumvented couple of times in the labyrinth of life, ended and began love relationship, smiled, cried, laughed, shouted, read many many books, wrote many words and came to truly understand what matters most in life: love. First, Love my Father. Second, Love others as if I am loving myself.
Mark 12
28
One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?"
29
"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: `Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.[5]
30
Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'[6]
31
The second is this: `Love your neighbor as yourself.'[7] There is no commandment greater than these."
32
"Well said, teacher," the man replied. "You are right in saying that God is one and there is no other but him.
33
To love him with all your heart, with all your understanding and with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices."
My Father in Heaven,
I wish every morning, I woke up with a desire and urge to come to you. Thank you for all the things you have given me without reasons. You just give. Thank you for your love, and for giving your beloved son, Jesus Christ, to me even before I have accepted you.
I wish I would have a heart to worship you every waking moment. The universe you have created though mysterious still facinates me. The galaxies, the stars, the planets, the earth spinning around, and the little apartment and family I am staying in--all are beyond understanding to me. Your creation of the universe is worth praising. Your creation of human beings is even more breath-taking. Even the fact that you have given me life already should remind me from time to time of being thankful for this life.
To me, sometimes you are a marvelous scientist to me; sometimes an unbelievable artist. You hold a brush, some paints and keep drawing, drawing lives after lives. Sometimes you use light colors, and those times I would feel a little lost and unfocused. Sometimes, dim colors such as black and grey were used, and I would just feel deserted, sad, and lonely. And at times, you would put Rose, yellowish orange, navy blue, chestnut brown, and many other colors that will bright my eyes. All I could see is patches of colors, not a picture. But I trust you. I trust eventually you are painting a picture beyond my understanding. One day when I am in heaven with you, looking back to my life--I will see my picture so nice and neat. My Lord, I trust you.
No matter where I am, in saddness, in happiness, in poverty, in richness, I know you will never leave me. That's the promise you have given me. That's the love you have shown me.
I can lose everything on earth because I have you already.
Lord, I am sorry. I am sorry from time to time I hurt your feelings. You treat me as your daughter, yet I am such a spoiled brat who does not take my life seriously, my Christian life seriously. I sinned from time to time. I indulged myself in my physical desires, without thinking that my body doesn't really belong to myself, but it's a temple of yours. Although you remind me of sins tempting me every now and then, I would oftentimes put a death ear to the inner voice speaking to me. I don't treasure my body; instead, I spoil it--an action that's actually hurting your heart. I am sorry my Father.
Please forgive me for I did not do what I was supposed to do. I hurt you. I am sorry.
More, I often put myself to a position so high, instead of being humble and being obedient to you. That's the lesson I am learning my Lord, and please help me. Please give me strength to please you above everything. I wish to follow your commandment: Love you with all my heart and soul and strength.
When I was in euphoric mood, I would get so hooked to what I got, forgetting that what I had wasfrom your Grace, not my own strength; when I was down, I would get overwhelmed, and sometimes even get upset by the plans you have arranged for me. Instead of taking responsibilities of my own action, I got angry with you. Please God: help me to have eyes to see and ears to listen to your words.
Help me to be obedient and submit to you.
Help me, in all circumstances, to be thankful and joyful.
My Father, give me strength to stick to you in my path. I need to be your daughter, a faithful one.
I want to follow you with all my heart. And may all I have done gives glory to the Lord. And may people around me see your efforts, not mine.
Please my Lord, I wish in the new year, I will follow the paths you have designed for me. Follow with delights no matter how hard the paths are to be.
Remind me that you are always there for me, carrying me when I have worries. You have grace for me everyday, enough for me to face every hurdle.
My Lord, please bless my beloved one. Please take care of my love. Take him to you, embrace him with your arms. I have no expectations. All I want is that you would love him as you have always have been. When he's with you, I have no fear.
My Father, please embrace my family and friends, be they your followers or not. I wish they would share the joy and love you have given me, like you have given everyone on earth. I don't know what I should do in order to lead them to you. But if there's anyone, or any lamb, you trustfully lead to me to take care of and you ask me to show the path to you, I will dutifully take the task in my heart.
I love you my Lord. I wish every step I take in my life would glorify you, and bring me closer to you.
In the name of my beloved Christ,
Amen.
Somewhere Out There
Lyricist: Cynthia Weil
Somewhere out there
Somewhere out there
And even though I know
And when the night wind
Somewhere out there
And when the night wind
Somewhere out there
02.09.02. Writing Journal The first time attempted to write journal, I was about 9, in Primary 3. The daily trivials were recorded in a school assignment book. No fancy locks or hardcover, of course. On and off, I kept a diary or so. Every time when I marched into a new stage of life, notably when I proceeded to college, or when I went abroad, I would open a new diary, trying hard to capture things that I didn't want to lose.
The most vagorous and habitual journal writing was done in Form One. That year, I almost wrote on every single day. Now, writing in ink in my diary is rarely a habit. Last time I did it could have well been months ago. Instead, I, from time to time, write here, online.
Reading old diaries often tickles my conscience. Often I was not quite able to face simliar mistakes that I made repeatedly; as well, I was not being honest to myself because things deep down in heart weren't faithful recorded. Never could I be really able to go naked even in front of myself: sentiments, emotions, facts, stories, got twisted and turned in my own diary, a record that is not even to be revealed to others, but myself. I don't know why I am frightened. I know myself. Yet I just don't want to face it naked.
I use the word "Journal" here on my homepage because this part is supposed to be updated on a daily basis. Jour means day. Jouranl is a daily entry. If you think it's an honest record of my daily encounters and sentiments, sorry you are wrong. By no means do I attempt to tell things in heart online to you. I am not lying here. But writing is selective and subjective. It is a journal, but it is not a journal at the same time. I don't see the neccessity here to tell you faithfully.
Writing "journal" or "diary" becomes such a common practice in personal homepages in these days. If there's no such a column as dairy/journal, a personal homepage doesn't seem too complete.
My journal was not supposed to be named journal when I first began to contemplate about my homepage. Instead, it's then thought to be named as "journey of rebirth." This section is not for me or you. It's for Christ. I use this little space to try to write down/passover/record/spread/vaporize/precipitate/muster/permeate/gather something about Christ, about my encounter with Him on a daily basis.
You may or may not notice--this was the original purpose of this page. This STIILL is.
Being a Christian carries a trunkload of stereotypes. I remember once I read: Why do we feel so at ease passing sexual jokes and messages online? Why, however, when it comes to the message of God, we become so hesitating even to click on the forward icon?
People take time to read a joke; but they don't bother to read anything further when the word Christ / God / Christianity appear.
I sincerely wish you would meet Him in person. That's the best gift I could ever give you.
02.08.02.
Books
Ludinda Vardey's A Simple Path
02.07.02.
02.06.02.
I was reading "Our Daily Bread" by RBC Ministries this morning. Skippy subcribed that for me months ago. The little booklet comes with stories of all sorts, and some biblical references and reflections on the stories. The one on March 11 is called One String:
Italian violinist Niccolo Paganini (1782-1840) was playing a difficult piece of music before a large audience. Suddenly one string on his violin snapped, yet he continued to play, improvising beautifully. Then two more strings broke, and he completed the composition playing with only one string.
When the applause eventually stopped, he nodded at the conductor to begin the encore. The violinist smiled at the audience and shouted, "Paganini...and one string!" Placing his instrument under his chin, he played again with one string.
With that in mind, Charles Swindoll writes,"The longer I live, the more convinced I become that life is 10 percent what happens to us and 90 percent how we respond to it." Supporting his conviction with Scripture, Swindoll reviewed the response of Paul and Silas as they sat in stocks in prison. Instead of bemoaning their lot, they made use of the "one string" they had left--they prayed and sang praises to God (Acts 16:25). As a result of their testimony, the jailer and his entire household were converted and baptized.
Dora, where's the very gutsy Dora?
Where's the one who made herself once to Europe, then to N. American, without much money in pocket?
The one who was not bothered by difficulties and hardships, who fought her way through what she believed in?
I know I still have my last string--God.
I don't have control over life, but I have the control over how I respond to what's happened. And it's about time to wake up, pull myself together, and march forward without fears.
I am not about to quit. I need to fight till the last straw. Will you be next to me, as you promised me? I need support. You don't have to do anything, just stick to me, be right next me, in all ups and downs.
When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
Life is queer with its twists and turns,
Success is failure turned inside out,
02.05.02.
Have you heard of complaints on a girlfriend who keeps track on the phone bills, receipts, and daily schedule of her partner? Scary, eh?
This "detective" story will work provided that the detective (the girl) finds someone who enjoyed being investigated.
Based on interviews the psychologist conducted in the 1990s, asking college students to write about their romantic ideals and expectations, he has identified at least 25 common stories which people use to describe love.
A few popular ones are cited here (see if either one fits your case):
1) The Travel Story
2) The Gardening Story
3) The Humor Story
Here are a couple least popular stories:
1) The Horror Story
2) The Collectibles Story
3) The Autocratic Government Story
There are more stories, quite self-explanatory, for example, pornography story (love for sexual gratification), and sacrifice story (love requires sacrifice), etc.
The Grimms collected tales. Hans Andersen wrote tales. And now even psychologists used tales to theorize relationships.
I don't know how much I buy into the theory. Yet, it's interesting, indeed, when having friends nag about their partners. Immediately, you associate them with a story.
Really, everyone's weaving a story and attempting to put a happy ending. I am a little tired of "Happy ever after."
02.04.02. Anywhere
Hi there, you may find it a bit hard to locate me recently. Pardon me. I also have little difficulty finding myself as well.
Anywhere by 恩雅
我走在時光的迷宮中
你消失於你的路途上
海洋上浮動的月光
星辰原來早就在那兒閃示
暖沙之上的貝殼
離開糾纏我的時間
02.02.02. Avocados#002 The peak hour of Avocados is from 12p.m. to 2p.m. She does not hire anyone to help her, not because she cannot afford a part-time helper. More, it's due to the fact that she cannot stand the way others handle her avocados.
She likes the richness and softness of the fruit. Green is her favorite color. The green of avocados.
She first touches the fruit with her thumb and index finger, making sure it's neither too soft nor too hard. With the just ripe avocado in left hand, she takes a knife to circumvent the fruit with a thin line. With the upper half twisted the the right, lower half to the left, the avocado will be separated, while the seed still stuck in the center. The color gradually fades from green to greenish yellow from the skin to the center. This reminds her often of the earth: hard crust, boiling magma underneath the crust, and the earth core in the very center. In a delicate manner, she will strike the hard seed with the knife and then the knife will be kept inside the seed. Twisting the knife slightly to the side will take away the core seed without much trouble.
She never gets tired of this habitual action.
In some days when the sale of her sandwiches aren't too good and she has a lot of stock in her little store, she would like to make Guacamoli.
Garlic + lime juice + black pepper + sour cream + avocado = Guacamoli
She likes avacados, milk and words. Yes, words.
Starting from 3p.m. when she almost cleans up the mess left from the peak hour, she will start playing with words. Sometimes she writes a poem, sometimes a story, sometimes just chunks of words in the ordering sheets. Recently, she's trying to write a dictionary.
Yes, a dictionary.
I really mean it: a dictionary.
Amidst her undergraduate years, she spent a summer living up in Northern B.C. in an island called Bola Bola. She since then began to fall in love with languages totally strange to her ears. When Y2K approved, she read in the Millenium edition of The Economist saying that -- about 200 languages die out every year together with the death of elders, the only people who know how to speak the languages. Anthropologists are like firemen: running against time in hopes of keeping the language survive.
She knows that she does not have an acute ear to become a linguistic anthropologist would can help save languages. But she develops her own way to make the linguistic world interesting--i.e. making a language of her own.
avava = good morning
Sometimes she would speak in her own tongue with the customers. At first, her customers indeed thought she's a bit nuts. Later, they notice that there's a list of translated words on the wall. Some funny and patient all-time patrons even try to communite with her in what she calls -- Lingua Avocadogua.
She: Avava!
The normal 3-minute order will turn out to take more than a 15 minutes if Avocadogua is used. Customers of Hong Kong, especially those working in Central, seldom have the relaxing mood to order for such long. But she keeps creating her words every day, and practising her own language to herself, and sometimes to her boyfriend. He just loves her too much to discourage her, however silly things she does.
02.02.02. Avocados#001
Every morning at about 11p.m., she would have her sandwiches store opened. She only sells one kind of sandwiches--Avocados. The reason is simple: she loves avocados.
Many people walking past her store would stop and look, at least for a short while, because of the avalanche of avocados in the stall. They often want to take a peep at the girl working behind the avocados; but it's either due to the high altitude of avocados or the low altitude of the girl--they very seldom get a glance at her.
The store name is very simple: Avocados.
When she first decided to open a sandwich store as such, she got various comments from her friends, mainly asking her to put more variety of sandwiches there. But she insists only on serving avocados.
Oftentimes, when people ordering sandwiches there, they would like to have an orange juice or coffee.
She: Sorry, we don't serve juice or coffee here.
Customer A: What do you have then?
She: Milk. Skim Milk. One Percent. Two Percent. Whole Milk. Steamed Milk. (she said with a broad smile).
Some nice customers, would, willingly or unwillingly, accept a glass of milk. Some customers, upon hearing that, would groan or even be a bit offended. Milk? Come on!?
But she keeps her menu tight: avocado sandwiches and milk.
Her patrons are usually people working in Central, mostly Caucasians. She used to have some OLs, Chinese; yet, the latest trend of skinny body has made them walk away from Avocados.
She has a boyfriend. They have been seeing each other for some years, yet never talked about getting married and stuff. At about 7p.m., he would appear in Avocados, and help the girl to close the store.
Every single friend of hers and every sibling of hers are not optimistic about her store. They think the limited menu would turn people off quick. Only her love, he, would indeed just smile when she first told him about her ideas of Avocados.
He does not say no; does not say yes; he just lets her to do what she wants.
To be fair, the menu is not that simple.
Avocados would come from different places. Guatemalan avocados. Chilean avocados. Caribbean avocados. Japanese hothouse avocados. And many more.
Breads as well:
Fokachio loaf; Baguetta Loaf; Barbaree; Scandinavian Ryebread (her favorite); Sourdough; Whole meal; Melted; Mixed grain; Organic; Cholesterol-free; Salt-free... so many indeed.
Milk, of course, is imported from various places, ranging from Lantau Island to Faroe Islands.
All these come down a menu--two-page-long, single-spacing, padded with words.
Words, yes, apart from avocados and milk, she loves words too.
She's a happy girl. A happy sandwich girl.
02.01.02. Parable of A Mustard Seed
A flu brought me a day off from work, and an afternoon at parents' home. Had it not been due to my unwillingness to cater for myself on a sicky day, I would perhaps have chosen to be in my dorm alone. It's strange to lay in my bed at home while listening to my parents murmur over the most trivial things.
Both mum and dad, I consider, are weird "couples", who share virtually nothing in common. Well, not true, making kids was something they did together (techically speaking) and bringing them up was something they have been doing together (spiritually and physically).
Mum never holds daddy's hand. Daddy never buys mum a single thing. Mum and dad don't say good morning to each other; they don't yum cha together; they don't talk to each other, let alone sweet words; they don't communicate much.
Perhaps people of that generation, grown up in a rural villages, tend to be like that.
Sometimes I wonder what brought them together. In our generation, we place the motion of "love" on top of everything. Without "love," people voice a break-up easily, voice a divorce, or they think something was wrong there. Perhaps there's a strange kind of love between mum and dad that I don't comprehend.
The murmuring central topic of mum and dad together was my elder brother.
A strange brother I have, who from time to time, would just disappear. At the age of 31, he would suddenly call from Shenzhen, or the Philippines, or just disappear a couple of days without any notice. He's one of the "martyrs" in the financial and economic slump of Hong Kong. For years, his life target was climbing up both the corporate and salary ladders. Jumping from job to job, he thought that's how one pushed oneself up at work. This time, the market made him to a standstill. The market could be fragile, so could a person.
I guess he was feeling not too good, recoiling somewhere out there.
Mum: How comes he still doesn't call? (Mum talked to me)
Dad: Would you call your brother's cell? (Dad talked to me)
(Mum and Dad would not talk to each other directly. The way they communicate was through me. Talking to me loud enough to make their words "heardable" to other party as well.)
Mum continued to bomb me with her concerns over brother.
Dad as well.
I couldn't help but said: "He's over 30 already."
Living in a big family as such, five siblings, in-laws, and nephews, I grow to understand very early on--each has to pick a life they want to live. And the choice carries a price.
Family is a strange entity. Very strange. You don't get to choose which family you were to born into. Yet, the roots to the family got attached since Day One you're born. Every family is a little story. Every character plays a role.
I remember he once wrote me and said: Dora, family in a process and one learns to be with it throughout years. A process. Perhaps that's something I have been ignoring or neglecting. It's a process that accompanies our growth, instead of static beginning/ending of our life.
We don't get shaped all of a sudden in a family. Yet, the way we deal with it for years gradually creates ourselves.
I don't know if you my friends are the kind who might have once thought: how nice if my parents are such and such. Perhaps at the age of 20-something, you still sometimes find it hard to appreciate your own parents. In reality or dream, do you sometimes wish that you're from a family void of unfairness, void of hazzles, void of demanding requests?
Frankly, I did that quite often as a kid. All I wanted was not a family with materialistic goodies. Instead, I wish my parents would have to be more supportive to the notion of education. Yet later in life I know there's no perfect family. None. Every family carries some sort of things; like it or not, it's your family.
Mum: (looking over the window) Shenzhen is not safe! (Mum talked to me)
Dad: It's gonna starve him to starve. Never bother to call home (Dad talked to me).
I: (hold my peace)
Perfection exists no where (with an excepting being in heaven I suppose).
For years, I have learned to grow with my family, not in the family. Gradually I understand that no matter where I search--moew's family, or sus' family, or skippy's family, or whoever's family, there will still be problems.
The problems may or may not come from the family itself. More, it's from our desire. Desire to be in somewhere or something we are not.
It takes considerable soul-searching to learn to be peaceful with life. H.L., you know, what makes me admire you most is your ability to be in where you are, to be at peace with who you are and not to strike to be something you are not.
Sister: Mum, have dinner first.
Mum: You go and have yours first. Where is he now (looked worried)?
I: (kept typing)
A Christian, I put my faith in Christ. Yet, I do get insights into life from some Buddhist stories. The most inspiring Buddhist story I have ever come across is the parable of a Mustard Seed.
If you are still having hang-ups with your family, feeling uncomfortable with your parents, try, like the woman in the story, knock on every door and ask if you could ever find a mustard seed from any family void of problems. After running around different families, you will learn that it takes strength to accept and appreciate.
No matter how strange my parents' relationship is, I still thank them for bringing me to this world. This Big World.
My dear friends, I know some of you are still plagued by haunting feelings from your family, in the past, or still dealing with problems surfacing on a daily basis. You are never alone, remember. And I will always be here, with my utmost patience, to listen to you.
The Parable of the Mustard Seed
Kisagotami is the name of a young girl, whose marriage with the only son of a wealthy man was brought about in true fairy-tale fashion. She had one child, but when the beautiful boy could run alone, it died. The young girl, in her love for it, carried the dead child clasped to her bosom, and went from house to house of her pitying friends asking them to give her medicine for it.
But a Buddhist mendicant, thinking "She does not understand," said to her, "My good girl, I myself have no such medicine as you ask for, but I think I know of one who has."
"Oh tell me who that is," said Kisagotami.
"The Buddha can give you medicine. Go to him," was the answer.
She went to Gautama, and doing homage to him said, "Lord and master, do you know any medicine that will be good for my child?"
"Yes, I know of some," said the teacher.
Now it was the custom for patients or their friends to provide the herbs which the doctors required, so she asked what herbs he would want.
"I want some mustard seed," he said; and when the poor girl eagerly promised to bring some of so common a drug, he added, "You must get it from some house where no son, or husband, or parent, or slave has died."
"Very good," she said, and went to ask for it, still carrying her dead child with her.
The people said, "Here is mustard seed, take it."
But when she asked, "In my friend's house has any son died, or husband, or a parent or slave?" they answered, "Lady, what is this that you say? The living are few, but the dead are many."
Then she went to other houses, but one said, "I have lost a son"; another, "We have lost our parents"; another, "I have lost my slave."
At last, not being able to find a single house where no one had died, her mind began to clear, and summoning up resolution, she left the dead body of her child in a forest, and returning to the Buddha paid him homage.
He said to her, "Have you the mustard seed?"
"My lord," she replied, "I have not. The people tell me that the living are few, but the dead are many."
Then he talked to her on that essential part of his system -- the impermanence of all things, till her doubts were cleared away, and, accepting her lot, she became a disciple and entered the first path.
Sister: (Left a message on brother's cell phone mail box) When you come back to Hong Kong, please call home immediately. Mum's very worried. She did not eat dinner, she could not sleep. Please call home in an instant.
Till now, no one called of course.
I do ponder from time to time whether I am able to hold the pressure of being a mum. No easy task.
02.26.02
失喪的小狗
昨夜六時許已經做了飯，吃了飯，洗了澡，棒槌 了並涼了一露台衣物。了了，草草了事，早早睡了。
清早五時起來，一邊看書一邊等日出。
很愛清曉 的寧靜，更愛日光未明時山麓黝黝的輪廓。靈修時看到詩篇91:11-12
91:11 因他要為你吩咐他的使者、在你行的一切道路上保護你。
頓時有點感動，祂真愛我，路上的確有不住的守護天使。上班時間到了，便輕快走上士林路，在暖暖日光中自由自在地馳騁。不久，便並上了一隻失喪的小狗。
我不是特別喜歡小狗，但不由得緩下腳步與那在車道上的牠談了好一會。不熟悉狗隻的我說不出牠是什麼品種，但長毛、短小、眼大的牠顯然不是流浪的唐狗。我叫牠為失喪的小狗，因牠眼神很迷失，長久沒有修剪及沖刷的毛告訴我，牠應該離開了主人好些日子。牠呆頭鵝般在車道上左思右想，左行右企。
有車行近時，牠不會像流浪太般靈活閃避，牠只是傻傻的前行。遠處有車行近時，我會說: 「狗狗快D行埋一邊，有車噢 !」牠望望我，似乎聽不明白，繼續上路。一陣子，我會問: 「狗狗你住係邊度? 我帶你番屋企!」牠望望我，似乎聽不明白，繼續上路。
路上的司機都耐心停下，等待小狗走過，他們沒有為難牠，卻不時對我投下輕蔑的目光，無聲中似乎在說:「你怎樣養狗呀...沒有狗帶嗎...不會跟狗剪毛嗎...唉唉...」
我心想: 我才不會養這樣笨的狗...這樣難看的狗...
我一邊想離家，喪失的小狗已經百般無奈;失喪的人、不認識或離開了主宰的人更叫我疙疙瘩瘩。
當人家停車問我:「這是你的狗嗎?」-- 我會用力搖頭 (我才不會養這樣的狗!)。但如果撒旦問神:「那亂七八糟的孩子是你的嗎?」神必定點頭，祂愛不完全的我甚於一切。
我最後亦要離開小狗，口中唸著: 「請吩咐小天使、在牠行的一切道路上保護。」
02.25.02
鴨行山
不知是否近日文字比較藍，電郵和留言信箱都有絲絲關懷的說話。鴨子實在游得樂陶陶，害人家擔心，罪過。
星期天早上五時才去睡， 八時便醒過來。鴨子從不賴床，儘管什麼時間上床，都在八時左右起來，在懶洋洋的週末亦如此。打電話給盈，當上機師，說很疲倦，行不了山。身體是疲憊 ; 心卻很精神。吃下鴨媽媽做的稀飯，便發瘋的看和寫。
八時半溜走，早堂祟拜逃之夭夭。一寫便寫至十一時半，向午堂祟拜揮揮手。正午還是咎無可辭，心知要往山上走走，親近神。
沒有再給電話盈，因我要獨處的心。換上輕便的衣服，背上背囊，歡虎兒似的奔上巴士站。心裡沒有必然要去的地方，我愛即興 ; 心想那班巴士先來便到那個山上去，結果 41A 跑出了，再登紫羅蘭山徑。
準備還好，知道可走遠一點 ; 結果作了半個環島游 : 黃泥涌--紫羅蘭 山徑--赤柱--大潭--石澳。
到了大潭至石澳沿海的一段，我打電話到太平洋另一端的他，很想跟他分享滄溟，熒熒的 陽光和柔柔的風。我說行了三個多小時已有點倦，但不太清楚還有三小時要走，還是一小時。
他輕輕帶著像父親的語調問 : 「為什麼您不計劃好一點呢?」
我笑笑，吐吐舌，奔奔跑跑去了。
早上，狐狸電郵問--我在想鴨行山會怎樣?
由我告訴大家罷!
......
鴨行山
鴨行山會束小馬尾
鴨行山會背背囊
鴨行山會跟神說話
鴨行山會聆聽神說話
鴨行山會兜攬人家背著的嬰孩(總是洋孩子)
鴨行山會回頭偷看健壯跑者在陽光中汗流浹背的背影
鴨行山會行會跑會停下看看海看看日落看看無際
鴨行山會得意揚揚
......
他問 : 「為什麼您不計劃好一點呢?」
您知道答案了嗎?
我一直走在人生的路並不在乎那裡是終點結果，我不要富足的生活，不要人家記念我 ; 我只樂此不疲路上的雞毛小事。
或許我不知終點是如何，但神同在。
還有感謝神，叫您在我旅途中出現。
後記:
今早其中電郵說:
「愛上一個人不需要靠努力，只需要靠「際遇」，是上天的安排，但是「持續地愛一個人」就要靠「努力」，在愛情的經營中，順暢運轉的要素就是溝通、體諒、包容與自制」。
Scruples
Scruples mean morals or ethics.
Last night we were playing the board game, Scruples, till two in the morning. One has to ask a question involving a moral dilemma and guess what kind of answer his/her mates would offer when being in such dilemma.
We talked with, laughed at, chuckled at, challenged, mocked at and explained to each other, with great fun, in early hours of the day, detailing the rest what we would do in certain circumstances.
When a woman whom you are holding in bed for the first time suddenly tells you that she's married, would you just jump out of bed or continue? If you find an elderly woman shop-lift some bacon, would you bother? As a researcher who's close to develop a cure to leukemia and to get the Nobel prize, would you agree to collaborate the research with another researcher who could provide you with significant information?
I like this game not because I believe it can tell the truth of a person. I like it because I think the differences between hypothetical situation and reality are interesting, sometimes.
We all like the ask question beginning with the big IF.
What if I get a few millions all of a sudden?
Don't want to do anything.
Feel bad not going to church in the morning. Tell the kids I cannot teach them today. Send a raincheck to Susan for hiking.
I just want to be lazy at home.
Physically I am very tired, my body's fatigue. Yet mind is just too sober pushing me to read and write.
You know, when people are close to dying, they would have a few minutes being extremely conscious. I am like in that situation. I know I am at the verge of falling.
With my face looking slightly around, I said, "I WILL BE BACK!"
The first time she heard of the name, White Spot, she thought of symptoms of a terminal illness or the signs of aging. White spot, not really a nice name, she muttered to herself.
White Spot is where middle-aged, if not elderly, people with Anglo-Saxon ancestry who would like to spend time during morning breakfast. The menu is a fusion of European and American menu. Going to White Spot is like going to a Chinese teahouse in which only singled middle-aged guys, or silver-haired couples will go.
Once a while, she liked the Egg Benedicts in White Spot, with a cup of milk. It's heavy.
Going inside White Spot would end up being with old Brits. They two young people always went there though, being two inharmonic souls among others, like a cellist playing out of tune for some dashing seconds. Dinning in the car in the driving take-out reminded us of the N. American soil they set in. The speed and indifference of food.
The first time they went, they were both speechless. He pulled over. The waitress came. He rolled down the side window. He asked her to give them some seconds. He asked another her what she wanted to have. She said she didn't know. He asked would she like to try country burger. She said anything he ordered.
Awhile, the waitress took a 4-feet-long steel holder, in which all the food was put upon, and placed the holder across the window seals of his car. They sat there, speechless, looking at country burger and milkshake and fries and vinegar and salt and ketchup and HP and napkins. He looked at her, speechless.
They munched on the food. She did not really like fries nor burger. He asked if she enjoyed. She nodded with a smile.
He did not ask her any more why she wanted that. He drove her home after that. White Spot was beginning of the divergent paths.
She often remember him as "White Spot." He is very British in many ways. She should not say that. He would correct her, "hey, it's not British, it's Scottish." He is very American in a way, more American than many American. He is the very few Canadians who would say that Canada is just a pseudo-colony of the US. A Canadian who would laugh at the Canadian complex--as a little ant standing right next to an elephant, Uncle Sam.
He's the kind who never fits in any pigeon hole. Chinese would consider him Caucasian. Caucasian see him Asian. The Deaf find him hear too much. The hearing find him deaf. The Canadian find him too American; the DC dwellers say he's Californian; a Vancouverite, his neighbor, once asked him if he was Portuguese; a Japanese store-owner from whom they bought mintago asked him if he's Native Indian.
He's White Spot because he serves the customers who run into his place, females mainly.
Only to find him losing his own soul, at last.
Fox, Cat, and Duck, the three animals in the forest, keep talking about each other in the cyber world.
Sometimes I think we are more in congruent with life in a mental hospital than forest.
We don't go well with forest life, or nature at large.
On the contrary, we serve better in a mad men home. That's where we should feel more belonged to.
Duck has multiple-split personality who think one thing at one time and one at the other, or ten things at one time or a hundred.
Cat has maniac-depression. One time so hyper, sleepless and restless; another totally depressive and recoiled.
Fox has obsessive-compulsive disorder, who cannot help writing no matter how "terrible" he thinks his writing is, and how many times he claim he cannot write.
It isn't so bad to be locked up in the institute indeed. In Coelho's Veronika Decides to Die, it's suggested that people who have desire to do what they want to do had better be locked up. Not for the sake of society, but the inmates. It's because all the strange things stigmatized as weird and cynical will become normal and acceptable beyond the walls of the mental hospital. Nothing seems strange any longer. All people there respect your choice because they know it's "normal" when they know that you are mad man.
Three Animals, and a Funeral. Funeral to the Forest.
02.23.02
Marry Messy Family
Skippy is an Aussie slang for Kangaroo.
Skippy is a mixture of mentor, good friend, brother, counselor, consultant, joker, caregiver, headache of mine.
I often think Skippy's life story will make a good novel.
The first ten years little Skippy lived under the killing field of Khmer Rouge in Cambodia. Life wasn't so guarantee of course when he was running around landmines. Skippy family smuggled themselves to Thailand, Vietnam and after different paths, ended up in a refugee camp of Australia, where Skippy's new life took root. After Skippy stepped onto the Aussie soul, the first meal of his family was given by some priests--and the whole family converted from Buddhist to Christian ever since.
In the refugee camp, little Skippy met a girl, from Vietnam, a few years older. They became friends, fought, picked on each other for years, and finally, some ten years later, they married and gave birth to two little lovely skippies.
Skippy is someone who tries in all efforts to live up to what he said--his navy training taught him to obey commands even when death befalls him. Skippy is someone who would flunk his license as a medical practitioner for the sake of saving a bedridden dying lady, whom no other doctors would dare to save.
Sometimes, when I ran into a problem, Skippy would often come up with a list of books--so that I could read and seek for the answer.
Yesterday I asked Skippy, "What does forming a family mean?" "Why did you get married?"
This question has been hovering in my mind especially since Chinese New Year days, after I have heard a lot stories about family--a mother ran away from the family and left the kids unattended, and then another mother and father of another family ran away as well leaving all kids to be attended by an uncle; my cousin, who had three kids, made another woman pregnant and had another kid, and the mother of the three kids was upset, yet began to look for another partner, and two kids out of three followed the grandmother to live, and one kid out of three went to live with the mother who has already found a guy to live with (what a mess!); a Susan's two sisters moved out from home before New Year after an argument and did not want to go home for New Year, and the mother of my friend weep over reunion dinner feeling both anguish and hurt.
My question is -- why should people hurt people so close to them? why people lay little patience to family, in comparison to friends or even lovers? why do people get marry or give birth to kids if they cannot live up to what they vow?
And the most thought-booming question: what does a family mean to me? will I ever be capable of upholding one?
Skippy typed me a list of books, and said, "Happy reading, love to share with you all I got and have learned from the past."
......
Last night after I had attended a fellowship meeting, I went back to my dormitory very late, waiting for the last shuttle bus. A little 2-year-old was playing with his daddy, while waiting for the shuttle bus. Out of the blue, the little soul stopped playing, and stared at me.
I smiled to him.
He looked at me and said, "mummy." Both of his daddy and I laughed. His daddy said in English (they are Chinese though), "Your mummy is home." The boy called me mum once again. I chuckled, "sweetie, you must be sleepy now at this hour; I am not your mummy ah."
The people waiting for the shuttle bus beamed.
There were times that I fantasize about becoming a mother. For years, this is more of an idea to replace the somewhat defective family experience (I perceived as such): to create or construct somewhat for the sake of replacing the [ain I had in the past. Yet, the more I march in life, the less I am inclined to feel that way.
I am sick and tired of working hard to prove to parents that girls are as good as boys; of getting the best grades to prove to relations and friends that I can be outstanding, despite my background; of doing things for the covering the past, wrapping up the past Dora with a mask so thick and fake.
I don't want to live for the past, nor the future.
I just want to uphold this very moment. The present.
Yesterday is history
I had better go to the library and look for the books.
I am looking forward to walking in Nature on Sunday again. I am a little tired.
Cast Away
I asked him if he thinks he could survive like Tom Hanks in a forsaken island.
He said such a hypothetical question is hard to say.
I think if they give me pens and papers, I can endure quite some time.
Yet I remember the prolific Taiwanese writer Li Ou once said--life in prison is repetative. Monday's dairy is like Tuesday's. One day's dairy is like one week's dairy. One week's dairy is the same as the whole year. So what people have to do is to write one day and have it xeroxed 365 times for one year.
Perhaps even writing won't help me to endure.
Perhaps one just have to do what Hanks said in the movie--focusing only on breathing in and out.
Melt down your whole spectrum of life into breath-in and breath-out. The the very moment of this moment.
That's what the whole life builds upon.
02.22.02
可以飛得更遠是很多人的夢想吧? 但他們不怕飛得高, 趺得痛嗎? -- fatty asked.
It took me some time in KCR ride, shower, bedtime to try to come up with an answer, but to no avail.
Last summer, in heavy downpours, colleague Berlin rushed to my room and said, "Duck, come and rescue a little bird." Having taken a little box, we headed down to the Lotus pond. Right next to the band of the pond, beside a tree trunk, found we a little wounded bird, bleeding badly, semi-conscious.
Neither of us being a vet, we used the very limited first-aids concepts from Red Cross or St. John's Ambulance training to try to save the bird. Bandages, cotton and amateur physicians' fingers of us waltzed around the little bird for some 15 minutes. The bird was bleeding badly in the head, in which the feathers were all gone. It could not stand but agonize with its eyes closed.
After taking care of its wound, Berlin grained some digestive biscuits with the back of a teaspoon, and we tried, with the capsule of a blue ball pen, to feed the little bird. The bird wasn't able to swallow. I had to push the capsule to almost hit its throat so that the bird would swallow in almost like a reflective mode. It reminded me of baby birds which got fed by bird parents--when the latter push their mouth so far inside the baby's mouth to have the food wolfed down by the former suggesting the bird was more or less an infant.
The very next day, the little bird died.
With a fork, a little box, and the dead body, Berlin and I went back to where we found the bird to bury it. The sky was clear, no more rain like the day before. I could get a better picture of the place we found the bird. I looked up the three-storey-high tree, only to find a bird nest there.
The mystery of how the bird got wounded was explained: the baby bird tried to fly or accidentally dropped down from the nest. Perhaps the rain-wet wings failed it. Perhaps the immature feathers. Perhaps the like of flying skills. Perhaps....
但他們不怕飛得高, 趺得痛嗎?
Fatty, sometimes we aren't so sure about life. Yet, we all have to fly one day because we cannot stay in the nest forever. In love, in work, in life at large, we have to come to make the important decision one day--are we ready to fly?
It takes lots of trials and errors, practice, calculation, and at times guts to open our wings. Yes, it's right--it hurts when we fall. The higher we fly, the greater the pain it is when we fall down. Yet, we never know if we will fly, will glide, will rise, or will drop, will fall, will fail unless we try.
My friend, we all come to the same ending in life at last -- death?
Perhaps it worthies a dive and fly when we know that we all, one day, must die anyway. May as well take the good use of the time we have now, not blindly; yet, fly when you feel ready.
02.21.02
今晨，覺得要用中文寫點東西。
一寫鴨子的媽媽
鴨子的媽媽是隻不折不扣的母雞。母雞很會生小雞，一生便六頭 ; 聽說本來是七頭，但最大的孩子在三十多年前種痘時發熱，聽說母雞不懂如何是好，剛從大陸小農村偷渡到肥土鎮，人生路不熟，不知醫生是耶非耶。孩子死了，母雞從此未提這事。 母雞有了五頭小雞後，覺得夠了; 從此意外有了孩子，都到何二姑可怖的地方打掉他們。每回都是獨自一人到那地方去，頭昏昏獨自離去，母雞從此未提這事。
那年冬天母雞再意外有了孩子，母雞頻喝綠豆水，想弄掉孩子。不知是否此孩頑強，還是何二姑一時失手，孩子意外地在黃梅暑天孵出，是頭小鴨。 小鴨跟其他小雞不同，常常任性地做自己想做的事－－小鴨女孩子人家卻要童子軍，要唸書，中五要到曲奇餅小國住上一年，大學要到楓葉國去，要跟人家同居－－母雞百般無奈，卻給小鴨做小鴨的事，從不迫她做小雞，不迫她做火雞，不迫她做竹絲雞。
母雞沒有得到自己母親的愛，呱呱墜地不久便賣了給人家；但她卻是極為孩子捨己。 母雞不曾唸書，卻讓小鴨沒頭沒腦的唸。 高傲的親友總說母雞的孩子沒出息；母雞卻總在親友病魔纏身時不離不棄的送上湯水。母雞在人家婚禮上送不上最厚的禮；但她卻在人家葬禮上掉最多的淚。母雞做飯很豐富，平常一晚必有魚有肉有菜有湯；但她只等我們嚥下最好的東西後，才起筷．母雞不會教孩子做功課，不懂為孩子安排名校，不要我們作所謂的專業人事；她會保護孩子，叫孩子免受傷害。
小時侯很怕玩麻鷹捉雞仔，很怕作母雞，覺得作母雞是吃力不討好的工作，小雞總難免給老鷹吃掉．
她是隻不折不扣的母雞，因她總拼命與老鷹作對，叫孩子免受傷害．
不屑的孩子可會往花旗國飛，叫母雞哽咽多次．
Many Trivialities
Trivial 001
Last night he said he felt like getting closer to the edge of a cliff. Closer.
I don't know what jumping down means to him. He neither. Yet, all I know is that no matter what you choose to do, I would be happy for you.
Although I don't have atitudinal phobia, I don't feel very comfortable when getting close the any cliff-like area. The best place to look at cliffs is in Tung Lung Island--the renowned area in with lots of Jin Rong's TV adaptations were shot, with actors and actresses flying across cliffs.
Years ago my elder brother went to play bungee jump in Indonesia, and have the whole process recorded on a tape. Coming home, he showed the little movie of his jump to my mother, only to make her almost faint at the spot. I watched it too, and I doubted if I would like to try it.
I am not someone who would get excited about those exciting things such as Roller Coaster, downhill skiing, sky surfing, or bungee jumping. A moment of excitement is not too appealing to me.
If there's a day, with feathers being full, you stretch your wings and jump, gliding along the wind, let me know. I would want to watch you fly high in the sky. I would wish so much you could find where you belong.
Case Closed.
Trivial 002
After learning that one of the referees had not sent the recommendations to graduate schools I applied, I could not waste my time but to find a new referee. At first, I wanted to find out why he did not keep to his words. Yet, I later realized that I should not be so bothered by it. It's only a small matter and I shouldn't sweat it over.
Learning a lesson after another: stop when emotions build, handle an issue with calmness, and it can avoid causing nuisance to others, and avoid lots of anguish to oneself. Happy again.
Thanks Louisa indeed. She's what you would name--a feminist, an environmentalist, rigid vegetarian, and animal/human-rights protester. All those grand names do not make this charming lady fearful. She's indeed a very gentle woman.
I met her through a mutual friend, Hiroshi, whom I am not sure where he's right now. Harvard? UT at Austin? That silly dude once teased that he's the reincarnation of Freud. And me, of course, is Dora--the patient of Freud. Are you doing okay out in this universe? Still helping out people in Guatemala?
Case Closed.
Trivial 003
Angela, the very mother of mother in this office, came into my office with a little email printout in hands, from her nephew in NY, a high-schooler. The little boy was very upset after being called "nerd" by his peers. Angela came in and asked me what she should say to console her nephew overseas.
Sometimes I do wonder if I am an RA in this office, because I get to do more teaching work, counseling work, than research work.
She circumvented for so long, taking me to visit the whole 大觀園, only to let me figure out much later that what she seeked for was someone help her write the email.
As usual, I did not reject a request when I could handle it with my ability. Soon, I should learn to stop smiling too easily when requests are forwarded to me.
Suddenly, I felt a little strange in front of the PC telling a high-schooler that I could understand his confusion and anguish when being rejected by peers. Indeed, I have been there before. The process of growing up is painful at times, especially when people who don't fit it too well with the peers. Although I believe I am a friendly person, I was quite a "folded-up" kid in my school life. I did not identify too well with the beliefs and styles of my classmates. The cost of not being in trend and flowing to them is a little solitude and loneliness at times.
I don't know what really I should say to the boy, but I mustered an email quite long. Writing and babbling are genes I had as a baby.
Angela was so happy when she got my email, and took me three pieces of Seaweed eggrolls, telling me that a few difficult words in the email she could not understand.
I did not and could not do much with my limited knowledge. But I gave a little prayer, a very quick one, so that God will handle it.
Case Closed.
Trivial 004
Finished the lecture notes for Saturday's class for the Fifth-banders! Yeah!
Irene wrote me a short email saying: Dora, you better be careful for the Third-formers, some of them are real naughty!
I never liked my own English teachers throughout my schooling. Perhaps, he's right, it's time for me to pay back the debt I owned to English teachers--all the bluntness, cruelty, jeers.
Money, I cannot deny, is the first motivator for me to take up the post of teaching the notorious students. However, I do have a little desire in my heart to see how much I could handle students who don't behave too well. In my past teaching experiences, students are often very well-behaved. I never meet a nuts-case. No matter how many times Susan said that I could be a GTO teacher, the kind who would get along well with problematic students, I still want to test my patience and tolerance. Will I be the kind being picked on by students, who would go to toilet and weep during breaks? Will I be the kind like a hawker in the market shouting and yelling back? Will I be the kind totally indifferent to whatever situation taking place? I don't know, I still don't know what kind of approach I am to take if anything happens.
I will tell you what I am like, when the real test befalls me later on.
God bless them. Bless the students. I think they are eager to learn, and they just don't get too much encouragement throughout the time.
Case not yet closed.
Trivial 005
Once upon a time, in a forest lived a fox, a cat and a duck. One day the fox shouted for help, asking if there's any animal in the forest who could help. The duck went to the cat. They eyed on each other, only to find that they were the only animals in the forest. And they, despite the fact that never touched media laws, offered respectively a helping paw and a helping web.
Fox, do you still need our paw and web? If yes, just shout ma. Otherwise, once you have passed Suzhou, there won't be any boat anymore.
Case pending.
Trivial 006
Packed schedule: Today, Christian Spirituality with Dr. Wan. After class, wanna finish Nouwen's The Road to Daybreak. Tomorrow night, tutor Janice. Friday night, fellowship. Sat, tutoring Fifth-banders. Sat night, concert. After concert, joining the gang of Perspectives to rampage Teresa's home. Sunday, worship. AND la la la la HIKING AGAIN!!!!!!!!
Many Cases opening.
02.19.02 人言可畏
Everyday I draft a short to-do-list on back an old credit card receipt or a used envelope, carrying it on the back pocket of my jeans during the day. Rarely would I take it out during the day; at night, when I get changed, I would eye on the list again, only to find, from time to time, I have written so many and done so few.
Every night, as such, I carry a list of things unfinished to bed and to my dreams, and I wake up in the morning, just to write more again.
Hardly could I ever finished all the tasks listed because I am someone who always wants to do more than I should, and carries more on my load that I could. But this habit hasn't stopped.
To Do: (TUE)
- wake early, read
It's just Tuesday now; but I am thinking of Sunday. I just want to hike alone.
Don't-List
Don't tell me you are my friend if you aren't.
Don't say anything because I am a naive girl.
I believe what you say.
I may as well keep my mouth shut lest I should say something I don't mean it.
人言可畏
02.18.02 More hikes
Caucasians residing in Hong Kong often take the pleasure walking in many hiking paths offered in the country side of Hong Kong. Some local city dwellers, however, sometimes ignore this priceless leisure of this little island. I spent the six days hiking by myself in this New Year holiday. This time, a new path.
Violet Hill Path
My fervent fever for hiking alone brought me to Violet Hill Path yesterday, right after Sunday worship.
It's the first time I tried this path, but I have long heard that this is a breath-taking path, in the sense that it's not too easy to hike while it offers a scene so charming to resist. To start, you have to go reach Wong Lai Chung Reservoir; on the side of the main gate you would find a little path, leading to the lovely Violet Hill Path.
At the start, a sign was held informing hikers to get well-prepared for the hike because the routes are not very well-pathed and they are just next the some steep slopes bringing you down to the sea if you walk carelessly. Without backpack, nor first aids gears, nor even a bottle of water, I began to walk. Of course, I did not have company neither. This is a very lousy hiker. Honestly, I should take better care of myself. Remember if you go, always bring water, sample first aids gears, and you should hike with at least one partner.
Susan always said I was too gutsy.
I said, "I am just silly."
Violet Hill Path is a place that brings serenity. The path was very narrow and a little rugged; yet, once you turn your eyes into the right overlooking Shousan Hill (壽臣山) , Deep Water Bay (深水灣) , Repulse Bay (淺水灣) and Nam Wan (南灣), you will find all sweats worthy.
After an hour of walk, I ran into a juncture thinking if I should head down to Stanley, or Tai Tam, or hike up to Violet Hill.
I chose the way up.
I am never a strong hiker, especially when going uphill. My breath and heart oftentimes race like crazy when I march up. Yet, that's always why I love hiking--it's a good way to train my mind, to make me more perseverant, to strengthen my will. It did not take me a short while to notice I have indeed chosen the tough path to go, especially I began to feel a little thirsty.
The priest at church said that Jerusalem is located on the hill, not lowland. That's partly why in many books and verses in the Bible, people had to ask God for company when they went to Jerusalem because the mountain roads were not too safe. Sweating, I wanted from time to time to stop a person or two to give me some water; yet, I didn't. I know if I walk slowly, and don't let my metabolism run too fast, I should handle the hill without much problems.
I enjoy being in the mountains, climbing one after another.
Many a times, I wish he would be hiking with me, despite my love of solitude. I want him to enjoy the lovely hike with me. We would be very happy if we walk together. The path is very long, but I will walk with you, just like a life journey.
After some hundreds of steps, I finally saw a trigonometrical pole--an indicator that I have reached the top of the hill! Yeah!
I shouted loud to the valley, just to hear the valley echoes back.
I love this New Year Holiday so much; I love all the hills I have climbed, rocks I have stepped, and words I have shared with you on the phone, with me on the hills, you in the bustle city.
What I like to see most while hiking: a family--parents plus a baby on the backpack, and the little one walking with them. With the background of breezy mountains and wavy sea, the family creates the most charming picture of the universe. If one day I have a kid, I will put him/her into a hiking backpack for carrying kids and to have them get close to Nature, as if to God. Like a little angel flying on the hills.
I begin to get excited about where I will go next Sunday.
Lantau Peak
Wait for him and me
to hold each other
You carry a charm
02.16.02
原來你什麼都不要
作詞：鄔裕康 / 作曲：郭子
我不要你的呵護 你的玫瑰
我不要你的承諾 不要你的永遠
Together with my little sister in God's family, Susan, I spent a lovely afternoon hiking from Parkview in Wong Lai Chung Road to Tai Tam and walked back.
The sun has been too generous in these few New Year days, beaming at me on a regular basis. Every time I got close to Nature, being peaceful and quiet, I would hear clearer God's will.
The first time I went to that hiking path dated back to my Form One, when I was a girl scout. That was an overnight hike at the time when Parkview wasn't even open for residents. Night journey is indeed appealing: all you see is the dark outlines of mountains. You feel completely embraced by darkness.
My passion in hiking began during those years in scout team. A place I frequently miss yet don't quite find the chance to visit again is Lantau Peak. It's the best place in Hong Kong to see sunrises. Usually you have to start to walk uphill at about nine or ten in the evening, and reach the mountain top in early hours of the day. The few times I was there, we wrapped each other in sleeping bags and big garbage bags waiting for the sun to come up. Apart from the awesome sunrise, clouds there were so low that they galloped across watersheds of hills like racing horses.
People, I think, should spend some days watching sun rises in a year.
Sun rises help people to realize how important it is to take things one day at a time: the sun sets, but it also rises.
People living in city get lost in their mind oftentimes mostly because they look too far ahead. They plan for their retirements, they work for their future, they save money for wedding; while, they can't hardly live for the present. Perhaps justifying myself, I believe sometimes we miss out the present if we see too far ahead.
The further I bend, the farther I look, all I see is emptiness.
Susan asked, "Do you think it's possible between you and him?"
I replied, "Anything is possible."
I don't know the future, but I know who's holding it. God's hand. Knowing that is enough.
Love, I don't know what tomorrow will be like, but trust me that I am trying and I want to try. I don't know the future but I do what I can at present. Time will tell.
Boredom Yesterday while I was in Citysuper, a friend asked: What bores you?
I used a short while to think and replied, "I am really quite self-sufficient, and could endure being alone and spending an afternoon reading a book and going hiking by myself, feeling still very satisfied." What I was suggesting is that I very seldom say "how bored it is!"
Recently, with Valentine's Day being around, I heard lots of friends, esp. people without partners saying: I AM SO BORED!
This morning I took some time to think of a list of
THINGS THAT BORE ME:
1) Being lectured on Jin Yong's novels by Jin Yong's "fansees."
See, actually a lot of things will bore me. Having said that, I am going to hike today again, the four times in five days, and having oatmeal for breakfast again, a everyday routine.
Everyone has different Archilles' heels--for some, maybe loneliness; for me, maybe lack of solitude.
02.15.02. Listening When I was young, sometimes my brothers and I would bet on a game--that I would be silent for half an hour. If I could hold my peace for so long, 2 dollars would be given to me.
Seldom would I win.
They knew too well that their little sister was, undoubtedly, a chatterbox.
As time goes by, I am more convinced that it's more important to listen than to talk. Sucking up people's life stories is something I oftentimes do, especially, to strangers one or two generations older than me. A story-thief, I am a.
In the summer of 1997, I was working in a little company called Relocations as a secretary (in jeans and saddles, not heels nor skirts). That's a job that I enjoyed because the whole atmosphere of the working place was pretty relaxing. Once a while my Caucasian co-workers would bring their babies over and have them climbed amid files, documents and wires, like little kittens.
The company was near Lan Kwai Fong, Central, and every morning I would be the first patron of McDonald in Lan Kwai Fong, together with a 70-something old man working near Stanley street.
McDonald always left me alone to read my pillow-thick Russian novels in solitude. Yet, it took a little while to break this solitude because the old man gradually got quite amused by this stranger reading Tolstoy's Resurrection while munching on Egg Muffin.
Mr.70, I would call, opened a stock-exchange company for many years, since he moved down from the Mainland. He spoke in Mandarin with an accent so strong that I could hardly comprehend; I spoke in Cantonese almost immune to his ears. Every morning, we would spend some time talking: he in his tongue and I in mine--while not be sure how much we made the other understood.
Making others to talk is an easy task. Most people are very self-concious, if not self-centred, in fact. The way to open their mouth is to bring up topics that interest THEM. With elderly, the sure-win mouth-opening topic is their kids. Once they begin to talk about their children, they would be like a dam flooded over by rainstorms, so irresistable.
Mr. 70 told me about his only son residing in the UK, with wife and kids. He did not say it out though, I knew from his expression and tone that he would very much to have them by his side.
He had a company and money and respectful workers; yet, he wanted love from his own child most.
I have seen so many: people wearing nicely and living comfortably only wish to have true human love.
A few years ago, the mother of my friend, who's driving two sports Mercedes, told her son that her dream car is a Rolls-Royce. Human desires are incessant. The more people have, the less satisfied they become. Another thing I observe is that when people spend their strength to accumulate wealth and fame, they would often end up depleting love. The more they have, the less they have.
The old man, every day, brought along a small Beijing garlic with him. With the plastic knife of McDonald's set breakfast, he cut the garlic into pieces and put them between two toasted English muffins and the sausage.
"Why are you eating raw garlic? I asked him once.
"It's good for your heart, my doctor said," he replied while cutting some for me, "Put it in your bread."
At first, the burning sensation twisted my tongue >_< After some doses of garlic, I grew quite used to it and indeed began to love it.
Before the summer ended, the old man was gone.
I tried to ask many times if the cashiers in McDonald have seen the old man again. They all said No. More, they said that it's the first time the old man stopped visiting for so long.
The encounter with him left me with unspeakable ponderness. I don't know what I missed. I guess I missed his stories. Every elderly is composed of a lot of stories.
And more of them are so longing for someone to listen to them patiently.
A story-thief needs patience to steal.
To listen.
You
Last night. Night fell to me. I dreamed. Dreamed of you. You cuddled me. I remembered only the comfort in your arms. Arming me. I was held tight. Tight till the day break. Broke my dream. Dreamed I had.
This morning. Sunshine caught on my eyeslashes again. Again I thought. Thought of you. You kept coming in my mind.
Tonight, before the moon climbed. Climbed I onto the little stool in the balcony. Balcony before the sea. Seeing my uncertainties. Uncertained of something I was uncertained about.
They
A once dropped-by stranger wrote, unexpectedly, wishing me a Happy New Year. A wierd person, who have been to twenty-something jobs, decided to become a police. I asked once why he wanted to be a police, after working all those years, and having got a master's degree in Engineering. Why fought a place with the F.5, 17-year-olds. He said: it's his mission.
God's mission.
A once-I-believed-good-friend did not write nor talk no more. Stopped. Friendship's bizarre. Sometimes no matter how strong it seems, it does not tolerate and endure the most fragile pride. I felt uneasy, although I know I did what I should do. Take care.
God never asks me to take more than I should.
I choose not to take the love I don't deserve.
Another friend said he would write no more to express his feelings. Loneliness and saddness befall him. Afterall, one has to learn how to face himself, in solitude and loneliness. Trust the Lord with all your heart and He would make
your path straight. All I have is patient ears to listen.
Me
Sometimes it's a little tired to face dim souls.
You said sometimes you wish I would just be there. You know I am always there. I never left, never leave, and will never. I got the strength I never had before just because I know you were there. Next to me.
I would be the same: patiently and silently next to you, watching you fly. Fly over the sky.
02.14.02.
Simplicity
Day One of New Year:
woke up early, had vegetarian breakfast (a tradition), used my sweet tongue to say sweet things to my family, read a book, went jogging in country park, sat in front of the reservoir talking to eagles circling around the mountains, and spent the evening telling stories to my nephew. So simple. So nice.
Day Two of New Year:
woke up early, yum cha-ed with The Tsangs, went hiking again in country park while having a long distance call. It's him. Nice to walk in nature with someone by the side, though on the phone. Showed him the bird's singing, the wind's howling, the river's running. Described to him the mountains after mountains and the ocean in the distance. Went to Page One. Looked around and did not buy any books. Went to Wan Chai market and looked at housewives busy buying food stuff to serve dinners for relatives. Went home. Uncle has arrived. In bed, read a book, Naughty Shakespeare--about all the grotesque stuff in Shakespeare. For instance, the bloody Shakespeare, in the play Titus Andronicus, has created 1 human sacrifice, 9 murders, 4 executions, 2 rapes, 4 amputations, and 1 act of treason. His lewd lexicon's even more interesting: considering the cultural background of Shakespeare's time, some wordings are quite mind-blowing, and in fact, obcene. In the early evening, more relatives streamed in, totalling a number of over 30 people. I began to work like a "bun bun" helping mum to serve tea, chop chicken, fry dishes. Two big tables were placed in the living room not larger than 200 sq. feet. Some packed on the table, some stood eating--but all enjoyed I guess. After dinner, mahjong time. "Bun Bun" took rest after cleaning up the place. Went back to the nasty Shakespeare. Another happy and simple day.
Day Three of New Year (plus St. Valentines' Day):
Got ready, all dressed up, not for my Valentine. Dressed up in shorts, running shoes and T-shirt for the third jogging and hiking day. I have been hooked by Nature already after spending my holiday from time to time in the mountains.
So many people have complained how boring it's without a Valentine spending time with. Get up and get a life. So many simple and enjoyable little things out there to do.
Happy Valentines, Dudes and Dudedettes =)
02.12.02
Sun Nin Fei Lok Happy New Year!
Jook Sun Nin Ping Ping On On Fei Fei Lok Lok!
As usual, I spent my New Year's eve at home, like in most festivals and holidays. All I did was writing poems as well as reading books, while every now and then answering icq chats impatiently.
99% online people asked: Why don't go out? (sounds like it's wrong not going out on such a night; mind you, they themselves were home as well)
My response: Why not not?
In fact, I could not recall an New Year's night in which I was not home. Going to flower markets, watching fireworks, Christmas decorations, visiting carnivals are things that often turn me off. It could well be a Festival-Euphoric-Phobia.
Instead, I kept reading the book "A Simple Path."
Mother Teresa's work is never too strange to ears. We have kind of heard a lot about her: serving the Poorest of the Poor, love until it pains and hurts, love without seeking the results. For Christ, the nuns and volunteers gave out lots. One new aspiration I got last night was from a little line:
Sometimes when they take the corpse in, they can't tell if he's a Muslim, a Christian, or a Hindu. Since most people are Hindu in the city, they would give him a Hindu funeral.
I stopped and thought after reading that.
No doubt, the whole love work of them is originated from love for Christ. For some years, I heard people say that they are sick of Christians preaching them with the gospel.
I see something different there in Calcutta.
Act of love is not valued by converting people.
Love for the sake of love.
In my evening course of Missionology, the lecturer once said, "To make a Muslim more loving as a Muslim, to make a Buddhist a better person as a Buddhist, to make a Christian more Christ-like--improving the well-being of a person disregard of his religious beliefs--are a kind of new missionology.
In the past, my anthropological training has made me quite disgust of missionary work: rampaging the cultural heritage of indigenous people, and advocating God's kingdom. What a hypocrit! I thought.
Relgion is a difficult subject.
Love for the sake of love is the only cure.
We have people wanting food for survival; yet we have more people being mal-nutritious in love.
May the Simple Path be taken in this new year:
The fruit of comtemplation is prayer
02.11.02. 雜碎 貓友撰文說分手是志學之始，在其留言板引來點點回響。
「怎的也好，化悲憤為力量夠晒積極，值得鼓勵。」甲說。
「真是好羨慕那些分手後更加勇猛的人，我覺得他們太勇敢了。」丙說。
「每次分手後我就好似悟空咁，能力值以倍數上升。」丁說。
真的，這個世界真的大，造就了不同的人。
我可能不是賭氣的人，與別人分離，只是想把傷害，對別人和自己的傷害減輕。那年他爸爸在我們分開時說:「分手必有不快，減輕傷害的方法是要決絕，要快，肯定。」至今仍然覺得那話很對。
不是鮮聽朋友說:「Dora，您真的決絕。」舊同事玲姐，五十來歲的她常常說我看得很透，對分離不會傷痕累累。那不是我看得透，坦白說，那只是我從少養成的性格--凡事別受人影響。好聽的叫有主見，保持自己就是自己，無論身邊是誰，亦不依賴，不順從。小學到初中，老師總要排我坐在班中最討厭的孩子旁，老師說:「因你不易受人影響。」
不好聽的叫任性，不理會別人。
或許我明白--愛人如己--不是發盲地愛人。人們常常意識「愛人」的重要，而忘卻了「如己」的那部分。要「愛人」要先懂得「愛己」。懂得「愛己」的人在得或失中存感謝的心，不會把自己的快樂寄養在別人身上，卻會愛人如己直到成傷，因為愛眾人中最少的，就是愛主。
很喜歡跟小姪兒逛街，他是個明白事理的孩子，不會因為得不到想要的玩具而發怒。他知道不可得到的便乖乖接受，給他買朱古力奶，他總是欣喜地說多謝。小小的他尚會珍惜有的，人們長大，追求更多更大更好，卻少了感恩的心，忘了我們來到這兒，本來就沒什麼。
我都是那老在追求種種的人，但人活多了年頭，明白完整的家庭，生命的氣息，身上的衣物，可聽可說可寫可想等，沒有必然。
昨晚團年飯桌前，我明白感謝的重要，放下心頭揮之不去的種種，感謝我有個家庭。我們沒有很多，十多人在六百尺的斗室中，卻有喜樂平安。看到爸爸媽媽，驀然覺得他們很大很大，付出很多很多，自愧從前的抱怨。
不知我或家人會活多久，人生從不在我們手中，儘管我們常自以為是，以為掌握了自己生命。真的，慢慢明白家人的愛，儘管有不快的時候，但父母會活多少年頭呢?
感謝主。
02.10.02. Snake Year's not a boundtiful year in terms of materialistic goodies. Yet, it's, I believe, the most pivotal year of my past 25 years: I have met Christ, befriended Skippy, Bruno, Teresa, Fiona, Susan, Irene, Winnie, lots of sisters and brothers in Church, thought a lot, contemplated seriously about life issues, enjoyed my family time, told a lot of stories to my little nephew, continued loving friendship with my former teacher, his family, old friends, kept saving money, circumvented couple of times in the labyrinth of life, ended and began love relationship, smiled, cried, laughed, shouted, read many many books, wrote many words and came to truly understand what matters most in life: love. First, Love my Father. Second, Love others as if I am loving myself.
Mark 12
28
One of the teachers of the law came and heard them debating. Noticing that Jesus had given them a good answer, he asked him, "Of all the commandments, which is the most important?"
29
"The most important one," answered Jesus, "is this: `Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.[5]
30
Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.'[6]
31
The second is this: `Love your neighbor as yourself.'[7] There is no commandment greater than these."
32
"Well said, teacher," the man replied. "You are right in saying that God is one and there is no other but him.
33
To love him with all your heart, with all your understanding and with all your strength, and to love your neighbor as yourself is more important than all burnt offerings and sacrifices."
My Father in Heaven,
I wish every morning, I woke up with a desire and urge to come to you. Thank you for all the things you have given me without reasons. You just give. Thank you for your love, and for giving your beloved son, Jesus Christ, to me even before I have accepted you.
I wish I would have a heart to worship you every waking moment. The universe you have created though mysterious still facinates me. The galaxies, the stars, the planets, the earth spinning around, and the little apartment and family I am staying in--all are beyond understanding to me. Your creation of the universe is worth praising. Your creation of human beings is even more breath-taking. Even the fact that you have given me life already should remind me from time to time of being thankful for this life.
To me, sometimes you are a marvelous scientist to me; sometimes an unbelievable artist. You hold a brush, some paints and keep drawing, drawing lives after lives. Sometimes you use light colors, and those times I would feel a little lost and unfocused. Sometimes, dim colors such as black and grey were used, and I would just feel deserted, sad, and lonely. And at times, you would put Rose, yellowish orange, navy blue, chestnut brown, and many other colors that will bright my eyes. All I could see is patches of colors, not a picture. But I trust you. I trust eventually you are painting a picture beyond my understanding. One day when I am in heaven with you, looking back to my life--I will see my picture so nice and neat. My Lord, I trust you.
No matter where I am, in saddness, in happiness, in poverty, in richness, I know you will never leave me. That's the promise you have given me. That's the love you have shown me.
I can lose everything on earth because I have you already.
Lord, I am sorry. I am sorry from time to time I hurt your feelings. You treat me as your daughter, yet I am such a spoiled brat who does not take my life seriously, my Christian life seriously. I sinned from time to time. I indulged myself in my physical desires, without thinking that my body doesn't really belong to myself, but it's a temple of yours. Although you remind me of sins tempting me every now and then, I would oftentimes put a death ear to the inner voice speaking to me. I don't treasure my body; instead, I spoil it--an action that's actually hurting your heart. I am sorry my Father.
Please forgive me for I did not do what I was supposed to do. I hurt you. I am sorry.
More, I often put myself to a position so high, instead of being humble and being obedient to you. That's the lesson I am learning my Lord, and please help me. Please give me strength to please you above everything. I wish to follow your commandment: Love you with all my heart and soul and strength.
When I was in euphoric mood, I would get so hooked to what I got, forgetting that what I had wasfrom your Grace, not my own strength; when I was down, I would get overwhelmed, and sometimes even get upset by the plans you have arranged for me. Instead of taking responsibilities of my own action, I got angry with you. Please God: help me to have eyes to see and ears to listen to your words.
Help me to be obedient and submit to you.
Help me, in all circumstances, to be thankful and joyful.
My Father, give me strength to stick to you in my path. I need to be your daughter, a faithful one.
I want to follow you with all my heart. And may all I have done gives glory to the Lord. And may people around me see your efforts, not mine.
Please my Lord, I wish in the new year, I will follow the paths you have designed for me. Follow with delights no matter how hard the paths are to be.
Remind me that you are always there for me, carrying me when I have worries. You have grace for me everyday, enough for me to face every hurdle.
My Lord, please bless my beloved one. Please take care of my love. Take him to you, embrace him with your arms. I have no expectations. All I want is that you would love him as you have always have been. When he's with you, I have no fear.
My Father, please embrace my family and friends, be they your followers or not. I wish they would share the joy and love you have given me, like you have given everyone on earth. I don't know what I should do in order to lead them to you. But if there's anyone, or any lamb, you trustfully lead to me to take care of and you ask me to show the path to you, I will dutifully take the task in my heart.
I love you my Lord. I wish every step I take in my life would glorify you, and bring me closer to you.
In the name of my beloved Christ,
Amen.
Somewhere Out There
Lyricist: Cynthia Weil
Somewhere out there
91:12 他們要用手托著你、免得你的腳碰在石頭上。
披鴨舌帽
塗防曬膏
背囊會背水水及書書
會告訴神我的不快
會分享我的歡樂
會感恩
會問神祂的計劃是什麼
會在森森的窄路叫祂與我同行
神用風聲水聲山谷太陽鳥語花香小松鼠一顆石子告訴我---祂一切都安排好, 孩子您不必憂慮, 只管躺在祂的懷抱
會笑會做鬼臉會仿電話鈴聲會給洋孩子我背囊中的花生漫畫中的露西的樣子的草莓味皮禮士糖
會緩緩腳步偷偷地竊聽人家三來歲孩子新奇的自然科學問題
再偷偷地竊聽孩子爸爸不侖不類的有趣答案
會為人們的溫馨感謝神
會在肚子餓時腦著不知那裡傳來的吞那魚三文治的香味
會骨碌骨碌地喝果汁先生的蘋果汁和清水
會向著太平洋叫喊他的名字
會自覺比在米蘭置地時代或花園街shopping的女孩子幸福很多
會感謝神給我明徹的簡單的心
What if my partner dies?
What if he's not married?
I think God may not think of us, human beings, who would come up with so many "ifs." IF-questions are generated because we either desire things we cannot have, we come to think of certain things we regret doing in the past, or we cannot live quite in harmony with the now-me, but look too much ahead in unforeseeable future or situation.
Tomorrow is unknown
This moment is a gift from God
That's why we call it "present."
- letter to Pang sir, may visit him in hospital
- call Kina
- call mum
- Jesus' prayer rendition
- ask Fernando for the missing letter
- contact Julie or Louisa if Fernando dissappears
- call Janice's mum, about tutoring
- lecture notes reading for Sat class, call Irene
- ask sister for tax form
- read Nouwen
- email replies to wah, winnie, sophia
- continue Western development research
- contact classmates, presentation
- pay CTI
- letter to zion
- Iowa and Penn state info
- return books, get more Nouwen
- forms to KC, perhaps law assignments
- tidy my bed, no more tables around
- reply fellowship group, no hike on Sunday
- tell Mrs. Sze no more Sunday class
- GRE to ASU
Don't tell me you will write me letter if you won't.
Don't tell me you will be my last resort if you aren't.
Don't tell me A when you mean B.
Don't blow things up to a magnitude that you can't handle.
I believe when I hear without doubt.
But this forest is complex.
And the animals are sophisticated.
Yet, I am a naive duck.
I don't want any promise from anyone.
I am not fed on emptiness.
可畏不是說者
卻是深信人言的笨蛋 
Wait for me
One day I will be back
to watch your sunset
to climb
your sublime
showering in the sunrise
Hardly could I quite forget
只要你好好久久愛我一遍
就算虛榮也好 貪心也好
哪個女人對愛不自私 不奢望
只要你真真切切愛我一遍
就算虛榮也好 貪心也好
最怕你把沈默 當做對我的回答
2) Washing dishes.
3) Playing mahjong with computer.
4) On a wedding banquet with business people and so-called IT professionals.
5) Snobbish lawyers.
6) Reading journals about Urumqi airport, Xinjiang natural gas, or Tibet railways. And doing "indexing" of books while telling my boss I indeed "enjoy" it.
7) School uniforms (I hate the skirts!)
8) Mrs. Goopi (F.6 English teacher, so darn boring, I skipped so many classes), Mrs. Ng (F.5 English teacher; you should go home and be with your kids, seriously), Mrs. Cho (F.3 English teacher, don't you ever know how to smile? we are not prisoners, come on.), Ms. Poon (F.1 English teacher, I never think you could get married; finally someone so blind would want you indeed *sigh*), Ms. Ng (P4-6 English teacher; you are a nightmare to me. After my drama on you at school picnic, you never gave me a day of peace). ALL ENGLISH TEACHERS IN GENGERAL. They are helpless, darn boring, unbearable....
9) Females preaching on Sunday (sorry, I may be sexist; but I have never run into any female preachers not being nagging in Sunday worship).
10) Steamed chicken and homemade fish balls (mummy, sorry).
The fruit of prayer is faith
The fruit of faith is love
The fruit of love is service
The fruit of service is peace
Composers: James Horner and Barry Mann
From: An American Tale
Beneath the pale moonlight
Someone's thinking of me
And loving me tonight
Someone's saying a prayer
That we'll find one another
In that big somewhere out there
How very far apart we are
It helps to think we might be wishing
On the same bright star
Starts to sing a lonesome lullaby
It helps to think we're sleeping
Underneath the same big sky
If love can see us through
Then we'll be together
Somewhere out there
Out where dreams come true
And even though I know
How very far apart we are
It helps to think we might be wishing
on the same bright star
Starts to sing a lonesome lullaby
It helps to think we're sleeping
Underneath the same big sky
If love can see us through
Then we'll be together
Somewhere out there
Out where dreams come true...
倪柝聲的曠野的筵席
Yoshiki Tanaka 的銀河英雄傳說
張曉風的動物園的祈禱室
Issac Asimov's New Guide To Science
I am tired
of
the
Incessant urge to wolf down books
When the road you're trudging seems all up hill
And you want to smile, but you have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
It's when things seem worse,
that you must not quit.
去了Häagen-Dazs
要一客的夏威夷果仁香草冰淇淋
再一客
食了您那份
別怪我
誰叫您不在這裡
- people in travel story regards beginning of a relationship as starting a new journey that promises to be both exciting and challenging.
- couple in gardening story believe constant nurturing is neccessary in a relationship. If a relationship if left unattended, it will doom to fall.
- people believing in the Humor Story think that taking a relationship too seriously will indeed spoil it.
- people in this story find it exciting when they feel the partner is somewhat frightened of them, or somewhat tend to end up with people who frighten them.
- in the story, the lovers like dating different partners simultaneously; each partner should fit a particular need.
- in the relationship of such kind, people will think it is more efficient if one person takes control of the important decisions in a relationship.
無論我轉向何處
都是一個新的開始
從未尋獲終點
我走到了天涯的盡頭
卻又發現了另一個天涯
這總是令我訝異
於是我終於明白一些道理
我卻於我的路上迷失
我們待在這兒，並不能使我們在一起四處皆然
始終在海上漂流
沒有人知道
這確切的原因
為何在海上漂流啊
月兒的漂流
波浪的起伏
我仍持續的尋找
指引屬於我的生命
不知億萬年前的光芒
是否足以引導我繼續飄蕩
仰視天際
烏雲蔽空
不見指引我的星辰，無論是船帆座或獵戶座
帶來遠處的細沙
述說著她們的故事
然而我所聽到的低語聲
如同枕邊細語般
如同潮汐褪去般的細不可數
我應該相信嗎
這只是夢中才有的情境
就讓它成為瞬間的黑暗
希望我能夠發現
回到時間的路
我嘗試改變的路途
開啟另一個開始
至今仍不斷的尋找答案
航行還是沒有止境
無論走哪條途徑
無論用什麼方式
應該是只有一個方向吧
或者就在
我剛剛轉向
的另一個轉角處
也許我又回到了原點
也許我已接近答案
adado = good afternoon
adovado = good evening
akarr = good bye
vavado = sandwich
vapurr = butter
mila = one
milala = two
milalala = three
lamila = four
lamilala = five
pabupa = thank you
lamipabupa = thank you very much
lulu = want
kookoo = milk
hotakookoo = steamed milk
jukuku = yes
nupupu = no
eta = for here
uta = to go
maki = what
haha = have
isusu = eat
gici = I
bici = you
Customer B: Avava!
She: maki bici haha?
Customer B: gici lulu mila vavado. Nupupu vapurr.
She: Jukuku! Eta?
Customer B: Nupupu. Uta.
She: Mila vavado uta! lamipabupa!
91:12 他們要用手托著你、免得你的腳碰在石頭上。
披鴨舌帽
塗防曬膏
背囊會背水水及書書
會告訴神我的不快
會分享我的歡樂
會感恩
會問神祂的計劃是什麼
會在森森的窄路叫祂與我同行
神用風聲水聲山谷太陽鳥語花香小松鼠一顆石子告訴我---祂一切都安排好, 孩子您不必憂慮, 只管躺在祂的懷抱
會笑會做鬼臉會仿電話鈴聲會給洋孩子我背囊中的花生漫畫中的露西的樣子的草莓味皮禮士糖
會緩緩腳步偷偷地竊聽人家三來歲孩子新奇的自然科學問題
再偷偷地竊聽孩子爸爸不侖不類的有趣答案
會為人們的溫馨感謝神
會在肚子餓時腦著不知那裡傳來的吞那魚三文治的香味
會骨碌骨碌地喝果汁先生的蘋果汁和清水
會向著太平洋叫喊他的名字
會自覺比在米蘭置地時代或花園街shopping的女孩子幸福很多
會感謝神給我明徹的簡單的心
What if my partner dies?
What if he's not married?
I think God may not think of us, human beings, who would come up with so many "ifs." IF-questions are generated because we either desire things we cannot have, we come to think of certain things we regret doing in the past, or we cannot live quite in harmony with the now-me, but look too much ahead in unforeseeable future or situation.
Tomorrow is unknown
This moment is a gift from God
That's why we call it "present."
- letter to Pang sir, may visit him in hospital
- call Kina
- call mum
- Jesus' prayer rendition
- ask Fernando for the missing letter
- contact Julie or Louisa if Fernando dissappears
- call Janice's mum, about tutoring
- lecture notes reading for Sat class, call Irene
- ask sister for tax form
- read Nouwen
- email replies to wah, winnie, sophia
- continue Western development research
- contact classmates, presentation
- pay CTI
- letter to zion
- Iowa and Penn state info
- return books, get more Nouwen
- forms to KC, perhaps law assignments
- tidy my bed, no more tables around
- reply fellowship group, no hike on Sunday
- tell Mrs. Sze no more Sunday class
- GRE to ASU
Don't tell me you will write me letter if you won't.
Don't tell me you will be my last resort if you aren't.
Don't tell me A when you mean B.
Don't blow things up to a magnitude that you can't handle.
I believe when I hear without doubt.
But this forest is complex.
And the animals are sophisticated.
Yet, I am a naive duck.
I don't want any promise from anyone.
I am not fed on emptiness.
可畏不是說者
卻是深信人言的笨蛋
Wait for me
One day I will be back
to watch your sunset
to climb
your sublime
showering in the sunrise
Hardly could I quite forget
只要你好好久久愛我一遍
就算虛榮也好 貪心也好
哪個女人對愛不自私 不奢望
只要你真真切切愛我一遍
就算虛榮也好 貪心也好
最怕你把沈默 當做對我的回答
2) Washing dishes.
3) Playing mahjong with computer.
4) On a wedding banquet with business people and so-called IT professionals.
5) Snobbish lawyers.
6) Reading journals about Urumqi airport, Xinjiang natural gas, or Tibet railways. And doing "indexing" of books while telling my boss I indeed "enjoy" it.
7) School uniforms (I hate the skirts!)
8) Mrs. Goopi (F.6 English teacher, so darn boring, I skipped so many classes), Mrs. Ng (F.5 English teacher; you should go home and be with your kids, seriously), Mrs. Cho (F.3 English teacher, don't you ever know how to smile? we are not prisoners, come on.), Ms. Poon (F.1 English teacher, I never think you could get married; finally someone so blind would want you indeed *sigh*), Ms. Ng (P4-6 English teacher; you are a nightmare to me. After my drama on you at school picnic, you never gave me a day of peace). ALL ENGLISH TEACHERS IN GENGERAL. They are helpless, darn boring, unbearable....
9) Females preaching on Sunday (sorry, I may be sexist; but I have never run into any female preachers not being nagging in Sunday worship).
10) Steamed chicken and homemade fish balls (mummy, sorry).
The fruit of prayer is faith
The fruit of faith is love
The fruit of love is service
The fruit of service is peace
Composers: James Horner and Barry Mann
From: An American Tale