#11, baby, don't cry

“Balak took Balaam up to Bamoth Baal.” That is an excerpt from the old testament. Is it just me? Or does that actually sound funny?

Dear friends,

What does it say about ‘not going to cry’?

When I finally tracked down my grand parents, my grand father was already dead. It was the year 2001. I just turned eighteen. They kept my grand father’s ashes in an ash house, in Taiwan, the deceased is still treated as a social object, they need accommodation and a community of their own even after they are gone and couldn’t care less. My uncle and aunt took me to worship him, a ritual, not like a maniac. I thought to myself, “I don’t think I’d cry.” After all, this was the family that decided not to contact me through reasons of their own since I was eleven. I didn’t expect I’d get emotional at all.
            It was a Saturday, I think. We couldn’t find him. Just when we were about to give up and leave, I accidentally roamed into the aisle of his, and found him looking at me with at least thousands of other companions around him. The urn was the color of jade green. It had his name, the dates and his picture on it. His glasses were carefully placed before him, wiped clean and dusted.
            I called out to my uncle, told him that I found him. I was still pretty much mentally intact then. They joined me, told me how my grand father sent for me before his deathbed. And how my father, the only one in the family who knew how to find me, refused him. My uncle guided my hand to touch my grand father’s glasses. I cried. And I was sorry, sincerely.
          
Philip Seymour Hoffman is one of my favorite actors. In Capote, he played the role of Truman Capote which won him the Academy Award, BAFTA Award, Critics' Choice Award, Golden Globe Award, SAG Award, and much more.
            It’s certainly a tricky business what Capote did with his In Cold Blood. You feel that especially in the movie when facts were altered a little to emit a more tragic narrative. A New Yorker writing about a small town merciless homicide discovered another man who shared a similar twisted childhood upbringing. In Cold Blood tells a story of a family murdered in cold blood. It also tells the outcome and tragedy of a child raised in distanced parenthood. Capote tells a writer’s search of the complicated mindset of a seemingly benign killer. And also tells a writer’s greed and grief to turn a dying victim with a life parallel to his own into his success and later, doom.
            Before shooting the scene where Capote visited the prisoners for the last time before the execution, Bennett Miller, the director, asked Hoffman to cry on the scene which Hoffman sternly said no. Hoffman argued that it would be too sentimental and almost seemed faked which reminded me how the real Capote might utter the same decision before he himself entered the door.
            Camera rolled. We all saw how heartbreaking it was on big screen. I wouldn’t be surprised if anyone told me it’s all one take. The performance was vivid, deep and disturbing. Hoffman cried, after all.

When I was still a teenager. There was a Japanese pop star called Amuro Namie. She started a phenomenon called the Amuro effect in which high school girls in Japan started to dress like her, dye their hair like hers and get their skin tanned like hers, which was unheard of until she came along.
            Amuro comes from a small island of Okinawa. Before turned, through military force, into a prefecture of Japan, Okinawa used to be an independent nation called Ryukyu. It was cited for its entertainment feast and now famous for tourism and the long lives of its people.
            Amuro never finished a formal education. She debuted as a member of a girls band. After a few years of struggling, Amuro was suddenly spotted by a then-evincible producer Komuro Tetsuya, who is an even more curious case himself, then sky rocketed to a superstar.
            At the peak of her early success, Amuro got married suddenly, which was a dangerous thing to her career, and had a baby boy in months. The marriage did a little damage to her status as the then top performer. It also boosted the popularity of the expression ‘to get thunder marry’. A big part of her fans abandoned her to her new role of a fat housewife. But Amuro fought her way back to the game. She lost weight. She got a divorce. She started to work with other producers. And she is still now, as popular as ever before.
            Seriously, Britney Spears can learn from her. 
            Anyway, it was in the period when she first tasted how it feels like to be an Oricon, Japanese Billboard, number 1 artist that she had a single I Don’t Wanna Cry with Komuro. In a Japanese popular talent show back then, nearly thirty percent of the contestants performed this single. She sang, “I gotta find a way so let me go. ‘Cause baby I don’t wanna cry.”
            Amuro won the best artist from Asia of World music award last year, which although is not Grammy, but is still, at least, a thing.

Bob Marley also had something to sing in this matter. Born by a white old man and a black young woman, Bob Marley faced the problem of his own ancestry probably his whole life. His father died when he was ten. He once declared, “I don't dip on the black man's side nor the white man's side. I dip on God's side, the one who create me and cause me to come from black and white.”

“Ob-serving the hypocrites, as they would mingle with the good people we meet, good friends we have had, oh good friends we've lost along the way. In this bright future you can't forget your past. So dry your tears I say. No woman, no cry. Oh my Little sister, don't shed no tears. Everything’s gonna be alright.”
           Marley fathered many children. He died in 1981, at the age of 36, of melanoma. He was buried with his guitar near his birthplace in Jamaica. His last words to one of his sons were, “money can’t buy life.” I don’t think money was all he had. And I don’t think life is that tangible, especially to a kid who’s about to lose his father, too.

Betty Smith was born in Brooklyn, New York. She had an impoverished childhood growing up in Williamsburg, now a chic and artist dominated neighborhood. She described her experience of poor immigrant life with a lucid account that many readers found related to.
           Smith married her first husband and moved to Michigan, where she attended the university of Michigan. So unlike her character, she had the chance. She gave birth to two daughters. In 1938, she got a divorce and moved south. Five years later, she was married again.
           Smith’s daughter remembered her writing in the kitchen in the morning, an inch long ash clinging on the tip of a cigarette. She was a professional writer and she writes about everything. She kept detailed records of her works and she never missed a deadline. She’s determined and observant, qualities I wish I could grow to obtain.   
           In Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. A young girl named Francie Nolan was growing up out of concrete and hostile earth. Her father, Johnny, was a handsome man, had a beautiful voice and a good nature. He had dignity and was proud of his union. But he was weak and gave most of his wages to drinks. Her mother, Katie, was a strong willed woman. She had a soft voice that was inherited by Francie. She loved and risked for it. She bore the bitter outcome of her passion and worked her hands rough. When dreaming in the world of literature as most heroines are, Francie learned from an early age that there are things you get and there are things you don’t.   
          Yes, the language of the novel as you could imagine is old fashioned. And sometimes, it seems too educational or too obviously holding a grudge about growing up with no money. When Johnny died and the Nolan family was left without a man in the house. Katie ordered her children not to cry for their father. Does that somehow make a gril stronger to face what’s to come? Or does that give a girl right to place blame?
          Or perhaps, that problem was just plain fiction?

Percy Bysshe Shelley was romantic and free, viewed by so many as inspiration and admired as heroes.
          Shelley was, in a more modern terminology, bullied when he attended Eton College. He had a thin and pitched voice. He was sentimental and spent hours reading. Those made him the target of ridicule. He was expelled for publishing The Necessity of Atheism.
          After being expelled from the university, Shelley eloped with his then sixteen-year-old first wife and had a child. Three years later, Shelley abandoned his pregnant again wife and child, and ran away with his new-found love to Europe. Two years later, his first wife drowned herself. He got remarried in the same month, but lost the custody of his children. The court said it’s because he was an atheist. I said because he’s an asshole.   
          Shelley was a friend with Byron and Keats. His second wife Mary Shelley was also a writer and was probably best known for Frankenstein. Before he turned thirty, Shelley was drowned at sea. His body was broken. His heart was snatched by his friend at the cremation and Mary kept it until she died.
          It is possible that Shelley was a vegetarian. He was a devoted advocate for social justice especially for the lower classes.  In one of his poems, he wrote:

When passion’s trance is overpast,
If tenderness and truth could last
Or live, whilst all wild feelings keep
Some mortal slumber, dark and deep,
I should not weep, I should not weep!

G from work is from Malaysia. He came to Taiwan when he was sixteen. Now twenty years had passed, he’s still here, when his visa is long out of date.
            His family recently posted an ad in the papers, and his friend found out. G was hesitating. He hadn’t had any contact with his family these years. And he’s afraid that the reason they are looking for him now was because, well, you know the worst.
            I tried to consult him not to take things too gravely. Yes, it could be that someone had died. Just call back, ask what happened, cry about it, then he can have his life back, back with his family. It is true that if he leaves, he might not be admited back.
            “There’s nothing to cry. I don’t cry.” G replied. “Things like this happen. I’m forty. And it’s about time.” G said he couldn’t remember how his mother looked like.
            However, G did call back. As it turned out, everybody is fine. And they promise to stay in contact via Facebook. What a nice little story for a headline! And in this case, it’s true that lost relation was found on Facebook.

What does it say about ‘not going to cry’? Sometimes, it’s pointless. Sometimes, it doesn’t make any sense. Sometimes, you just do. Sometimes, you don’t. At some points in our lives, we all think that. One thing is certain, though. We are all complicated and we all have stories of our own, to cry, or not to cry.

#10, the eve and the pile

The motor engines outside my window are still humping away as usual (but not in that sense, please.) The clock on my desk is ticking really loudly. Barley is licking his fur at my feet, I can almost feel the rough surface of his tongue combing the hopelessly fluffy body of his as he slowly makes his way, thrug, thrug, thrug, thrug. A dog’s collar was dangling nosily with bells as his owner walks him down the street. I live in a cheap second floor apartment. It’s quite easy to hear those sounds. But tonight, especially right now as I try to listen, is particularly quiet and vivid, that I can almost feel these sounds vibrating through air. I tried to figure out a word, then I realized that it’s ‘sentimental’. And I realized why. The factories and garages at my windows must shut down for the holidays. And the rest that lingered outside are hurrying their way home for the day to come. I am the only observer here. So the night has no other choice but to sing to me, exclusively.

Dear friends,

It’s probably not a surprise if I tell you there is a Chinese New Year. Anyway, although it’s only half past midnight, it is the eve of the celebrated family gathering occasion. The literal translation of Chinese New Year’s Eve means getting rid of the night. There was a monster that was called The Year. Legend has it that he prowled the early villages once a year to feed on the livestock people kept and harm the corp. So people stayed up late every year on that day and set fireworks to scare off the beast. I guest that’s why they implied a negative word on this day. But seriously, I only wish there’s a way to do the exact opposite. Is there a way to keep a night so that it won’t die and repeat with another over time? The truth is, no matter what you do, the night is going to pass you by, each one of us. I don’t know if they were aware of this when they put it like that.

            I assume you all know a thing or two about this tradition of Chinese people. And there are already too many people that try to tell foreigners how to survive this holiday. Generally, it’s a little like Thanksgiving and Christmas in the U.S. combined together. Except that Chinese people are fakes, so they don’t really show any emotional sincerity and the disagreement that accompanies it in this celebration, which I heard, is the essential part of its western cousins. But do you know what it’s really like? To be honest, I don’t know what it’s suppose to be like, either.

            First, a month before The Year Holidays, as we call it, people stop eating out and spending money. Because this is a very expensive time of a year, and you really need to watch it. It’s also suggested that you should be careful to leave valuable items at home, for burglary occurs more often during this time. Supposedly, some worse off people need some extra help, and let’s face it, breaking in is just cooler, you see?

Then, from ten to twenty days before it, you notice that the city announce the different dates for each area within to dispose of large waste and unwanted furniture on specified locations. Don’t be scared if you see a piled mountain that’s as big as a parking lot. It’s exactly what it should be. Why? Because at other times, you actually need to pay the city to do that. Only this time around does the government offer to put away large pieces of dump for free. And being like, the cheapest people on the planet, you can imagine why we are like really putting out to create such a sight. Seriously, when I saw the pile in my neighborhood this year, I just couldn’t stop laughing. I mean, something is terribly wrong with these people. It’s as if they were competing. And boy, how did they live with all these crap inside for the last year is beyond me. If I didn’t live here, I’d mistaken it for a piece of modern art. And there would be no name for the title, because ‘chaos’ wouldn’t be enough.

            Then, the period from two to ten days before the holidays, is when companies hold their year-end feasts. Some just have dinner and are done with it. But Some, especially those big corporate giants, have concerts where stars and supermodels sing and perform on the stage while you stuff yourself silly. What was mine like this year? We just had dinner. But later moved to something like a wine tasting. But then Van, my boss, sat us down, and wanted us to talk about what we like about our jobs. I almost had a stroke. This is often the time bosses hand out red envelopes, with money inside signifying good luck in the year to come. But of course, this is also the time some bosses pretend they’re educated abroad and aren’t really familiar with the tradition.

            We talked about red envelopes, but that’s only small money. We also have something like Christmas bonus, but it comes with the check a month earlier. Companies that had a good year sometimes have two months worth of monthly salary as year end bonus.

            A couple days before the holidays, people start treating each other with ridiculous respect and love, as if they are forced to read chicken soup of the souls, ten in a row, and then become these hypnotized creatures that just want to be a part of the world. It may seem it’s busy in the office. People come and go, trying to get things done by the end of the year. But the truth is, what can be done is done already, and people don’t really want to start anything that can’t be finished. So they just come up with little things to do. My people are actually pretty creative when it comes to this. One of my colleagues took out everything in his drawer and put everything back in exactly where it was. He said he was ‘organizing’. Well, I’ll leave that to you. And plus, most companies follow western fiscal calendar, so Chinese New Year doesn’t change anything. Everybody knows that. I just don’t know why they act like they don’t. Anyway, just so you know, this time of the year, is the disguised period of openly leisure at work, mindless stupidity and pretense as well. But there is a saying though, “what’s owned must not be delayed past the year.” So I suppose whoever that’s really doing their jobs around this time of a year, is probably loan sharks and land owners.

            Then there comes the last day at work, there is one particular joke you must be aware of. That is ‘I’ll have to see you in another year.” People tell it EVERY FUCKING YEAR. I first heard it when I was fifteen. Now I’m almost twice as old, and I’m still forced to laugh at it and hear people explain why it’s funny. Can you imagine the frustration? “Next year, you see? Next year, next time I see you will be the year of rabbits. Next year! See? Hahahaha!” Next year, my ass, don’t ever let me catch you alone and about to walk down the stairs. 

            On the eve of the Chinese New Year, families get together and have stew for dinner. The dinner is called ‘circling around the stove’, as you probably know, Chinese people prefer round tables because ‘round’ Chinese also means ‘together’.  Different area has different customs. In the south where I lived temporary as a kid, there’s a dish that has to be prepared and cooked by the man of the household, kinda like curving the turkey. There’s also a dish you can’t bite but swallow whole. Sadly, I have to report, none of those tastes any good.

It’s kinda like Christmas in a way. Adults hand out red envelopes to kids just like presents under the tree. I have to confess, though, I had little experience with red envelopes. And plus, now that I’m a grown up. I get to see what it really is. I have doubts about keeping it a living tradition. I mean, if I had kids, I wouldn’t know what’s worse, to deprive them of the innocence to believe in small acts or to lie to them that ready money will always be there for them?

            Chinese New Year is a holiday for families. For married couple, the first day of the New Year is to be spent at the husband’s father’s. The second day of the New Year is to be spent at the wife’s. The day is also called ‘going back to the mother’s’. And those that weren’t stay at their fathers’ and later make excuses to hang out with friends. Who knows, maybe some people get married just because they’ll get to participate in this shuffling around.

            Since people start saving up before the New Year, get some old debt cleared, and receive some accidental fortune on mahjong tiles, they suddenly realize that they have some money to spend. So like Thanksgiving, the days after the main event, the New Year, is also the big sales day for department stores and retail business. But because everything is bright red and gold, it should be called tacky Friday instead of black, of course, it wouldn’t always be a Friday, but you know what I meant.

            Business usually start again on the fourth. But it’s not always so. Bosses and business owners tend to consult the Agricultural Calendar, which tells them what days are good and what aren’t, before deciding on which day to start a new year.

            Now after the feast comes the reckoning. That’s right. The so-called Holiday weight is a universal thing. I don’t know about you guys. But in here, it stays.

Chinese New Year is always cold, is suppose to be cold. People buy new clothes for their children for the New Year not only because they want to start afresh, but I suppose also for the feeling and comfort of warmth. I don’t really like this day to be frank. Business is closed and I often can’t even find a place to have a cup of coffee except McDonald’s, and I would rather drink tap water. The streets are crowded. And the traffic is just unbearable. And you see too many happy families outside shopping and hanging that it marks your own solitude as a defect. I hate the things I listed above. I hate friends calling and asking me to spend the New Year’s with their families. And I hate to explain to people why I don’t ‘go home’, or why I don’t ‘have a home’. And I feel old. I mean. The year is not even started yet. But I feel like I’m already running out of time.

But there are also things I like about this holiday of my heritage. I like the bonus for sure. I like the few days off work. And between you and me, I also, although secretly, like the few days of cloaked idleness at work before the New Year. I like the candies on receptionists’ desks that will, without a doubt, last into summer. And I remember how I used to love it that I could stay up late as a child and especially right now, how it’s quiet late into night and still a good few hours before the dawn. Although, I do have sympathy for the lone creature  who’s wronged and threatened because of what’s likely to be misjudges based on twisted fear and ignorance. I wonder, while we still set off fireworks, does anyone really think about what became of him, how he died, how he wished he wouldn’t starve, and how he wished he had a save bed to lie. We celebrated the New Year. But I suppose it’s equally important, to think about the old one we threw out, out on the street, into the strangely comical pile.