Friday, April 20, 2007

the other side


Brian asked me of my response towards the Korean killer. I told him that I actually think he is great in standing out breaking down the American sterotype of the "quiet, coward and peaceful" Asian, it's just he used a tragic and bloody way. He looked at me for 5 seconds and didn't know what to say. I knew I was not being very nice. It was not Brian's fault for being a white American male.

But the frustrating and suffocating thing is the American society's obsession with the superficiality. Everyone sees the cruelness and the cold-bloodness of a Korean-American monster, but no one is trying to see the reasons behind. Everyone is blaming on his mental illness, yet no one is trying to envision the life he has been living - a poor Asian boy growing in the Asian ghetto, eating the humiliation from the white counterparts "go back to China"! No one is ever trying to reflect on the mechanism of American society- how the bloddy racism turned a healthy boy into a psychotic, let alone for anyone to have sympathy on him and his past. It is as if he is not entitled to any right to fight. It is as if he should just go and hide himself in the Asian ghetto, somewhere in Chinatown, washing dishes all his life like his parents. Whatever miserable life he is gonna have, as long as he does not come out and kill white people.

It's not we Asians are by nature quiet and conforming- it's we have to be obedient to the dominant social discourse to be "a good citizen".

By no means I'm trying to justify for him. It's just the other side of the story that help us more than mere hatred and revenge. Mourning for those who were killed. Mourning for the killer. Mourning for our feebleness to change. Mourning for Asian Americans. Mourning for America.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

poem and nature


The structure of nature is image;
the structure of image is poem.
Nature never exhausts itself.

Sunday, April 1, 2007

定风波


莫听穿林打叶声,
何妨吟啸且徐行。
竹杖芒鞋轻胜马,谁怕?
一蓑湮雨任平生。
料峭春风吹酒醒,微冷,山头斜照却相迎。
回首向来萧瑟处,归去,去无风雨也无晴。

Friday, March 16, 2007

Forms



The furthest distance in the world
is not between life and death
but when i stand in front of you
yet you don't know that
I love you

The furthest distance in the world
is not when i stand in front of you
yet you can't see my love
but when undoubtedly knowing the love from both
yet cannot
be togehter

The furthest distance in the world
is not being apart while being in love
but when plainly can not resist the yearning
yet pretending
you have never been in my heart

The furthest distance in the world
is not
but using one's indifferent heart
to dig an uncrossable river
for the one who loves you

--Ranbindranath Tagore

I've been reading Norweigian Wood by Haruki Murakami in English recently. God knows how many times I've read it in Chinese. When I bump this poem tonight, I suddenly feel nothing is more able to express the feeling that is aimed to be described by Murakami. Love stories are alike. But they just take different forms. Sorry if my definition is too arbitrary.

observing


Watch the flow of your thoughts, your sadness, your emotions. Imagine them as green leaves, floating on a stream. Don't engage and interact. Just stand aside, observing it. You are no longer yourself now. You can see through yourself now. You become a container of emotions and feelings which are too fragile to be touched. Let them go and
be released.
- from my counselor Ann

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

ambiguity of words


How can we accurately convey our private experience to others - report accurately on what we feel or see?
How can you reduce the complex, ever changing flow of consciousness to a single word like "sadness" or "love"?
How is it that words can correspond to the world as it is?
- Traditions in Trouble

Saturday, March 10, 2007

Comrade, Almost a Love Story


My yoga class is the section of "Yoga and Meditation". So in the end of the class, the teacher usually turns off the light, turns on a piece of contemplative ancient Indian music, and have us meditating for 5 minutes. I enjoy this moment of peace so much that everytime I finish the class and come out of the classroom, I am always hit by the strikingly contrasting strong white light and the loud masculine music in the gym. So dazzling. God, America again. It was the exact feeling when chen yuanyuan (how much I hope she is still around)and I came out of the little dark restaurant across the street of our school gate, finishing this movie "Comrade, Almost a Love Story", staring at the sunny sky on a Sunday afternoon in the May - God, it's real life again.

I don't hate the strong light. Nor do I dislike real life (well, maybe I do =)). What really disturbs is the short transition from the meditation, either on myself or on the movie, to the real life. I feel being arbitrarily interrupted. I feel unable to articulate my thoughts and to achieve meanings from my interactions with the movie or the contemplation.

Well, 5, 6 years has passed (God, again). A transition that is long enough. But I could only think of one sentence to say: a love story about how to arduously prevent from falling in love with each other. How self-controversial. This theme is similar to "In the Mood for Love" and "The Bridge of Madison County". A story between two rootless Chinese mainlanders in Hong Kong. All about supressing love.

Seems my version of great love story is always about unfulfilled love. Hopeless yet endles love.

Somehow today I've got this urge to watch it again. But both Amazon and Ebay are out of stock of the DVD.